I inhale a deep breath of fresh air as I roll down my window.  I have a deep sense of foreboding as I pass through twilight and into the darkness.  As I head west out of town on a cool fall night, all I see is the orange halo of light as the world turns just enough that the volume of its size consumes the last bit of light.  As the light fades I feel the heaviness of life press deeper on my heart.  I slow down and as the breeze blows through my window I try to settle my soul to the beat of the street lights as they pass by.  For me they are the last beacon of hope, for as I pass the last one I can’t help but feel that my life as I know it is over.

As I slow down to turn north onto Blackbend Road, I can’t help but hear the crickets rubbing their wings together.  As I speed up their song begins to increase and decrease in volume as they have congregated and so louder and softer they play.  Once again I adjust my speed.  Once again I match the beat of my heart to the drum beat of nature.  Wondering what cadence I might find my happiness in, a tempo that for no apparent reason,  just is, it just fits.  I near the bend near old man tuckers pond.  The symphony of crickets abates as the thunderous base of the bullfrogs begin to tickle my ear drums.  I slow down and turn into the small clearing where it all began.  I shut my old pickup truck down and try to calm my soul to Kermit’s 5th concerto and the slow tick as my old motor begins to cool down.

As my interruption slowly fades away, the crickets pick up their song and as happens most of the time in nature, find their place in the song of the frogs.  As the frogs sing the base notes the crickets answer with the sweetness of tenor.  In doing so they create a rhythm, a pattern, a cadence for me to breath out with the frogs and in with the crickets.  I settle into the simpleness of darkness.  There is nothing to pull my senses to and fro.  Nothing to amplify my anger, or heighten my sadness, just the rhythms of nature to sooth my soul and ground my thoughts to what is or what ought to be.

What kind of masterpiece would this song be though, if the master did not increase to the tempo and lower the tone.  I sense more than hear as the song changes.  I can’t help but know what comes next.  For tragedy is as much of the song as the love story that created it, and with that thought I come back to reality and begin to contemplate the reason that I am here.  It seems that my love story is over.  We did not drink our poison to die together in our love, we simply flung our poison at each other and our love just simply died.  With that thought I feel my gut clench as the sadness overwhelms me.  I squeeze my eyes shut and try to hold in the waves of emotion as they ebb and flow with the song that is playing out my window.  The conductor brings his song to a climax as one tear finally escapes and I breath deeply to catch my breath.  It catches on the way out and as if the audience was calling for an encore.  I double over once more and can’t hold on any longer.  My sadness flow out of me.  I taste the saltiness of my hopes and dreams as they wash down my face and over my lips.  I let the song play out and as the last note is played I find myself enveloped in the coldness of silence.

I came to this spot for a reason.  Just in front of me is the grassy bank of Tucker’s pond.  In the darkness I imagine the soft green carpet bordered by pillars of cat tails whisking back and forth  in the slight breeze that comes from the south on warm summer days.  I see the two of us sitting on a quilt with our shoes off, laughing at nothing in particular.  Finding our joy not in our surroundings or any particular fragrance, or conversation, but finding our joy just being in the presence of each other.  Our cadence of love was set by the small ripples in the water, as they ran aground gravity pulled them back to seek level and they would make a small whoosh.  Our hearts beat in time with them as we came together in harmony of mind, spirit, and body.  As the sun descended on its arch across to the sea, I found my home.  I found the cure to my sickness of loneliness, and I was happy.

The movie in my head slowly fades and I am left with the darkness that surrounds me.  As the first sliver of the moon begins to rise over the horizon, I am compelled to ask myself what has changed in the last 10 years.  The moon inches higher as I contemplate and I am struck with the immensity of its features in the darkness.  It is the darkness that is allowing me to see the beauty of its light.  I am overcome with an eagerness to try to think about us in our darkness with hopes that I see us in a new light.  After careful contemplation, the full moon crests the horizon and is mirrored in those same ripples of a long time ago.  It’s time to go home.

As I shut my pickup off I hear the familiar tick, tick, tick.  I rest my soul for a second as I contemplate what I want to tell her.  In her quiet anger she has left the porch light on.  It is beckoning me to its light.  From inside my truck I can hear the buzz of the electricity, and feel the tension in my muscles increase as I am nervous to bear my soul.  I quietly open the door and inch my way to the ground.  From here the light looks a thousand miles away, but this is something that I have to do.  I take my first step and just keep going.  I fumble the keys out of my pocket and slowly try to get the right key in the right orientation and get the door unlocked.  I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness as I crack the door and set my foot down on the worn wood floor that has carried us for the last ten years.  I push the sadness away, because I want this space to be filled with the love that it once stood for as I carried her across this same threshold.  I want her to want me as much as I want her.  I push forward and slowly, so as not to make much noise, close the door behind me.

I stand for a moment and look around the living room.  I try to find courage in the moments in our life together.  I see the pictures on the wall.  The couch that we would sit together and watch movies.  I smile a little as I remember that there was always a little more snuggling and a lot less watching movies that always went on.  I remember the long passionate kisses in front of the kitchen sink.  She always loves when I do the dishes.  I think about the spunk that she would give me when I gave her a hard time.  I remember love, a lot of it.  I turn towards the hallway and take another step towards my life.

I turn the last corner and come face to face with our door.  I stop as if to admire the craftsmanship of eighty years ago.  I see the ornate glass handle and the skeleton key hole.  I look at craftsmanship of the six panels and the detail of the trim that they are set in.  I freeze in the moment.  What if she doesn’t want me back?  I start to breathe heavy, sweat begins to build on my forehead, and my knee’s begin to shake a little.  I reach for the handle and in doing so the door begins to rattle as I shake with the fear that not all is right in the world.  I try to settle my self, but am hit with a bolt of lightning as I hear a soft call of, “Jack, is that you?”

