Take this morning in fact, Andie was coming out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around herself and slipped on some plastic flip flops and there, there in the small tiled floor of the bathroom was a little bug—not terribly big, but still an intruder. Without a second thought, Andie took a fast step and squashed it. She picked it up with a piece of tissue and inspected that it was dead. She flushed it down the toilet. Suddenly she felt very bad. She thought of her dad, who believed in nothing and had said death was just the end. Total darkness, nothing more— over. He had died about two months ago after a long illness that became fatal in the last 2 or so weeks. Sad, very sad. She and her sister and mother had witnessed him taking his last breath and that was it, it was over.    

Andie thought of her sister’s ex-husband, a total cad in every which way defined. His only redeeming trait was that he believed in “reverence for life.” He believed that bugs were incarnates of dead people and this was among the stages they would go through in the afterlife. Reincarnation in fact. From death to bug, to fish to mammal and so forth. The many stages to finally incarnate into a person again and then fulfill that mission. He never would kill a bug because he didn’t want to interrupt that stage of incarnation. So, he’d shoo a bug out of the room, direct it to a window or door to let it go on with its day—or night.    

Andie suddenly felt annoyed at being mad at herself for killing a bug. Maybe that wasn’t a redeeming trait. After all, other animals got killed, sometimes by other animals and they didn’t think of “reverence for life”…Indeed they thought of food for dinner. A few years ago, Andie had traveled with her then boyfriend and his big, happy family (brother and sister, step-mother and father, step brothers and their children) to South Africa and they had gone on safari. There was a poignant moment during that trip, but before that Andie had felt terror sitting in the jeep with the family as quiet as can be surrounded by a pride of lions. She was convinced someone would cough or sneeze and the lions would attack, but mostly what the lions did though, was sleep and stretch. And no one made a sound. But the poignant part was driving in the jeep at sunset and the guide suddenly stopping the car to say, “Look up at that tree.”  Everyone looked up and there pinioned to a branch was a springbok—dead as can be and his hind quarters exposed and partly eaten. “I feel like I’ve witnessed a murder,” Andie said to Elliot, her boyfriend, now husband of two years. “Yeah,” Elliot said, “It’s not pretty.” He shrugged and reached for his phone and started snapping pictures.    

That night back in their room in the lodge, the image of the springbok danced around Andie’s head as she tried to sleep: did it deserve to die? And what about the cheetah that had killed him or her? Did the cheetah face punishment? The guide had said the cheetah was probably at the river getting a drink after eating part of the springbok. The guide had pointed out a hyena stationed under the tree ready for any part of the springbok that would fall, for the hyena’s hopeful coming dinner. Andie had fallen asleep finally and had dreamed of a dog she had had when she was in her twenties. Tommy was an amazing dog. When she was in art school, a big brownstone downtown in New York, she used to bring Tommy to parties or to her studio. When there would be a party, she would take Tommy off his leash and he would leave her and go visit with everyone. Andie would be dancing or having a drink and she’d catch a glimpse of Tommy. At the end of the evening, she would call out: “Tommy, Tommy!” and he would come running to her, she’d snap on his lead and they’d go home. Everyone who met Tommy was touched by him. He was so gentle that if he thought you would hurt him, he’d lick your hand. In the dream, he was speaking to her. When she woke the next morning, she couldn’t remember what he said, but she did feel good.    

This morning, after killing the bug, feeling bad and then what she thought was coming to her senses, Andie had thought of her father. For a moment she thought that maybe her father was the bug— coming to Elliot and her home to make some sort of peace. There really was no need for peace, Andie had said everything she had thought to say a day or so before he died.  She and Elliot knew the end was near—her father was so thin and couldn’t walk—or practically move any part of his body.  Elliot had said, leave no things you need to talk to him about unsaid. Say it all now.    

