A Precious Stone

I am trying to write about the stone that Lily gave me (which I now carry around with me in my purse along with my 3 AA coins) for luck . And more than luck. I am incredibly superstitious it turns out and I love Lily more than I thought I could love a human. So here is a little bit first about Lily. She will be 3 next month. And she is magical. If I get depressed or a little off center all I have to think of is 3 year old (almost) Lily holding my hand. That clammy little hand in mine. Or the look on her face when Scout (my rescue...Wheaten Terrier) licks her other hand or her face. And Lily smiles the smile of an angel or I was going to say Carmelite Nun but thought the resplendance would be lost in translation. Scout loves me she would then say. Or reading to her in her bed before she goes to sleep. She saves me a place. Even pats down one of her special dollies and shows me how to put me own head on the dolly just so like a pillow so that it is soft and cushioning. All she wants is to be loved. To have a story read to her. Companionship. And I have to admit at times this is bittersweet. I am 60 and Lily is not quite my grand daughter. I live with her grand father (who I need to write about....my hero. My first real love even though I have been married twice. He is it) and am lucky enough to get to baby sit for and be with his 3 grand daughters. (They all 3 are amazing little creatures and I love them all 3 unreservedly....but the twins, Sophie and Molly have each other....Lily is like no other human I have ever met.) So the bittersweet part...I have a 34 year old son who I love more than Lily even. He too is magical. But with Wiley I was drinking and so in my own head I was not present for him. I can see him right now holding my hand when he was 2. We lived on the golf course in Bakersfield. Wiley had on Oshkosk overalls and blond hair and a grimy little t-shirt and we were just walking along the road and I would love to be able to go back in time and be there with him. But I was 27 and I was in my head, obsessing about whether my hair would go frizzy because there was a fine mist in the air, and if my shirt fit right, I could feel the tag in the back of my neck, and what job I should take. Should I be a tv news reporter. And on and on and on. No thought of the trees around us, the birds. our dog Thurber down at our side. I am not even sure I let Wiley hold the leash as I let Lily. So that's the bittersweet part. Wiley is 34. And I was nowhere to be found that day back 32 years ago. Youth I suppose and wine at dinner--lots and lots of wine at dinner--Alcohol had not really turned on me then but it did numb me. The overall effect of never really feeling my feelings. If I got nervous or anxious I talked to myself in my mind. Stop feeling nervous I would say. And then try to talk myself out of being nervous or anxious or feeling punk. But I am sober today. 3 years and a half years sober. And I feel my feelings. And one of the greatest gifts in the world. Today I am present. So when Lily and I walked last night and she held my hand and with the other hand she held Scout's leash, she stopped and bent down, letting go of my hand...she knew not to drop Scout's leash. She is very proud of her dog walking skills--Lily spotted a stone and she picked it up and handed it to me. And said it was for me. That stone touched me more than if it had been the Hope Diamond. And it now resides in two places. And only one of those places is in my purse.