I can’t hold it in any longer so I slowly push the door open and take the next step to the rest of my life.  I turn the lamp on and immediately see that she has been crying.  It breaks my heart and I melt to my knees next to her as she lies on the bed.  I gently take her hand in mine as gently look into her eyes.  I look past the almost translucent blue into her soul and see the everything that made me love her in the first place.  For the first time in a while I don’t see the very small part of her that drives me nuts.  I see the thousands of things that she is that were the reasons I fell in love with her in the first place.  I said, “I need to tell you something.”

“I went to Old Tucker’s pond tonight.  I went there with really bad thoughts.”

My eyes started to mist up as I thought about doing the alternative to what I was doing now.  I had to catch my breath as I almost gaged at the thought of how close I was to losing her.  I gently went on.

“As I sat in the darkness, I wondered what had changed in the last ten years.  I wondered why  we so easily fell out of love.”

I choked up as I said the words, and took a deep halting breath as I tried to steel myself to go on.

“There is no doubt that we have both changed in ways, but a whole lot of you that I fell in love with has stayed the same.  The only thing that I can figure out that has changed a lot is our expectations.  We both have expectations of each other, but the ones I’m talking about are the ones that change us.  For some reason I forgot that what I loved about you the most in the beginning is what I let drive me the craziest now.  Somehow I started thinking that you were going to change those things.  I forgot that I loved you because of your big heart.  So when you used the last of the milk for the neighbors kittens I was furious.  Or I forgot that I loved you because you were always willing to stand up for yourself. but when you stood up to me, I no longer loved you for it.”

I choked up on the last sentence and had to catch my breath.  I slowly reached up to wipe away the long tears that were traveling down to her chin.  I brushed he lips in hopes that at some point I would be able to gently kiss her again.  I took a deep breath.

“I don’t know a lot of things, but one thing that I had to realize tonight is that I still love you.  I had to remember all of the little things, the not so great things, and the big things.  I had to remember them all, because they are all of you.  I had to remember that I fell in love with all of you, not just bit and pieces.  I had to remember that spunky girl sitting in the grass smiling at me.  I had to cut out all of my expectations of who I thought you should be, and remember the person that I fell in love with was you.”

At this point we both have tears running.  I pull her close and wrap my arms around her.  I can feel her heart beating, and as the crickets start to sing  again through the open window our hearts pick up their rhythm.  I hug her tightly for a moment and then slowly pull her back so that I can look into the blue.

“what I am trying to tell you is that no matter how much we change, the girl that I fell in love with is still inside of you, and no matter what happens,  you are enough.”

As the frogs from our pond joined in for the finale, I gently pulled her close and kissed her with all of the love and tenderness that I have.

One day I was wondering around the hardware store looking for some way to fix the ceiling at my house.  It was a crazy thing that happened.  Missy was sweeping the floor when the dog saw a mouse.  Buttercups, the toy poodle had finally found something that she was bigger than and went after it with a passion.  Wouldn’t you know it Buttercup runs right under Missy’s feet.  Missy stumbles and as she is going down, the broom goes up, putting a nice hole right through the sheet-rock.  So as I get the dog under control and help my wife up I feel what appears to be snowflakes on the back of my neck as the insulation slowly falls to the ground.  Everyone is ok.  I help clean up the mess, but in the mean time I feel a nice steady twenty-eight degree breeze flowing down from above.  At this rate our very inadequate and quite old furnace will surely breathe its last breath.  I grab an old blanket and stuff in the hole and tell my wife that I need to head to the hardware store to see if I can find something a little more permanent.  I can see the tear in her eye as I close the door behind me.  She feels responsible, and she knows that it’s along time to a payday that usually doesn’t have enough in it already.

So here I am wondering down isles in a hardware store, looking at things that I don’t have money for, to fix a problem that wasn’t anyone’s fault, and hoping that life is just about done messing with me.  I’m standing in front of a stack of boxes marked joint compound with one hand in my pocket counting dollar bills and change, lost in thoughts of warm weather and a life with no problems, when I feel a slight tap on my shoulder.  It is an older gentleman with a nice red apron on with “do your best work” printed on it.  He was dressed fairly well for a hardware guy, but he seemed like a pretty down to earth fellow.

He said, “Hello there young man, Can I help you find something?”

I don’t know how to tell him that I really need to rob the store of some nice drywall supplies to fix a hole in my ceiling that a little mouse caused when my tiny dog got fired up and knocked my wife over, who then proceeded to jam the old broom through an even older ceiling, all so that it could snow inside instead of outside.  So I just said, “I need to patch a hole.”

The older gentleman smiled and said, “I think we can help you with that.”  He then proceeded in filling a cart with things that I would surely need to fix a nice hole in my ceiling.  I follow him around like a young puppy.  I must be a hound dog because I can’t help but imagine what my face looks like as I’m adding up all these dollars in my head.  My cheeks have to be about to touch the ground and I’m sure I got those sad droopy eyes going on.  All the while I’m rubbing that couple of dollars and change in my pocket.

He finally put a small can of ceiling paint in the cart and says, “That should about do it.  What do you think?”

