The park was full of people today. I parked my car and headed towards the usually unoccupied, green picnic table...as if it were always
reserved for me and my parents. The pond next to it is an entire
Eco-system where Canadian ducks, Royal Geese, White pelicans and many
other birds live in an apparent harmony.
My parents and I prefer to sit on the same side of the table, facing the undulate,
unsettled waters...I usually sit in the middle, Mom to my left and
Dad to my right.
Sometimes the same crazy, wounded seagull flies above us and lands on our table
staring at me but ignoring my parents.
After few minutes I sense my Dad standing and heading towards the walking
trail, the one that connects the steep hill with the unknown of the
cumulus forming high up.
“Anda...” I heard my Mom whisper my name with the warmth of nostalgic memories “
your Dad wanted so badly to come and visit you that Christmas...”
She explained how they went to the doctor and Dad shared his strong desire to see
me again for the Holidays.
“ The doctor told me” Mom's lips were moving in a slow motion “ it was too risky for your dad to fly for such a long time in cold weather. ”
“ Why don't you wait for Spring, Mr. Scripca? It will be warmer that time of
year...” the Doc suggested.
Dad's telepathic desperation was reflecting into the doctor's pupils: “ I
have no more time, no more Springs...”
The following mornings (Mom recalled) Dad kept on waking up in panic, full of
“What's wrong???” Mom cried worrisome...
My Dad's parents and brother, all dead, kept on coming in his dreams, night
after night, as if to guide him to that world we all hope it exists.
That Christmas Eve Dad left, wandering the streets full of lights and life behind closed windows and called me on the phone..
Christmas, Anduna (my Dad's nickname for me)!”
“ Hi, Dad!!!” my voice was trembling...
“ I could not come this Christmas, you know?”
“I know Dad...I will see you in Spring! Merry Christmas, Dad! I poems/love'>love you!”
“ It's snowing so hard out here and I have no candle to bring back to your
“What? Hello? Dad?” the reception went bad...
The only candle he could find that late Eve was of color … purple and Mom put it in
a drawer that night and forgot about it.
suspected that she had to use it few days later, when Dad asked her
to go to the kitchen and bring him some napkins ( he didn't want her
to witness it) and died...after 47 years together...
“ Mom, was it a heart attack or a broken heart?”
I turned towards her, at the picnic table, facing the pond full of life...I
wanted to hug her tightly, in a never ending embrace but I could not
tell looking through the magnifying drops of my tears that I was
hugging only my Mom's Holographic image of her Soul impregnated with
the scent of unconditional motherly love.
I turned around and looked at the trail on the hill ending up in Heavens...the
cumulus clouds were raining my tears, erasing wandering footsteps and
penetrating cracks in the thirsty ground for, yet, another Spring of