Do The Math

Haley needed help with her homework. It was just numbers. Black and white formulas on lined paper. Her small hands writing with a large pencil. Remind me to create smaller pencils for smaller hands. Her faced lined in concentration as she carefully drew the rounded numbers.
She is brilliant. Her brown eyes take in everything. She’s not my daughter, but sometimes I wish she was. Her room was a mess and we made a game of cleaning it up. I forgot what it was like to be in a place where it is possible to feel like you’re in a different world. A child’s world-a world of butterflies, fairies, puppies, and happy adventures.
Every day is a new experience, a new feeling, a brand new day. Her backpack sat in the corner, already covered by discarded clothes.
She needs me to help her with her homework, but I need her to help me forget that I don’t have any children and yet remember the sweet joy of youth all at the same time.
Her dad looks on us from time to time, offering a knowing, happy smile. He hasn’t been the same since he got divorced last year. It’s as if a part of him died with his marriage.
When I’m done with Haley, I listen to him talk while he makes me hot chocolate. He tells me about work, life, and always asks my advice. I don’t want to tell him the truth, but I do anyway. I want to assure him that everything is going to be all right, but I can’t because I don’t know that to be true even for myself. Instead, I offer him words of comfort, words of encouragement. He doesn’t have much confidence these days, and it shows on his face and in his voice when he talks to me. But that is another story for another time. If only I could help him remember how amazing he really is ...
I promise him the next time I come over, I’ll cook dinner for him and Haley. They don’t get to see many home cooked meals anymore, since he can’t (or rather shouldn’t) cook. Cooking them dinner always seems to make them just a little bit happier somehow. Haley’s always asking for more ...
Then the night is over, and I make my way home, grateful for the experience, and wondering what it all means. Is it merely just another good deed, something that happens in my head? Or does it mean I’m not crazy? Of course I’m not crazy. I’m just out there, waiting for my life to begin ... and hoping to help a few people along the way. I can’t help but wonder when my time will come. What is wrong with wanting a family of my own and hoping to get that chance to make it happen? That doesn’t make me crazy ... it just makes me human.
Life is more than black and white numbers on paper or smiles or bunny rabbits, it’s the experience of getting to make a difference in someone’s life. And if you do the math, a life filled with love is a life better than just white empty paper.