But what about the fact that her father believed in nothing? No afterlife, no reincarnation, no heaven or hell. No God. Just dead emptiness. Could he be right? So, what was the purpose of life then? Just the here and now? Each moment. If there’s nothing, what about right and wrong?    

Does nothing get punished, nothing get rewarded?    

Andie’s head hurt. A couple of days ago she had a dream with her father in it. He was standing in a sort of courtroom with her mother, sister and her and had said, in a jovial manner, “Pardon me, while I take my leave now.” And then he was gone. Andie told her mother this dream and her mother sighed and said, “That’s exactly like him to talk that way—that’s just the way he would’ve said it.”    

Andie thought, even though her mother believed dreams were all in your head, just you making up stories, she thought that her dad had visited her. He was so real and what would be the word?    

Essence—yes, his essence was palpable. Couldn’t essence be considered spirit? So, didn’t his spirit live on?    

As a child, her father used to say outlandish things to her. They’d all be in the car driving past a farm and her father would say, “The children on that farm haven’t eaten in a month. Their parents are selling all the food to supermarkets and leaving nothing for the kids.”     

“Really?” Andie would say.     

He father would pause and then say, “No.”    

And then there was the time Andie was longing for a dog. Her father brought home a rabbit.    

Assembled the rabbit’s cage and put him in it. Everyone in the family fed the rabbit. Andie would give it breakfast and then leave for school, her mother would feel sorry for the bunny and feed it while she and her sister were at school. Her sister would feed it after school. Her mother would feel sorry for the bunny in the cage again and feed it some more. Her father would give it an apple or two in the evenings. The rabbit grew enormous with his more than eight meals or more a day. Andie had named the rabbit Fiver (from “Watership Down”—a book she had never read but since her childhood best friend had, that became the rabbit’s name.) The rabbit grew enormous. He could hardly turn around in his cage. Her father called the rabbit, “Dog.” Her father came home from work one day to find Andie sitting on the porch looking at the rabbit.    

“Well,” her father said, “Now you have a dog.”    

A couple of years later, her father did get Andie a dog. A beautiful chocolate brown cocker spaniel. Andie named the dog Chocolate Mud Pie (her favorite dessert). She nicknamed him “Pie.” Her mother, who had been afraid of dogs, was wary of Pie, and she never got over it, in fact, the whole family grew to hate Pie and they called him, “Mud.” He was never housetrained and after a walk he would run upstairs to her parent’s bedroom and lift his leg against the side of their bed. He would growl at Andie’s dad and follow him nipping at his heels. Her mother finally had had enough and gave him away to another family. Maybe Pie was angry at Andie’s family because when her father had gone to get him from the breeder, he had had a best friend, another cocker spaniel and they were inseparable. Probably the breeder should have sold them together.    

Maybe Pie never got over that and so his name was “Mud.” The family that took him, reported after several months that Pie was very happy.    

Andie’s mother loved Tommy though—as everyone did who had a chance to know him. Her father used to say that Tommy was a kind, gentle, little man inside that dog-suit.    

Several years later, after Tommy had died (he lived to be 15), Andie got another dog, Zeek. If Pie’s name was “Mud,” Zeek was a “Zilch.” Andie had adopted him from the ASPCA, the same place where she got Tommy. The difference being that Zeek was never sweet or kind. He often growled at Andie for no apparent reason and would try to bite her if she tried to pick him up (he was a small Shih Tzu) and if his collar came off—he would snap at her when she tried to get it back on. She cared about Zeek though, but then after seven years together, he went senile— which only made things worse. He would bark constantly and if Andie left him alone, the neighbors in her apartment house would complain to her that he was barking and throwing himself against the door the entire time she was gone. Andie had to work, so she needed to be able to leave her apartment – actually, she needed to be able to leave anyway. Zeek started biting her for no reason. That’s when her father stepped in. He said, “You’ve got to do something about that dog. Give him back to the shelter.”    