All I can hear is the two nickels in my pocket rubbing together.  We stand in silence for what seems to be forever.  It like he staring me down, maybe its some salesman mind trick.  I don’t know, but its working.  I’m pretty sure I am getting visibly worked up, and I’m sure at any moment he is going to do the gentlemanly thing and politely escort me out of the store and  probably tell me in a very nice way to not come back and waste his time ever again.  I’m just about to take my first step to beat him to it and escort myself out when I notice that he’s reaching in his pocket.  Sometimes I’m pretty slow and instead up using the opportunity to beat feet, I just stand there and watch him.  He seems to be in no hurry, so I just keep staring.  He brings out his wallet.  It nothing fancy, just a nice old worn down tri-fold.  He digs around in that special pocket all of us men tend to keep.  You know the one where we keep our secret stash.  Okay, where some men keep theirs, I seem to keep some nice lint from my back pocket. Anyway, he reaches in and pulls out a crisp one-hundred dollar bill.  He now has my full attention.  Maybe I should tell him the story about the mouse, the tiny dog, my wife, the snow, really give him a good one.

He carefully straighten out the bill and in a soft voice said, “do you know what this is?”

Standing at attention and in my most respectful voice I said, “yes sir, that is a one-hundred dollar bill.”

“OK,” he said, “what is its value?”

I’m a little annoyed at the question, but I play along. “It’s worth a hundred dollars.”

He smiles a little and says, “let me ask you the question in a different way.  How long would it take you to save one hundred dollars?”

“Mmmm, I’m not for sure.”  I scratch my whiskers a bit while rubbing my two cents against my nickles and finally say “I’m guessing about four months, give or take, depending on how much the heater runs.”

“Okay”, he says, “the value is not one hundred dollars,  Its four months of you life.”

I keep scratching and rubbing, trying to grasp what he is trying to tell me.   He hands me the bill and says, “here hold it and feel it.  What is it?”

I hold it.  I’m not sure where he is going, but it feels like gold to me.  He says, “What you are holding is just numbers on paper.  It is a thing, an object.  Now I need you to listen really close here.  Things have no value.  Value is what is added when we as people do something to help someone else.   The value is not in the hundred dollars.  The value is in what I can do to impact someones life.  I can spend a hundred dollars on myself and it is still a hundred dollars, or I can add value to it by giving it to you.  To you it is not just one hundred dollars.  It is one hundred dollars and four months of your life.  Paper and numbers do not bring happiness.  Value brings happiness.  It brings happiness to you because it helps you, and it brings happiness to me, because you are happy.  Value is a transaction between two people, not a person and an object.”

I hadn’t been paying attention to what he was doing while he was talking.  He hands me a bag with all of the supplies in it and says, “here you go.  The hundred dollars is yours to do what ever you wish.  It is a gift, no strings attached.  I will only leave you with my hope.  I hope that you use a portion of it to add value to it.  Somewhere out there someone is searching for you.  Use your gifts to add value to someone else’s life.  In doing that you will find that true happiness is not in what we receive, but in what we give.”

This is a continuation of the previous stories, “The Prayer,” and “My Prayer.”  Some of the references will not make sense if you have not read them also.

So here I am again, wandering the hall of a hospital.  New town, new doctors, new rooms, new nurses, same story.  She finally fell asleep.  We have been here since yesterday trying to figure some things out.  The models at Vogue have nothing on her.  They have taken so many pictures of her body they could fill a magazine for a year.  After the thirteenth blood draw I was starting to look for long fangs on the nurses, someone here has to be a vampire.  I quietly have sat in my plastic chair, trying to be her rock.  Trying to bring comfort and relief.  Feeling like I have been failing miserably at all of the above.  They have finally found something that would at least take the edge off of her pain.  She fell asleep fitfully at first, but then slowly got into a rhythm.  I had to move.  My body hurts.  I told the nurse’s my phone number and told them to call me if she wakes up.  I need to wander.  I need breathe.

I need to clear my head, but that is the problem.  I can’t.  We are exhausted.  Physically we are running on fumes.  That would seem to be enough, but that is not the hardest part.  The hardest part of this journey is the mental part.  We don’t walk a straight line.  Most of it is uphill.  There are no halftimes, timeouts, or commercials.  We are just on all of the time.  Our story playing on and on.  It’s not even in HD.  Our weariness is so overwhelming it is like watching our life in black and white, everything is fuzzy and every once in a while we get that blank stare like when on the old tv’s you would get the rainbow screen with, “We are having technical difficulties.”  I have to keep moving or I will just crash, or at least that is what I tell myself.  I might crash to begin with, but then it turns into a crash up derby with my bed as I toss and turn because my body just wants me to stop.  It’s telling me that it is tired, So tired that it can’t get comfortable.  So of course I do the opposite and get out of bed.  I wander lost in thought of the next big climb.  The next set of stairs to get us where we need to be.  Trying to pull courage out of my little toe because it feels like all the rest of it has been used up.  Whether it is true or not I feel like I must have enough courage for all of us.  I feel like I need to be William Wallace standing in front of my army willing all of us to succeed.  Willing all of us to heal.  Probably carrying burdens that I don’t need to carry, but that is just my nature, so I do it anyway.

I start walking hallways and then different hallways on different floors.  I won’t admit to myself what door I am looking for but I know that if I wander long enough I will find it.  This is a big hospital and it is all new but it will be here, and I will find it.  After an hour of aimlessly walking on purpose I find my door and slowly walk in.  Hoping that I might find a moment of peace in the midst of chaos.  I sit down and try to find it.  I don’t ask “why” anymore.  It is what it is.  My thoughts turn to how to heal her and Miracles.  I suddenly feel a rush of sadness.  I keep hoping Walter or Father Francis would come walking in this door and tell me that everything was alright.  That we were all going to be okay.  That someday all of this was going to be worth it.  They are not here and I can’t be here anymore either.  I get up and go.  I need some fresh air.  I jump out the first outside door I run into.  I just need to breathe,  My anxiety goes into overdrive, my heart is racing.  I take in deep breaths trying to get under control.  I just want to scream, I want to crush something, I want to show something that I am in control of what is happening in my life.  I feel it coming and I try to hold it back.  I choke on my tears as they try to get out.  I won’t let them.  I shake as I hold them in.  Every muscle in my body is contracted as I squeeze the sadness so that it won’t get away.  I don’t win.  My sadness flows from my eyes as the tension from I don’t know how long is released.  I crumble to the ground with my back against the wall and my head in my hands.  My burdens fall to the ground with each drop.

