I have nothing for her.
There was a time I did.
I gave her a great deal in fact, which she happily took, still wanted more and fled angrily when my well had run dry.
A rage bubbles inside of me as we pass but only for a moment as it's quickly reduced to a wary sadness.
Her dark eyes suddenly break and she resumes staring into prayerful nothingness as Lainey our dog drags me away.
"Don't think about that shit," I mutter out loud before losing myself again in nature with music streaming in my ears.
"Excuse me. Rev Elliott?" she asks grabbing the sleeve of my coat and peering green eyes directly in mine.
It takes me a moment to realize I'm being addressed.
Every morning our dog Lainey drags me for a one mile walk on a glorious path behind the Islands YMCA. I'm afraid if I miss a walk I'll quit entirely and, as my wife repeatedly warns, "You quit moving then you die" and I'm not ready for that!
Though walking grows increasingly difficult and I fear they'll end before I'm done.
For now though, Lainey helpfully drags me along, stopping at the baseball dugouts so I can rest, allowing me to pray, reflect, sing, cuss and generally zone out for a little while.
Pot helps expedite a trance like euphoria with a rock-and-roll soundtrack.
I look like a stoned, spaced out, Hippy relic who could topple over any second were not the dog dragging me this way and that, so it takes me a moment to understand I'm the Reverend Elliott she's asking.
"I am."
She'd been my gateway to hospital health care in the city, helping me learn how it really works and who makes things happen. I remind her, thanking her for how kind she'd been to me.
She introduces me to her friend saying, "He did a lot of good things for our community, I just," her eyes met mine sparkling, "helped coordinate things."
"Were you at Union Mission in the 90s?" the friend asks.
"I was."
Smiling, she recounts how her brother moved here then, is mentally ill and they lost track, unaware at where or how he lived. Landing in one of our shelters, he learned how to manage things, obtained a job, moved to transitional housing and then finally into his own home, where he lives now!
"We're big fans," she concludes, broadening smile.
My friend smiles, impish blue eyes still locked on mine, her hand still on my sleeve and as my eyes grow moist, Lainey drags me away so we yell goodbyes.
The dog stops in front of an abandoned dugout, out of the wind but in the sun.
I text Sarah first before collapsing on the bench to take deep breaths, wipe my eyes, focus on green treetops against blue skies, pet the dog and get lost in thoughtfulness.
I'm exhausted in every conceivable way and wonder if I can finish the walk without asking her to come get me.
My surgeon warned us that I wouldn't be the same person after the "Whipple", the removal and reconstruction of many internal organs to remove the cancer, and he was right.
I'm not.
There was a time I would have rushed to forgive the Nun, swap stories with an old
peer, or celebrate success with her friend but that's no longer who I am.
Now I'm Sarah's husband.
I'm Che's Dad.
That's enough.
Nothing's more important.
Lainey jerks the leash abruptly pulling me off the bench and dragging me home so I can get back in my game of life.