After much heartache, Andie did bring him back to the ASPCA. It really was heartbreaking for Andie, even though she knew it was the only choice. As she was walking home from the   ASPCA, she called her dad. “Dad,” she said, “I gave him back.”    

“Andie,” he said, “You did the right thing. Now get yourself a candy bar. Anything you like. A delicious piece of candy. You deserve it.”    

Fast forward several years later, Andie was just turning 41 and she was still single. Andie had had many boyfriends along the way, but no one who had stuck . Now she had been trying dating sites with no luck. That is, she would meet a person and it would be okay (or really not) but no one who was “the one.” She was losing hope. She said to her dad, “Dad I think I’m going to give up on J Date.”    

Her father looked hard at her and said, “Just stay on J Date and find your soulmate already!” Andie continued on and about three weeks later, she met Elliot. It was apparent from the start that Elliot was different. They just “got” each other and it was evident almost right away that they were soulmates. They moved in together after a year of dating and after living together for five years, they decided to get married. It was a wonderful time.    

They started planning a wedding. But then Andie’s father stepped in again, once again. Andie’s father, now retired, had been a surgeon and he had been speaking to an old colleague, an epidemiologist and had heard about the coming Pandemic.     

“COVID 19 is going to be serious,” he told Andie. “You’ve got to get married now or have to wait—it could be a year or two…”    

Elliot and Andie decided to get married a few months later. They had cancelled their in-person wedding, COVID was raging, but they decided they would get married on Zoom.    

Andie’s parents lived in New Jersey and they were afraid of visitors and travelling during the Pandemic—and that included having Andie and Elliot in their house. So, it was decided that Andie and Elliot would get married in New York City (where they lived) and have the event at Elliot’s father and step-mother’s apartment.    

There were about 120 friends and family who Zoomed in. Even the Rabbi was remote, but it was still a moving event and Andie’s parents had Zoomed in and watched the whole thing. Elliot’s mother had also watched. She was, like Andie’s father, also ill and unfortunately died several months after the wedding. So very sad. And, Elliot knew what he was talking about when he said to say it all before your dad goes. He had said everything to his mother before she passed. Andie was grateful that she had spoken to her father. She had thanked him for encouraging her to stay on J Date. After all, if it wasn’t for her dad, who knows if she would have ever met Elliot?    

Elliot and Andie had had an in-person party just three months before her dad had died. They both felt that since they were older than most newlyweds, they should have a party, since their Zoom wedding was just a ceremony.    

Andie’s father couldn’t attend. He was too sick. He called Andie a couple of weeks before and said, “I have to talk to you seriously.”    

He basically told her he couldn’t come. Andie’s mother stayed home with him.    

The party was bittersweet without Andie’s parents and Elliot’s mother, but all in all they had a great time.  It was truly a joyous event.    

And now, this afternoon, Andie and Elliot were on their honeymoon. They traveled to Italy: Rome, now Capri. Another joyous event. They were dining outside in Capri when a bee started circling their table. It was a breathtaking view where they were seated. A scene of a cliff with beautiful houses and other buildings and of course, the stunning Mediterranean sea below, the idyllic blue sky above with fluffy white clouds. The bee was persistent and kept coming close to them and then flying away. But coming so close… Andie wondered: could this be my dad? Did my dad take the form of a bee? Is he checking up on Elliot and me?    

This afternoon, Andie remembered something her dad had said to her a few weeks before he died,  “Gee, Andie,” he had said, “If there really is a God, it’ll be a real kick in the pants.”  Andie looked at Elliot, looked up at the sky: Did you get kicked, dad?    

Ellen Rosenbloom was born on an air force base in Clovis, New Mexico. She has a BS from Skidmore College in Fine Art and an MFA from the New School in Creative Writing. Her stories and poems have been published by many journals and websites. She has self-published a novel and novella. She was a writer in residence at Makor, part of the 92nd Street Y. Working as a Copywriter by day, she lives with her favorite person, her husband, Adam in NYC.