When the hypothetical takes over

In the middle of the conference call

about my father's financial future,

after the annuity options

and tax advantages were discussed,

my brother, asked "What if I die before my father?"

And the financial planner said,

"And your wife marries another man?"

It hit me like a brick in my belly.

Hypothetically, my brother was dead,

my father was old and dying,

my sister-in-law was with a strange man.

Time shrunk like a 100% cotton t-shirt,

and I felt squeezed by the day

not too far in the future, when I would

be tended to by a paid hospice worker.

Or placed in a state-funded home.

Hypothetically, for a fast and terrifying second,

I was alone today. All alone.

Mark gone, dad gone,

mom already released to her potato chip heaven.

But this is the truth of the 40's and 50's.

Not only can parents die,

but so can siblings, so can friends.

Women with lumps, men with tumors,

staph infections and sudden demise.

So, after the call was ended and as my brother and father

were saying good-bye to good man Wade,

I fled my house, determined to buy something living.

The Heights Garden Center

did not have hanging baskets,

but they had a big ceramic orange ball.

I scooped it up and bought it.

And even though my neighbor Bear thinks

it looks like a basketball

and Tavish wanted to flip it over

and roll it around my yard,

even though it could easily be perceived

as a tacky fake pumpkin in a quick drive by,

I think I like it. I think I need it.

What other color screams "Awake" than orange?

What other hue shouts "Now" than orange?

Can you think of a better way to stay

right here, and not crash into conjecture?

I placed an orange ball in my front garden today,

and no one is dead, no one is dying,

there is no inheritance to tax,

no IRA balance to divide.

There is just a ball. A bright orange ball.