I slowly gather myself up.  I really don’t feel any better or worse, more numb than anything else.  I just sit there and stare at nothing.  Feeling more embarrassed that I lost control, and very thankful that it is dark and the middle of the night and no one is around.

“Are you done?”

I about jump out of my skin.  I ran out of the building so fast I didn’t notice the wheel chair sitting to my right in the corner.  If I didn’t know better I would think that I am in the movie “Houseboat.” I am Cary Grant and Sofia Loren is talking to me.  She says it again in a beautiful Italian accent,

“Are you done?”

I am so caught off guard I really don’t know what to say, so I just say, “yes.”

“Gooood,” she says, “I am niiinty-twooo years old and I no-a-like-a people to be sad.”

I am gaining my senses and I ask, “Why are you here?”

“Ahh,” she says, “I sleep-a when I die, I make-a them bring me out-a here whenever I want too.”

“Okay,” I say, “but why are you here?” As I gesture to the hospital in general.

She throws her hands in the air in a grand gesture of disdain and says.  “My-a damn kids-a put me-a in a here.  They-a think-a there is a miracle-a waiting for a-me-a here. I a-have-a the cancer,  I am-a niiinty-twooo.  It is all-a-ready a miracle that I have-a lived -a- this a long.”

I chuckle and smile for the first time in thirty-six hours.  It feels really good.

“And zyou,” she says, “Why are you here?”

I begin to relay our story.  How we have been fighting for so long, and how we are so tired and worried and stressed.  I finished up and we sat in silence for a few minutes and I began to wonder if maybe she had fallen asleep, then she finally spoke up.

“So you-a here for-a miracle-a too?

I really wasn’t ready for that question.  I had really never thought about it like that, but the more I thought about it I guess she was right.  So I said, “yes I guess that is why we are here.”

“Tsk tsk tsk,” She says, “The foolishness of -a- the young-a-people,  you-a-think-a that-a miracle is-a easy.  Just-a-cause its a miracle does-a- not -a- make it -a painless.”

Yes, okay, I felt the slap in the face.  I raise my hands in a “slow down” gesture and say, “No that’s not what I’m thinking.  Sometimes I wonder if God is hearing me though,”

“Tsk Tsk Tsk,” she says again,  “He is-a- hearing -a- you-a- fine.  You no pay attention to what-a- he-a-doing worth a darn”

Yep, okay,slap, I felt it.  “What do you mean?” I ask.

“You -a-already-a-missed the first-a-miracle.  You-a- to -a- worried about the big -a- miracle and you are -a- missing all of -a- the -a-little ones.”

I’m lost, “What do you mean?”

“Time -a- you imbasile.  You -a- fight a long-a- time, You -a- get a more time than most yes.  That -a- is -a- the first -a-miracle!”

We sit in silence for a while.  I’m trying to let what she is saying sink in.  Trying to understand the depth of her thoughts.  I want to clarify so I ask, ” So what you are saying is that because I have been wanting, worrying, hoping, and praying for the big miracle that I have not been paying attention to the miracles that God has already granted in my life.  Including but not necessarily limited too more time with her than average.”

“Zyes, and time is-a- costly,”

I slowly nod my head in understanding.  “What’s your name by the way?”

“Isabella.”

“Well, thank you Isabella.  Thank you for some much needed perspective that I evidently really needed right now.”

Her expression softens and she says, “Come-a- now my-a- young-a- friend.  You -a- pray -a- with -a- me now. ”

I get up and move over to her and she grabs my hand with both of hers and begins.

“Dear -a- Father in -a- Heaven.  Please give -a- this -a- young man enough of -a- the strength to see your -a- miracles as you -a- give -a- them.  Hold -a- them all in your -a- grace and grant them a little -a- peace some -a-times.  He -a- is a good -a- young man,  help him as -a- you a see -a- fit.  In the name of the Father, the -a- Son, and the Holy spirit, Amen.

She gently squeezes my hand and says.

“you -a- get -a- back now.  You gone to long all -a- ready.”

With that I feel that I have been dismissed from my own private Catholic school.  I get up and go back inside and try to find my way back to where I am supposed to be.  As I walk I replay our journey in my mind and try to find how many places I probably have missed Gods hand in our lives.  It’s probably the same thing that Chester was talking about when he talked about providence.  I guess who ever said it was right.  “Sometimes we are to busy looking at the forest to see the trees.”  I don’t know if what Isabella said will change anything in my life.  I am still tired, but it will change the way I look at things.  What she said made me realize that even though I might not know it at the time, someone is standing with me and I am not alone.  For me that is worth more than anything.  So I will march on.  I will fight with what courage I have left and lead my warriors into battle no matter the odds.  I am not William Wallace but I have someone so much bigger on my side.

It’s funny how we tend to put life into little categories.  I suppose it’s our brains way of keeping it all straight, so when we need to recall it it’s easy to find.  The world’s biggest and fastest computer.  When you get to be my age there are something’s that you wish would not have been stored on your hard drive and some that you wish you could just hit the repeat button and have it keep playing over and over.  I have been through good times and bad and luckily survived both.  As I get older seems like there is a lot less good and a lot more of just passing time.  It’s just time.  No meaning, no measure of if it is good or bad,  just time passing on a clock.

