I want to hear him laugh. I want to see him smile with those blue eyes shining. There is a purity lost inside him. In the instantaneous moment when I am lost inside his eyes, I see that he is free to laugh in spite of it all; free to let go and feel something positive.
I wish to hear him laugh. His laugh starts from deep down inside of him and slowly rises to the top. It is deep and true. My heart aches to see his crystal blue eyes shining; shimmering as if the sun is only shining for him. When he is sad or afraid, my heart aches and I stop breathing. I want to have some type of superpower to heal his pain.
I am calm when he says to me, “I am okay, Angie, everything is going to be all right,” as he smiles reassuringly. Then and only then can I breathe.
I want to hear him laugh in spite of it all. His laugh has a sweet innocence that makes you want to laugh, as well, regardless of whether or not there is anything funny. The simple things make him laugh; reminding me of the complexity of life that we weave in and out of ourselves.
I want to hear him laugh.
In his eyes there are never any lies, deny him and you deny humanity—deny him and you deny yourself.
In his eyes, I see me and the whole world in one instance. I understand that the things that I believe to be important are not and in one moment I can finally know what it feels like to fly. I let go of my fictitious belief that I can change him; make him normal. I can’t change perfection. My undeniable, unrealistic belief that I would even comprehend what normal is has brought me to my knees. I flounder blindly crawling trying to find a light switch to wipe away the darkness that envelops me. I have failed to understand that normal is in the eye of the beholder. As I look into his eyes, I am lost and I fear nothing because there is nothing to fear. I surround myself day in and day out with beliefs of what I am supposed to know and understand. Yet, when I hear him laugh, I forget it all and remember to lean back and relax.
All of his beauty is in his eyes. His body is what shows the years of wear on him the effect of the disease. The reflection of him as everything mounts and compounds and the years wear him down as his cross to bear is slowly bringing him to his knees. He looks up, at first smiling, because he has been carrying his burden for so long but doesn’t want to worry me. Sadly, another weight is added and he falls down flat upon his face, tears stream down his face, blood pours from his forehead. I try to hold on to his burden but it slips through my fingers and I look and see that I have no ability to take away his burden. I turn and close my eyes slowly bending to my knees, tears streaming down and pooling on the ground below me.
The reflection of him is in me and yet I turn away. I turn away and occupy myself within my own world. Others come just like him and the crosses are the same, just a different color and I tell myself, I convince myself, that it is not my problem. I punch in and out of my day and consume myself within the confines of my own home.
Undeniably, the reflection of him is on every street corner and I turn and look away, saying it is not my problem; nothing can be done.
You deny him, you deny humanity, and you deny yourself.
I want to hear him laugh; free to laugh so hard tears stream down his face. His laugh is infectious and it cannot be stopped. Once the laughter begins there is no end to it. It rises from deep down and slowly works it way to the top coming out and touching everyone that is near. Inescapably, I cannot deny him, the echo of his laughter reminds me to wake up and keep trying to see behind the pain and fear. It reminds me to learn from everyone I meet, find humor in everything, and love unconditionally.