I Hear You

Create according to one's imagination. The perfect ratio is designed to blossom an eternal species of intellect and harmony. At least, it was the intent. Many believed that they were born for a purpose to alter destiny. Although the valid reason that few understood is that there was no specific reason, humans created those theories. The human race has been blessed with a gift. A world is given to each of them equally to love, blossom, and multiply without borders. There will always be flourishing fruition. Race, beliefs, and culture all have a spiritual connection in one way or another. One's mind sometimes forgets and needs a little vision to truly understand they will always matter and never be forgotten. Allow me to tell the story of a man who adored the Lord and his family until tragedy led his heart and mind into a spiral of grief.

His name is George Ballenger. A twenty-four-year-old male with blond hair and crystalline blue eyes. A masculine creation in the sight of many. He is blessed and has developed a sound vision of his world. George followed in his father's footsteps and became a well-known oil consultant in Texas. That's when he met his future wife, a pretty Spanish girl named Rosa. She had a beefy side, but that didn't matter to George. Unremarkable personality with silky waist, long wavy black hair, and olive skin, but it was Rosa's smile that blew him away at first sight. It took a while to develop a level of open communication; Rosa had strict boundaries, particularly with clients. After a year, it became evident that George wanted a closer connection; his spirit danced with the hope of a future with her. However, Rosa had an excellent way of putting the mildest flirtatious compliment of a client right in the grave, and this scared George.

One month later, the perfect moment came, although neither of them suspected it. It was a late evening, and tornado warnings were initiated. George sent everyone home. Rose stayed back a few minutes until George finished the last phone conversation. From there, they both headed out. However, Rose's restored 1955 black ford trembled and trembled before extinguishing. George backed up his white 1988 BMW rolled down the window, insisting she ride with him. She hesitated for a few seconds until the almighty avalanche of hailstones fell from the sky! Rose trembled with the temperature change, it was getting tough, and George had to take the closest road, I 20. Then, in a few moments roaring and cracking, debris fly over the highway! A monster is coming in the opposite direction, a twisted vision of hell, pointing straight at them. George looked into his rear-view mirror as Rosa's cry sounded like a faint echo! He threw on the brakes, unable to turn around. They were trapped as many others as another oncoming tornado behind them blocked any hope of escaping. George immediately took hold of Rose into a downward position laying as much of his body as possible upon her, whispering, "It's okay." The smell of natural gas from destroyed homes, came swiftly as the noise was that of the world splitting apart. His car shook violently while it began to pull forward within the terrifying thrashing of debris cracking his windows! However odd it seems, he heard every word Rose prayed. As fast as these tornado's appeared, this doomsday nightmare changed direction within seconds. This was the beginning of their relationship.

During the 25 years that followed, George and Rose became inseparable. They purchased a farm, a lovely two-story house with 30 acres. Both took early retirement. Rose, couldn't bear children, but she was in love with Owls. Nick-knacks, crockery, and statues spread all over their Hispanic-style house. On the wet morning of Rose's 32nd birthday, George drove fifty miles to another farmer, purchasing a dozen young owls from the stables. On the return journey, the rainbows illuminated the sky. He knew that day would be dramatic. As he entered their circular driveway, he parked at the entrance. He doubled his fist with a light tap, honking again and again. Rose opens the doorway on the porch. His eyes glittered, and that sexy smile made him smile. She expected flowers and plane tickets for a luxurious getaway, as he always did. Actually, Rose packed her suitcase while he mentioned he had to pick up a few things that morning. George wanted to laugh while rolling down the window, and she noticed a different expression eliminated, at which time she squinted her eyes and wondered, "What are you getting up to?" With a grin and raise of his brow, he pointed his finger at her and said. "Are you in the mood for amusement?" Rose didn't know what to think; she actually couldn't say a single word. George's smile did not fade, proceeding toward the tailgate of his truck.

"Happy birthday, babe!"

Unlocking the tailgate, Rose briskly joined his side, staring in disbelief! Many tears and a long whipped cuddly cub with several kisses followed this event. If rainbows could sing, this would be the moment.