When we are young we don’t usually think about things being perishable.  If you think about it everything we are, have, and think is perishable.  It has a date stamp on it that one day will come due.  We in essence will become obsolete.  Something better will come along, the fad of our life will be replaced with something.  We will no longer be the up and coming.  Our cars will lose their luster.  Our house will become old and get that stagnant smell of someone just passing time on a clock that has seen 876,000 revolutions of the hour hand.  That’s one hundred years of perishability ticking away one second, one minute, one hour, one day, one year, and on and on and on.

I have lived a good life.  I have done many things, seen many places, lived in small houses and large mansions, drove fast cars, and cruised in slow ones.  But most important I have loved one woman.  Her shelf life was up about 131,400 revolutions ago.  My clock just kept on ticking though.  Eight thousand seven hundred and sixty revolutions after I lost my love I decided that I didn’t need all of those fancy things in life and more than that every year from then on I would slowly give away everything that I  had until my perishability date had arrived.

I thought it would be easy.  I guess I didn’t realize how much crap a person can accumulate in eighty-six years.  It’s a lot, and very overwhelming at first.  I slowly thought out a system and eventually things started moving smoothly. Life’s memories passing through my fingers one piece at a time, Passed on to someone else, maybe even extending their date for a little while.  Here at the end some things have started to get interesting.  That last can of soup was interesting to eat when i had given away my last set of silverware the day before.  I haven’t showered or shaved since Wednesday because i gave away my razor and last towel on Tuesday.  This last week hasn’t been easy, but it most definitely has been fulfilling.  It’s interesting when you get to the end of all of your things how much we take for granted, and how when you understand their true value, it is so gratifying to give it to someone who desperately needs it.

So here i am sitting at this little cafe on the corner.  I just left the lawyer’s office where I signed the papers to donate my house to some organizations that helps people.  Before that I stopped by the bank and withdrew my last five thousand ten dollars and twenty-seven cents.  I am in my best suit (only one left), and am enjoying the last meal I will ever buy (as long as it doesn’t cost more than ten dollars and twenty-seven cents).  The suit I suppose I will be buried in, so I guess I’ll keep that. The five thousand, well, that’s next on the list.  Who to give it too.  There are several candidates I see.  There is what seems to be an out of work construction guy in one booth.  Got a sad look in his eyes.  Maybe it’s not money he needs.  He evidently has enough for breakfast. How about the elderly women at the bar, maybe,  she’s is dressed pretty nice though.  I really didn’t think this would be that hard.  I guess I didn’t think I would have to make all these judgements of people’s lives.  Who am I to judge what people need or don’t need.  I’m not God or even a shrink, who might know what’s in people’s mind.  Oh well, I guess I will just leave it in God’s hands and hope he points me in the right direction.  My waitress comes waddling over.  I use that term enduringly because she has got to be at least eight months pregnant.  She looks very tired but none the less in a very perky and cheerful mood.  She takes my order and moves on.  I see her move on down to the table that some people have just got up from.  I don’t mean to be staring but I am.  She cleans off the dirty dishes and then grabs the tip.  I expected her to just put it in her apron and move on, but she carefully counted it and organized it and put it away very neatly.  It must be Gods sign.  She was that careful with the money because she needed something. Something that was worth saving for, a crib, diapers who knows but you could see the intensity in her eyes, it was something important.  She brought my meal and it was great.  I sit there thinking of how I want to do this.  When you’re talking about this much money do you just leave it, Maybe write a note.  I don’t know.

I decide to write a note, I want her to know that it is for her to do with as she pleases, no strings attached.  So I start my note:  Dear Sara, (I know her name because she wrote it on the ticket),  I am leaving this money for you because I think there is something that you really have been saving for. Please take what you need and if there is any left please give it to someone else that might need something.  I signed it with the letter C.  I took out the fifty, one hundred-dollar bills and slid it under the one dollar and ten cents left from the ten and 27 cents I gave her for the meal.  I closed the flap on the little book they give you with the check and got up and left.  Just like that I was homeless and penniless.  I have given away everything I have.

I’m a curious gentleman , so I go across the street to a little park area where I can see in the windows of the cafe, and sit down on a bench there.  I want to see the look on her face when she finds it.  It doesn’t take long before she heads over to my table.  Just like before she cleans all the dishes first and then looks in the booklet.  She gets and odd look on her face as she reads the note.  I can see a slight shaking of her hands as she reads.  She slowly sits down in the booth and sets the note aside.  I see her pick up the money and start counting.  I can see a tear our two on her cheeks at about twenty and by the time she gets to fifty her shoulders are moving up and down and there are lots of tears.  She puts the money down and holds her head in her hands for a few minutes and then she takes a really deep breath as if to compose herself.  I think awe relief.  I did the right thing.  Then she did  curious thing.  She took all of the bills, five thousand and one dollars and folded them in half, then took the dime and slide it into her apron and then got up spoke to the manager on duty and ran out of the door and down the street.

I sat there for a moment and my curiosity got the best of me again.  I didn’t have anything to do anyway.  No place to go, so I thought I would just walk the way down the street that she ran.  I was rewarded a few blocks down when I see sitting on the steps of a row house three women hugging each other and crying their eyes out.  I’m still on the other side of the street, so I pick a step and sit down.  One hundred year old bones don’t like to go that far anyway. Pretty soon they all get up and do some more hugging and laughing and then my waitress bids them farewell and heads back toward the cafe.  Then the other two girls giggle and hug once more and then part ways.  One goes up the steps and the other starts across the street towards me.  I guess it is human nature to want to know what the outcome of our good deeds are.  But for some reason I really wanted to know what happened.  As the young woman got ready to pass in front of me I said miss if you wouldn’t mind indulging an old man of what was all that about.

