Bless The Beasts And Children

 

 I want to cry, actually sob when I see little Bub. That's what the sanctuary has named the sweet baby who was caught in a storm, terrified and helpless. Eventually Bub will go back into the wild. That's a good thing. It's not what makes me want to weep.

Bub reminds me of my childhood and the kids I used to hang out with who are no longer here. 

The last time I saw Tommy was at a New Year's Eve party he and his wife were having at their beautiful home in an affluent neighborhood where my current boss also had a home. My sister was the one who wanted me to tag along. I wasn't much on parties and I had a feeling Tommy's wife wouldn't be too keen on seeing me. 

I was right. It was a big house, enough room to avoid the daggers thrown my way. It was stupid jealousy over a band of children who grew up together, who had two week crushes, then moved on. That New Year's Tommy and I managed a few minutes together. He was as kind and as sweet as he was when he was five, six, twelve and forever. We once had played tag by moonlight, captured fireflies, built forts, threw snowballs at passing cars and never realized how special it was. Then the band broke up. His sister had died, leaving a hole in all our hearts. We grew up. We moved on. But when we were children, he was the animal whisperer. Dogs, cats, birds and his raccoon, who settled on the back of his neck as Tommy did Tommy things. 

Because we had all been drinking that New Year's Eve, we found a chair or a sofa to sleep on. In the morning I went into the kitchen and admired the beautiful aviary filled with gorgeous birds, naturally created and cared for by Tommy. Always the animals. His wife was in the kitchen and I told her how much I liked the house and thanked her for having me. She ignored me and walked out of the room. 

A few years later I heard through the grapevine Tommy's wife had left him and their children after she received a large inheritance. Tommy moved in with a relative, along with his three children, one with special needs. I'm assuming a menargie of once broken animals he nurtured and loved also joined in the chaos.

It's startling to me to cite the statistics on our street. Out of the twenty five children who lived, played, connected with each other, seven died from cancer. Tommy was one of them. He was one of the kindest souls I have ever known. It was not in him to be cruel. He was a simple man who was happy with his corner in life. 

He would have loved little Bub.