Free See What I See by Gloria Whelan

window. I don’t think this is what Thomas meant, but I’m beginning to see countryside sneaking into the city. There are empty lots where houses have been torn down, and Queen Anne’s lace, knapweed, wild asters, and goldenrod are blooming in the lots. The country is taking over the city.
    When I ask about the empty lots, Thomas says, “Urban prairie. Houses were abandoned and then used as drug houses. Eventually they burned down or were torn down by the city as a nuisance.”
    A few miles away is a large medical complex. Thomas shows me the medical school, and I’m happy that he wants to share his world. Then we head east and cross a bridge over the Detroit River. BELLE ISLE , the sign says. Beautiful Island. The island, a couple of miles long, is a kind of wilderness inhabited mainly by Canada geese with their long black necks and white chin straps. Flocks and flocks of them are on the grass and swimming in the river and in the canals that wind through the island. Some of them might be the same geese that fly over our trailer up north and nest in a nearby lake. I envy them their freedom to go where they want to.
    â€œBelle Isle is crowded with people in the summertime,” Thomas says. “On hot nights families come here and camp out to get a little cool air from the river.” From the island you can see an impressive outline of Detroit’s downtown, the tall buildings resting against blue sky. In the distance is the bridge from Detroit to Windsor in Canada. In minutes you can be in another country, and I wonder how that would feel.
    On this October afternoon we seem to be alone on the island. It’s a ghost park. Scattered through the woods are the black skeletons of dead trees. Along the canals the tangled boughs of ancient willows blow in the breeze. There are empty picnic tables and a deserted playground, the orphaned swings moving in the wind. I resolve to come back here and do some sketches for a painting.
    â€œThis is where I do my thinking,” Thomas says.
    â€œWhat do you think about?”
    He’s quiet and I’m afraid I’m being nosy, but after a minute he takes a long breath like he’s getting ready to plunge into the deep end of a pool. “My father wants me to marry a girl who recently came over from Lebanon. She got in with a student visa. She’s a trained scientist and is doing graduate work. If I marry her, she’ll be a U.S. citizen. That will help her to bring over her brothers and sisters. Like our family, they’re refugees from Iraq and living in Lebanon. Mary’s a very nice girl, and Dad’s not pushing it, but I can feel the pressure.”
    â€œIt sounds like we’re both getting pressured to do the right thing, even when we don’t want to.”
    â€œIt’s different for you. Your life will only be on hold for a short time with your father. If I get married, that’s a lifetime.”
    We circle the island and then turn toward home. I’m thinking of what’s ahead for Dad, and I say, “Doctors must have to get used to the idea of a patient’s death. How do you do it?”
    â€œIt’s not easy. The longer you’ve treated a patient and the better you know the patient, the harder it is. And sometimes it doesn’t take that long to form a bond; a patient will just grab you. When I was on duty in the oncology clinic I had a boy with a brain tumor and very little chance of making it. He was the same age as my brother. He was a baseball freak and we’d talk about the Tigers every day and argue about the batting lineup. If I had some extra time, I’d watch the game with him on the TV he had in his room, and I bought him a Tigers cap to wear over his bandages. I haven’t been able to watch a game since he died.
    â€œI’m not going to tell you it will be easy with your dad, Kate. The longer you stay here, the more you do for him, the more you’ll be invested in