She smiled at me and said “It is a long story.”  I said that is ok, I’ve got a lot of time.  She sat down beside me and started telling me their story.  She said that her sister, the one that went up the stairs has a baby named Jesse.  Jesse has a cancerous mass on his spinal column which is heartbreaking in and of itself.  Jesse needs surgery and the only place that does this specialized surgery is all the way across the country.  The hospital is willing to do the surgery for free, but they have to get Jesse there.  It is too far to drive him so they will have to fly him in a medevac plane and to do that it will cost five thousand seven hundred and twenty-seven dollars.  If you have ever noticed, old people tend to cry a lot, and I had tears getting ready to pour so before i couldn’t speak I said where are you going to get the money.  She said, “that’s the crazy thing.  Last night we got together and prayed for a miracle for Jesse.  We Prayed that God would take him in his hands and get him to where he needed to be.  The tears earlier were because Sara just got a huge tip that will take care of it.  Our prayers were answered.”  Without thinking i blurted out where are you going to get all of the money.  She kind of looked at me funny and said that the tip was for five thousand nine hundred and fifty-two dollars.  More than enough to cover it. I was a mass of tears at this point.  I thanked her for the great story and got up and slowly walked down the street.  I suddenly knew why Sara only put the dime in her apron.  On the way to the house she had taken nine hundred and fifty-one dollars of her tip money and added it to mine.  She wasn’t saving for herself.  She was saving for Jesse.

I walk a bit further and found another small park with a nice bench for sitting.  I sit down feeling like a very weary 100 year old man.  It’s my birthday today.  I decide that I need to write this story down it was too good to not share.

To whom it may concern:

If you are reading this story then that means that you have reached into my breast pocket of my suit and got it out.  If you have done that, then my clock has been vanquished.  I am sorry that you were the one that had to find me, but would you please share this story with someone.

If I would happen to have a tombstone would you please print on it “Died broke and Penniless, but with a full heart.”

Thank you:

R. E. Cnacetahi

Me and my four-year old went for a walk the other day and we were just shooting the breeze like any father and son might do.  Talking about rabbits and frogs and what we might do.  When out of the blue he asks me, “dad why is mom so grouchy when she gets home?”  I was kind of taken aback for a moment and didn’t know what so say, so I said, “well that’s a good question.  Let’s sit down here and talk about it.”  I knew trying to explain this to a four-year old was going to be difficult, so I had to come up with something good.

I thought for a few moments and then said, “You know that picture book with all the big trucks in it?”  He said, “ya I know it.”  I said, “In that book there is a gas truck right.”  He said, “Yep.”  I said, “What does the gas truck do?”  He thought for a minute and said, “Well it drives around and fills people’s gas tanks when they get empty.”  I said, “That’s right, and when the truck is empty what does it do?”  He said “well, it goes home to get filled back up again so it can go fill more tanks.”  I said “exactly right.  You see son, your mom is a teacher and she is very much like that gas truck.  She goes around every day and fills people up with love.  She helps them learn things, and makes them feel important, and just makes sure that they know that somebody cares about them.  But when the end of the day comes her tank is getting pretty empty and so what does she do.  She acts just like that gas truck and goes home to get filled back up with love.”  I asked him, “Who do you think are the lucky people who get to fill her back up?”  He thought for a minute and said, “Well I guess the only people who are at home and that would be me and you.”  I said, “You are exactly right.  Sometimes we have to fill someone up with love before they have enough to give us some back.”

Walk with me; see the green grass, the trees in the breeze.  The ruffle of a feather, the old man on his knees.  Stand, hold my hand, and watch as the sun sets on a time full of high seas and low tides.  Run, run, as we dance to the shimmer of the water.  Hold tight, come close, and sit beside me as we entangle our souls.  Souls bound by endless greed, the need, it started with one seed, bound by time, not ready to be freed.  Lie down, hold tight, sleep, hold tight.  Dream, hold tight.  Watch, wait, stand, walk, run, keep up, hold on, and dance to the strings that play in my heart.  Laugh till we cry, love forever more; live, until we die. 

Every one has left and said there good lucks and we will see you in a few hours.  I have a few minutes to sit and contemplate everything before I go under the knife.  It’s just a simple (so they say) procedure but for some reason I feel the terror of the what ifs.  I know they probably will not happen and I will be fine, but there is always that chance.  As I am choking down my fear and trying to summon my courage I am suddenly transported back into time and a memory of a wonderful old man I loved to call, Grandpa.

I remember fondly sitting in the dentist’s chair waiting to get my first tooth pulled.  I can’t remember why Grandpa was there with me but he was.  I was nervous and scared.  As people who know us well usually do, Grandpa could tell that I was on the verge of falling apart. Grandpa slowly got up from his chair across the room and ambled over to the dentist’s chair on wheels and sat down and wheeled him self over beside me.

He Said, “Do you know how to measure how cold it is?”

Through tear swelled eyes I said, “a thermometer.”

“Nope,” he says, “a thermometer only measures how much heat there is.  As a mater of fact there is no way to measure how cold something is.”

I distinctly remember my young brain thinking, “what in the world is he talking about,” but I just sat there wallowing in fear and getting more anxious by the second.

After a few minutes he leans forward again and says, “do you know what absolute zero is?”

I think he has fallen off his rocker or at least he is the squeaky wheel on the dentist’s chair but non the less I simply shake my head no.

He smiles at me and says, “absolute zero is the absence of all heat, It is the coldest temperature that we can record because all of the heat is gone.  There is none, zero.  That means for all relevant purposes it is dead.”

Okay, we are talking about death now. What in the heck is going on Grandpa.  As my tears start to well over and the dam is about to burst, He grabs my hand and softens his eyes.

