Reflections on a Penny

There it was...lying among the gravel on the lake road. The penny. While taking Max for his morning walk, I spotted it, dirty and scratched. For most people, even kids, stooping down to pick up a penny seems utterly ridiculous. After all, what does one cent buy nowdays anyway? But for me, it has a whole new meaning. A penny found brings me an instant reflection of my Dad. I truly don't know when this habit started, nor why it began. It just has been a part of my make-up through the years. Don't get me wrong. Dad wasn't an over-bearing miser, and he never did preach to me to become a penny-pincher. Somehow there is an association with Dad and a penny for me. As I turn the penny over and over in my hands, memories of Dad pop up--things he did, stuff he said, the way he looked. And I know that all is right with my world. Dad has been dead for thirty-nine years, the same number of years as I have been married to Larry. Dad died six weeks before my marriage, so we sort of share the same anniversary. A penny popping up on the sidewalk, the driveway, the road means he's with me for a moment. I look at it as a superstition of sorts, I guess, but a found penny conjures happy thoughts. Six years ago (almost to this very day) my brother Ron passed away. I remember Katie and me took a walk outside while waiting for them to remove his body, and you know what? I found a penny and instantly knew Dad was taking Ronnie under his wings and I need not worry about him. Everything was going to be all right.
A month ago when Larry and I crossed the hospital parking lot for his extensive surgery that morning, I deliberately searched for a penny, but found none. All I could think of was that not finding a penny was a bad omen. As I sat in the waiting room, though, I realized that not finding it still made me think of Dad...and Ronnie...and Mom, so it was still OK. The effect was the same. Happy thoughts.