A Letter For You

I was heading south down A1A with the moon-roof open, the windows down, the sea to my left and the land to my right. The town of Melbourne was behind me and Vero Beach was ahead. I was thinking of the world I knew and how much it had change.
I thought about the vastness of the sea and how I hoped that one day, I would find myself ocean bound, heading outwards into the mystic of turquoise blue with the warm sun above me, the canopy of a blue sky overhead, no clouds, no distraction, no emotion, except of course for the joy of my stillness, which is a sensation of warm content like the first touch of a summer breeze.

I was driving fast, of course, and perhaps faster than I should have been—but still,in moments like this, and in times like this one, I was making my way with a fast purpose to handle my personal business.  And while the moment was intense and the reason for my visit came with a sad intensity, I made this drive on a daily basis, to and from, each day for about a week.

I saw the big homes on the Intercontinental. I watched the ocean tides move in against the South Florida shoreline.
I thought about me, moving away to some small little island where I could live and never have to wear long pants again for the rest of my life.
I could live in flip flops, shorts, and a t-shirt. I could fish, eat fresh fruit. I would write. I could come up with the next great novel. I could live here without the intrusiveness of city life. There would be no personal intrusions either, like say, the people that push or pull or lean in heavy just to get their point across.

As I drove, moving faster than I care to admit, no music, just me the sound of my thoughts, the sound of the engine of my small rental car, the sound of the wind, I moved along and enjoyed the feel of the sun beating down on me from above.

I envision my visit to you would look this way. I see this vision of where you would be right now. I see this destination at a small lake with a willow tree nearby with a soft warm breeze moving the shaggy limbs.
Everything is green here and beautiful/ All the colors are so vibrant and pure. The grass, of course, is thick like it was down in Florida—and I always noticed this when I was down there; whether I was in good old Boca or Delray, or up in Port St Lucie where I yelled at the nurse for mistreating you and threatened the whole staff and offered to call the cops for them after explaining my intent to file a complaint with the state but I digress . . .
In any case, I always noticed the grass in Florida because the blades were thick and sharp. But I see the grass where you are now and envision it the same way

I see this place in my thoughts, a small little home, somewhere off and away from the intrusions of daily life. And then there is you, living happily, peacefully, and pain-free.

I can feel the warmth of the sun as I exit the car. I can feel that warm vacation glow, like it was when I came to see you before the diseases came to take away your spine

And I see you here, happy to see me. And I can hear your voice as you greet me and call me, “Son.”

I’m not sure where to rent a car that can take me to this place. I’m not sure if they rent mini coppers in Heaven or if my version of paradise is anywhere close to the reality of what paradise is—but to me, for now, this is where I see you. And for now, this vision of mine will have to do until I see you again

Miss you Mom

Your son


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