“You know,” he says, “fear is kind of like cold.  We don’t measure fear because fear really doesn’t exist. ”  He touches my head and continues. “fear is something that we create up here when there is an absence of courage, Do you know what courage is?”

I slowly nod my head yes and he continues.

“Good,  The great thing about courage is that it is just like heat,  It is always there.  All we have to do is stop making up the fear and grab hold of the courage that is already in us.  We will always have courage unless we reach absolute zero.  So that means that as long as we are alive we will always have courage.  So as you sit here getting ready for the dentist to come in start thinking about the heat instead of the cold.  Gather what courage you have and build on it.  It just like in the old days when we used to rub sticks together to make a fire to stay warm.  You gather your courage and you keep rubbing it together until you have a roaring fire inside of you.”

He pats me on the hand and says, “I love you, now you get to rubbing,” and gets up and goes back to his chair.

I come back to reality with a smile on my face.  I probably didn’t understand everything he was saying all those years ago. but it did leave a lasting impression of my life.  As I lay back and close my eyes I start rubbing my courage together and know that everything will be alright.

I don’t know if you ever quite get used to being in a hospital at three in the morning.  Isolation, desolation all of the “solation” words and a few other more descriptive words come to mind.  We have been here a total of six days so far.  Stir crazy is a mild way of describing how I feel.  Caged animal seems more fitting to how I’m feeling, backed into a corner,  no escape route in sight.  The thing that really pisses me off is that this predator that has us in its sights won’t show me its ugly head.  It won’t stand up so I can beat the living crap out of it.  This beast won’t let me protect the one I love.  It doesn’t live in the light. It dwells in the darkness hiding from me.

(This is a continuation of the story “The Prayer.”  If you have not read it, some of this will not make sense.)

Slowly I sit up in the darkness.  Sleep just will not come tonight.  Oh well.  A good walk might do the trick.  I grab my shoes and set off on my usual journey.  We find ourselves back at the hospital.  Things have been going well; we are here just for tests to see how things are going.  Nothing major, nothing pressing, just basically a progress report.  Why I can’t sleep, good question.  I never can.  I set out on my journey.  I walk on with no purpose other than to burn energy, release questions I cannot answer, find peace in a world that answers begin with “Well” and end with “not sure.”

I decide to head for the one place I have been avoiding for a while.  As people and generally as men we decide that we must do everything ourselves.  Why, I do not know but we do, and so I have been.  I find my nondescript door and walk in.  One again I am in awe of such simple majesty in such a common place.  I am hoping to find my friend that I met last time, my angel that finally brought a little peace for a while.  I sit down determined to wait him out.  I am sure he will be here soon.  I wait for a while lost in thoughts of life, my wife, my kids, cancer, and that basic old question “why.”  Why, out of so many billions of people in this world, my wife got cancer.

I still do not have the answer so I decide to move around a little bit to pass the time.  I am a pamphlet reader of sorts.  I don’t read the whole pamphlet but I like to read the titles to pass the time.  On the wall behind the door is a rack full of them.  A good twenty minutes of time to kill.  So I start to walk over and get to it when something catches my eye on the wall next to the rack.  It seems I have found my friend.  I cannot breath; by shear will I stand and look at the picture of my friend.  I force myself to read on.  “In honor of Chester G. Robinson, a dedicated servant of the Lord and this hospital for forty four years.  May his kindness be felt through the ages.  May his ministry live on forever, and may his gift of hope be felt by all who pass through these doors.”

I am floored.  I manage to keep standing, and I just stare at the plaque.  I don’t know for how long, just standing, just staring, trying to comprehend, trying to put all of the pieces together.  Ending up back at the same starting point, “why.”  I am startled when a soft voice with a Spanish accent says, “did you meet him?” When I finally catch my breath I say, “Yes.”  He says, “I apologize, I did not mean to startle you.  My name is Padre Francisco De Paz.  Everyone calls me Father Francis.” “When did it happen, how long ago, what happened?”  “Please,” he said, “let us sit down and talk for a bit.”  I am putty at this point.  It seems all of the answers that I knew were here had just vanished.  My guardian angel was gone, I feel so alone.  I slowly sit down in the pew and he sits down next to me and asks, “So how long have you known Chester?”  I somehow find my voice and answer, “I met him a year and a half ago when he found me  fitting in here early one morning.  He gave me the answers I needed back then, I was hoping he might have some more.”  “Ah yes,” he said, “Chester always just knew the right thing to say.  He was a very good man.  So when you first met him did he ask you why you were here?”  Yes, I said. So what was your answer?  I said I was looking for answers.  And Chester asked, “The answers to your questions or your prayers, am I correct?”  I looked at him kind of funny and said, how did you know that?  He asked everyone that same question.  Did you understand what he was asking?  No, I said, I had too many questions in my head at the time and I just let that one go.  So why are you back here, ask the Padre.  I guess I am still looking for those answers.  Answers to what, he says your questions or your prayers.  I really don’t know I say.  I still don’t understand the question.  I know you don’t, and neither do I, said the Padre, and that is my point.  here are some questions that will never have answers.  Your question is “why,” am I correct.  Yes, I say.  Have you ever had an answer to that question, he asks.  No, I say, then maybe you need to stop looking for the answer to your question and start looking for the answers to your prayers.  We can answer the question why when there is a quantifiable answer like why do I not have any money, well because you spent it all.  Why is easy to answer because there is an answer to the question.  But sometimes in life there is just no quantifiable answer to that question.  Why do some things  happen?  If I don’t know is the answer then maybe you need to stop worrying about the question and its answer and start asking for something else.  Like the answers to your prayers.  I am still a little confused and I think the padre senses this and he continues.  Do you know what the definition of insanity is, he asks.  I say, yes, doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.  He says, yes that is correct.  So if you keep asking the same question over and over and keep getting the same answer are you just as insane.  I look at him kind of funny and he continues.  Stop wasting your energy asking the impossible question.  Start using your energy to find solutions to your problems.  The focus should not be, why, the focus should be what are we going to do about it.  At this point I am starting to understand a little bit about what he is saying.  So you’re saying that why this happened doesn’t matter, because we can’t change it.  It just happened.  So I need to stop focusing on why and start focusing on what can I do to change it. You are starting to get my point, he said, but sometimes it is not even what you can do to change it. Sometimes it is just a matter of faith that things will get better.  Sometime we just have to believe.  Sometimes we just have to find the answers in our prayers.  So now, he says, are you looking for the answers to your questions or your prayers?  I smile and say, thank you, I will try to start looking for answers to prayers.  We sit in silence for a while and he says, I need to get going, but will you pray with me?  I say, absolutely, but is it ok if I say the prayer.  He gives me a big smile and says, of course.

