Let your bare feet touch the ground

The other evening my son and family came over to celebrate Father’s Day. He’s been a dad for four years now and George has been a dad for almost 34 years. After a nice meal of picadillo, corn and black beans, plus a homemade Ho-Ho cake, the evening ended with our grandsons running through the side yard trying to catch fireflies. I walked behind them with my bare feet trekking softly through the grass.

I let them sink in and squish between my toes and closed my eyes.

It’s wedding week. Hunter and Dona will tie the knot in their vast yard on a hill that sits just above Trail in Holmes County. They have a gorgeous view. George is alive and recuperating and will be at the wedding. I’ve taken him to find a tailor in the Canton area where he’s hobbled around to have the sleeves of his suit jacket hemmed. He tired easily, but the effort of getting up and out is the most important part of his recovery. The surgeon said, “walk, walk, walk.”

I’m balancing his care, plus the added addition of planning a shower at Der Bake Oven (thanks Ruth) close to the wedding so Dona can celebrate with her family coming in from Texas, an easy rehearsal dinner (fire with hot dogs), and making sure I get my hair cut and toes done. I am overly glad we hired Pedro’s Taqueria to pull up their food truck into Hunter’s yard for wedding food. Dancing and tacos? On a warm summer evening? I’m all in.

I worried that I would have patience to be a caregiver during George’s recovery. I am not a good caregiver. I get annoyed easily and I embrace this part of myself. He will be off work for an enormous amount of time. That alone is stressful and worrisome.

I am so glad that we are moved and nestled into our new home with less things to care for. We simplified and shed items we no longer needed. There are so many positives that I need to remember and be thankful for. My mantra for this minute and every one thereafter is “we are so lucky to have what we have.”

I am whispering this to myself daily.

Right now there are two dresses hanging upstairs in my room. One is a flowy, burnt orange lace that twirls in a soft circle, the other is a ruffled sleeveless baby blue that hugs in all the right places. I’m torn on which one to wear as the mother of the groom. My heart leans towards the burnt orange as it’s my favorite color. Maybe once I get my toes done I’ll know which one to choose. My girls are arriving Thursday evening and will give me their unvarnished opinions.

After the wedding is over, the summer stretches before us. Recovery, recuperation, porch sitting, long talks into the evening. Maybe for the first time in a long time I can be fully present, unbothered. It’s easy to worry about the future when the past (and sometimes present) has been full of upheaval.

I don’t like saying “everything happens for a reason.” Life is happening every second and there doesn’t have to be a reason why, although as humans we sometimes reach for that answer. I’ll find mine in the softness of grass between my feet, George’s warm hand to hold, maybe later this summer some sand. The only answers I need lay in wait for me there.

Melissa Herrera is a published author and opinion columnist. She is a curator of vintage mugs and all things spooky, and her book, “TOÑO LIVES,” can be found atwww.tinyurl.com/Tonolives. For inquiries, to purchase her book or anything else on your mind, email her atjunkbabe68@gmail.com or find her in the thrift aisles.