Sep 15, 2010
5 1/2 x 5 1/2" watercolor
I can see it now. My funeral. I don’t know where it will be, but if there is some memorial service here in Goldsboro (probably some church), a guy named Henry is going to get up and say a few words about me. Something like this,
“She was always painting. She and I made an appointment one night for me to come spray her house [for bugs], so the very next morning I showed up on her porch carrying all my equipment at the time we’d agreed on. She was still in her robe and slippers when she answered the door. And she said, ‘This is not a good time. Can you come back tomorrow? I have a butterfly that just hatched and I’m painting it. I’ll pay you a partial if you’ll come back.’ And I told her I’d be back that Friday and wouldn’t charge her, but that I hoped there’d be no more butterflies. She was always up to something.”
And so, folks, I have never been a mother, and so have never gone through labor, but my guess is, we don’t choose what time a baby decides it’s going to show up. Such was the case with Henry, named after my [roach] exterminator.