the red dot worn primarily by married women between their eyes.
But it also signifies the place where one can go into deep meditation and is regarded as the meeting place between life and death...a holy place where saints can come and go at will...I hoped
Raj would not want to die and Bhindi's name would be enough.
At least he's a happy lad, just look at that smile! Not everything
has to be serious and Bhindi and VinnyGuinea sure aren't!
Still, today Bhindi knew he came in with an important job to do:
give Raj love, smiles, playfulness, and hope: a reason to live again.
He really did his best, too! He is asking "Mom, why isn't this working? I don't seem to be enough?"
Bhindi continued trying! He did everything he could think of
to connect with the holes in Raj's heart: he made such heroic
efforts, knowing completely from the "get-go" why he had been
brought into our household, taking his mission seriously and
giving it 100% then more! "Raj? Raj? I love you, Raj, do you
love me? Can you love me?" he seemed to ask. Perhaps Raj
wasn't ready to love and lose again...Either way, Bhindi knew
his part and carried it out heart and soul. But, to no avail.
"Mom...he's not listening...he's already gone...his body is alive but
he is no longer in it...what is happening? How can I help? Please
tell me? I tried? Now what? Mom, now what?"
smear mud on your face with tears, and howl like a wolf...
I have only been here two hours and already feel the pain...
but I am a cheerful lad and wonder if you'd let me go into
that other cage for they sound like they're having a lot
of fun and I could use some right about now.
And so, on Valentines Day, Bhindi did his best, then moved in
with YumYum and VinnyGuinea who, with much chattering and chasing
and circling and jockeying for position,
did accept him,
and the three of them are happy together.
I brought Raj to bed for his carrot juice but he
crawled off my lap, onto the bed and kept crawling...
I asked where he wanted to go and he asked to be
placed on the floor. I gave him that. He walked to
my night stand, a place he and Taj used to play
hide-and-seek with stolen lettuce leaves, a place
where he can still smell his brother...a dark
place where he can die alone remembering
the times he spent with his beloved brother.
And as terrified as I am of having to pull
his stiff, cold body out from beneath that place,
it's the least I can give him.
My new social worker is coming here in the
morning and I have already warned her
what I will be like when she arrives, not
to mention what the apartment will look like.
So I won't be alone.
But I will be curled up into a pillow sobbing
and she will have to write everything down
for all I will remember is the grief I feel no longer
able to forget.