If it wasn't for the song

I just returned from the rights of passage. Whose you might ask? Well truly it was for my son - he's off to college. The extra long mattress pad and accompanying comforter were in place. The extra storage bins filled to the brim with Ramen noodles, peanut butter and Star Bursts... the shower caddy - check, towels - check, a mad-money bill slipped to him at just the right moment - check,
my heart - check!

He and I were sitting in a college bistro having that last meal... some of you know that meal... it's the one where it's time for the parent to exit and you want this child you've nourished and taken care for 18 years to have one really good meal before they sub exist on soda and crackers, coffee and doughnuts for the next four years.

He had noodles and really didn't eat them. I knew it was time, and he went. I picked up the tab and when I got in my car to leave... I was fine if it hadn't been for
that damn song...
you know the one... by Lee Ann Womack.

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance

And for my dancing...
well after all these years I hope I can remember how.

IT REALLY IS HARD TO SAY, "GOOD-BYE"

I was so noncommittal - purposefully so. I was not up for another relationship. I had given my love non-conditionally many times before and this time I was not going to do it. His soulful eyes beseeched me and all I could do was dive right into the deep blue pools begging me to caress him. "Not again," I thought. I WILL NOT GET ATTACHED TO ANOTHER ADOPTED ANIMAL, and so was the case I tried to uphold with Lil' Jerry.

Lil' Jerry is my son's New Zealand rabbit. My dear-one purchased him with the idea that he would earn ONE THOUSAND dollars at a breeders show in eight weeks. When I heard about THE DREAM - I immediately said, "No." I would not care for a rabbit, I would not feed a rabbit, and I didn't want a rabbit! Lil' Jerry moved in last week.

I had already lost myself to a small reptile several years ago. My youngest had received Clyde one Christmas from Santa. Clyde, a small spotted gecko, was not my idea of a warm, fuzzy pet; but my son really wanted him.

SCENE ONE… There was preparation of the aquarium, the purchase of a light, and the discipline of feeding time. I think my sweet; man-child thought this spiny creature would bring him a rather cave-man existence while developing a relationship with this cold-blooded animal. Well, it didn't happen. In fact the whole experience was awful.

My son gleefully fed the little dinosaur small chirping crickets, gave him water, and even helped clean his aquarium. He couldn't wait to teach him tricks, yet he teetered with apprehension and fear that had not been realized until Clyde hauled off and bit his finger. The cave-man retreated with club into his room, and from that point on Mom was chief caretaker for an itty-bitty gecko with slippery, spine-tickling skin, and eyes that almost were larger than his little body. I didn't ask for it, I didn't want it… but I felt responsible since I'm the one that told Santa that my child needed a gecko experience.

SCENE TWO… Clyde made himself at home in my son's room. My son took pleasure in watching him dine on insects, and sun on his small log placed directly beneath his sun lamp. Time passed. I performed the obligatory food, water and aquarium checks. And then… Clyde went on a food strike. He wasn't eating (not even the crickets), he was lethargic, he was not shedding his skin as expected and frankly, he was not his cheerful, reptile-self. I panicked. What if my son woke to find a cold, hard, gecko with his feet in the air? What if he had some weird disease? What kind of psychological damage could occur? I called a pet store and consulted with their reptile director. He suggested Clyde needed extra-virgin-olive oil rubbed on his body… twice a day… yeah, you know where this is going… I spent two weeks taking Clyde out of his aquarium… morning and night, slathering him with extra-virgin-olive oil in hopes that he would shed his skin and become a normal spotted gecko… No one else in my household would touch him; even my husband would walk by and shake his head. I became Clyde's personal masseuse. And I know this is going to sound pretty stupid, but I even became attached to the little sucker - how could I not, when day after day I felt like I may be his only hope for survival, and a successful life as a gecko. It meant something to me.

FINAL SCENE - Despite our morning and evening rituals of oil, Clyde didn't improve. I was desperate… I googled gecko, and fortunately there were topics beside Geico Insurance. I was able to contact a gecko ranch in California and through our correspondence discovered Clyde needed to see a reptile specialist! "Ch-Ching…" was my first thought. The second was… "My husband is going to kill me!" I finally found a nice veterinarian who did specialize in reptiles, and made an appointment. We headed to the doc. Now, I knew I had no money for a reptile visit, at least not the small fortune that I assumed this visit would cost, so… when we came face to face with the good doctor I looked him in the eye and without sounding totally noncompassionate I somberly said, "Doctor, I want to say upfront, I'm limited in how much I can spend on the patient." He looked into my eyes, and he understood. He told us, he would do what he could. They would put Clyde on an intravenous diet (picture a reptile hooked up to an IV) and give us a call on his progress.

We waited two weeks, and unfortunately I had to pull the plug - as the meds didn't work. BOY! DID I FEEL GUILTY! So guilty that I couldn't let Clyde's life be for naught. I wrote a children's story about him. He will always be remembered.

I held Lil' Jerry last night, his heart was racing as my son cleaned his feet with hydrogen peroxide (it's a show thing), and I stroked his body to calm him. The fear subsided, and I wondered if Lil' Jerry will remain apart of our lives or move on. It really is hard to say Good-Bye, isn't it?

To read the story inspired by Clyde, entitled the same, go to www.LauraLilleySmith.com and click on children's stories.

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