A few years passed, and Rose named each of her barn owls the first day she received them. Her favorite was Jerry. His plumage has soft colors. Lots of white on the breast with beautiful dapples of light tan and gold on his back, and those big brown eyes always brought a warmth within Rose. Many of those humid evenings were spent on the porch. Watching the night sky as her owls fly above. George had built a few nests among the cornfields and in the stable. One memorable night, Jerry lands on the porch's railing. His cute sounds attract Rose's attention. George laughed as Rose approached Jerry, gathering him in her arms, caressing and whispering. George inquired. "What are you going to do about all these owls, Rose? They keep breeding, and we have another 13 chicks in the barn."

“I had a word with Father Marcus yesterday. He said if you could put 'em in a cage and bring 'em to the church fair on Sunday. I was hoping for a pure white owl."

"If you said so, I'd buy you one."

"No, it needs to be a natural gift."

"What are you talking about, natural?"

George, white owls are rare, a sensation of surprise, of spirituality. Upon seeing a white owl, the spirits have heard you. Whatever you're focusing on, it doesn't matter. It is said that you will receive signs that will help you connect spiritually with numerous open doors to enter and work beyond the present moment."

"Am I not sufficient?" George raised his brow, smiling with amazement. They both gazed into each other’s eyes, together laughing. He loved her crazy theories.

All these laughs ceased two years later. Rose was ill, had a cancer diagnosis, and had a few months to live. Dying in the hospital was off the table. George provided her with the best care. Two days before her birthday, Rose could no longer speak. The Doctor and nurse remained in the Foyer below while George lay down next to his wife, cuddling long after her last breath.

George tried to keep things in order in the years that followed, but he soon felt this terrible loss worsening, gradually tearing this man apart. He was nevertheless blessed with many dreams. However, that seemed to cause further confusion. That once stunning Spanish-style home and barn weathered, along with the cornfields. All of Rose's owls have disappeared, except for Jerry. Jerry kept his distance from all those nights George spent on the porch like he was watching George's hellish nightmare. Finally, one evening George had enough, throwing his now empty beer bottle towards Jerry. However, Jerry didn't budge. George retreated upstairs into the master bedroom. There he browsed through Rose’s jewelry. Her birthday was coming up, and it landed on a Sunday. “What shall I buy her this Year?” She was dedicated to her church, then he remembered a leaflet in the mail. The local church had a fairground, and they had lovely rosaries.

That following Sunday was a difficult morning, although he managed to find a decent set of clothes along with a Brown leather jacket Rose bought for him on their first wedding anniversary. It would only be a short stop, and then he will visit her grave. George pulled up into the gravel parking lot. Many vehicles were already there. He watched others set up displays, waiting for the morning service to end. It's been a long time, and he wasn’t about to attend the service. To him, this would have been the straw that broke the camel's back. He could not let others see him cry as he threw himself down, hoping for his last breath. Although a few tears slipped while he waited, protected by dark tent windows. He escaped for a moment, awakened by several voices. Finally, the crowds gathered around the numerous awnings of bright colors and tables with folding chairs for those who chatted stories. Refreshments were also served, children's voices were eliminated with enthusiasm. It was tough, but he managed to insert himself into the event. There was a table that captured his attention with a beautiful golden rosary. The atmosphere was becoming pleasant, the smell clean and fresh. Then a rapid familiar scent attracted his attention. “Cinnamon buns!” Rose always brought one home, just for him. George took a slight turn in the right direction as Father Welsh approached. "Is your name George Ballenger?”

"Yes, how do you know who I am?"

"I'm Father Welsh. I've been asked to provide you with this. There was a young woman who came to me. She said you'd wear a brown leather jacket and dark boots. You are George Ballenger, yes?"

“Yes, I am.”

The men shook hands, then Father Welsh handed him a small brown box pierced by several small holes on the sides. George peeked inside the box, and there were two magnificent snow-white baby owls. This lump in George's throat forced a deep breath, a silent fight to remain calm. “Who was this lady?”

“I have to apologize for this. I don't remember the young lady's name. That's never happened before. I can tell you, though. She wore a smile that you will never forget."