Dear Lord,

Thank you for sending Father Francis to see me today.  It is in his kindness that I realize that you have a plan for me, and it is not my job to figure out why you have that plan.  It is my job to figure out how to serve you the best way I can.  So please God give me the guidance that I need to do this.  Walk with me and hold me up when I stumble,  give me a push when I fear I can go no further, give me courage,  give me strength,  fill me with your love so as I walk forward on this journey I can pass that love on to others.  Give me the will to help someone on their journey.  Stand with me on the front lines of our battle and help me be courageous so that I can pass that courage on to others that need that courage as much as I do.  Thank you for all that you do and all that you will do.  Amen

As I walk back to our room I find my calmness, I go in and give her a kiss on the forehead and tell her I love her.  I watch her for a while and slowly drift off to sleep, knowing that my prayers have already been answered.  He knew what I needed before I even left this room.

Walking home this evening, I decided that it had been a long day.  So as I passed a small pub I decided to go in and have a drink.  I pulled up to the bar and sat down and ordered my drink and was just sitting there going over my day and how my faith in people seemed to be dwindling.  I hadn’t noticed when I was walking in, but sitting next to me was an elderly man, that if I didn’t know better was Ray Charles.  I took notice because it seemed to me that he was just staring at me.  So I asked him, can I help you?

He had this little smile just plastered on his face.  It kind of just made me smile a little bit too.  In a deep gravely voice he said, “well I don’t know if you can help me or not, but I’m guessin your needin a little help yourself.”  I kind of chuckled a little to myself and said, well how can you tell that.  He said, “well you wouldn’t be in here if you didn’t.”  I couldn’t fault the man’s logic so I said, “so why are you in here then?” “ You see that baby girl back there, I got to play her every night or she gets lonely,” he says. “So what’s on your mind young man?  There’s no sense stewing over there like a pig in a pot.”  “People are the problem  I guess.  I seem to be losing faith in them.”  “Interesting,” he says.  Can you do me a favor?”  I say “sure why not what have I got to lose.”  He says “hold your arm out.”  “Like this,” I say.  “I have no idea, “ he said, “I ain’t wearing these sunglasses to look cool, I’m a blind man.  Anyway just hold your arm out, you doin it.”  “yes” I reply.  “Now bend your arm.  Which way did it bend?”  I say, “ back to my body.  He said, “ok, now move your arm and do it again, and tell me what happens.”  I raised it higher and bent it again, and said,” comes right back to my body.”  He said, “aint that amazin.  The human body is made to pull things to us.  How many muscles you got on the front of your arm?”  “One,” I say.  “How many on the back?”  “two,” I say.  “Well aint that amazin, It must be twice as hard to push someone away as it is to bring them to you.  You getting

my drift?” He asks.  “I guess your saying that the human body is made to bring stuff to it not push it away.”  “Your catchin on,” he says.  “I’ll let you think about that one for a while.  How bout I tell you a story while we wait for that to sink in.  I’ve told it so many times in here that I gave it a name. I call it “The Ballad of the Blind Man.” “As a blind man I get around pretty good.  I can get to some places I been to a lot by myself.  I want to be as self-reliant as I can be, but sometimes I have no idea where I’m going.  I could be walking off a cliff and wouldn’t know it till I hit the bottom.  When I need help I have to ask for it.  I have to have faith in whoever I ask that they are going to get me to where I want to be.  Now there are a lot of different people in the world.  Some of them would send you the wrong way just because they have a nasty nature to their soul.  Then there are others who send you down the wrong road cause they are just as lost as you.  Then there is the ones that maybe have some idea of where you need to go, but just are not quite sure.  Every once in a while there is that special someone that knows exactly where it’s at and would love to take you there.  It doesn’t matter what happens or how I get there, eventually I always get to where I need to go.  I have to believe in people or I will never get anywhere.  So I have an unending faith in the goodness of mankind.  Most people are just like me.  They are wondering down their road just as blind and confused as me and we find reassurance being on the road with someone else.  Eventually we get there and in the mean time we both have gained a new friend.

Just because you can see doesn’t mean that you can get to where you need to go.  We all need help along the way and we never know what kind of help we might get or it might not be the help we wanted at the time but it was the help we needed and just could not see it at the time.   Just remember that everyone one is on a journey going somewhere.  It’s your choice as to whether you bring them into help with your journey or push them away and decide that their journey is not as important as yours.   My baby is callin my name.  So if you would be a kind sir and escort me over to her, I would love to play a little while you mix up the pudding that’s rollin around you head.” I escort him over to the baby grand and he starts singing. “I see trees of green, red roses too…”  What a wonderful world!