On New Year's eve Dad left for a little while. When he returned, grinning, he was holding a golden retriever puppy in his hand.
"He's for you, Josh." He gave him to me. I took to the pup immediately. I had always loved dogs, especially golden retrievers.
Mike and Jamie came running. "Joshie has a dog! Joshie has a dog!" Michael bounced around the room excitedly.
"So what are you going to name him?" Ryan asked, petting my dog, too. He grinned. "I helped pick him out."
I thought for a moment. "Cometa. I'll name him Cometa."
"Cometa?"
Dad seemed surprised. Then he smiled. "Cometa." he echoed, testing the name. "That's just right."
I liked the name, myself, and all that it signified. Cometa is Spanish for "kite", so to me the name meant freedom, childhood, playfullness, air, and colorful energy. It also reminded me of Spain, and particularly, Barcelona. I was proud to be half Spanish.
Mom always promised that once we were all old enough (especially Michael), she would take us all there.
But then she died.
I remembered the confusion when she died. I had expected to be told any minute that I had a healthy baby brother. Instead, Ryan came to me in a daze. "Josh, Mom is... dead." His tone of voice implied he was confused, himself.
"But she can't be. She was alive just a moment ago." I cried, in despair.
I still want to take that trip. I always have. I used to daydream for hours at a time of the beach, of Sagrada Familia, of finally meeting those cousins I'd never seen, of Plaza Catalunya, of las Ramblas, of all those beautiful things that Mom told us about. I never mentioned it to Dad, though. I always thought that, since he never even spoke of Mom, he didn't want to be reminded of her. Taking a trip to her country would, naturally, be a big reminder. I kind of didn't want to be reminded, either. On the other hand, I loved the feeling I got when I remembered her. I liked to remember her red hair shining in the sun, her beautiful paintings, her awards wall (where she proudly displayed all our awards, trophies and medals, next to her own art awards), the pleasant smell of the shampoo she used, and her daily hugs. I missed her. I also missed the way she made it all right whenever I scraped my knees, kissed me every day before I left for school, and the radiant look she had when she was pregnant.
And the time she took Ryan, Jamie and me to a field to fly a kite.
Yes, Cometa to me may have meant freedom, childhood, air, playfulness, energy, and Spain. And it also meant my mother.
In any case, my trip would have to wait. Isn't most of my life on hold because of this stupid disease, anyway?
Author's Chapter Notes:
Now begins part 2 of the Road Ahead. It is written from Joshua's point of view from now on.
