The River

It flows slowly. He sits on the side of the bank, his feet resting in the cool water. There is no hurry. He has nowhere else to be. There is no time clock that he needs to follow. No schedule he needs to keep. He is retired. Those type of worries are no longer his.

The river runs lazily through the back of his property. He has spent time here. A few hours fishing with his children and now his grandchildren but those times were few and fair between. Life was busy. Bills have to be paid. The children had their activities. His wife had her needs. The river wasn't a priority. Just sitting doing nothing was unheard of.

It is the way life works, isn't it. Childhood is full of playing in the water, splashing in creeks, swimming in rivers, fishing with your buddies. You swear that won't change but life laughs.

You go from jumping in puddles to stopping your children from doing the same out of fear of them soiling their clothes, from fishing to shopping several times a week to keep groceries in the house. It is right that responsibility comes with age. He was proud of what he did to see to the family God blessed him with. He is thankful that he was able to.

As his feet cool in the water, he looks down at his hands. They are no longer soft and subtle. When he held his first fishing pool at the age of five, his own daddy by his side, they had been. Now, sixty years later, they are callused and scarred. He smiles at them. They were sacrificed in service to those he loves most, his wife and children. He would do it all again, joyfully.

Now he has time to rest. Time for all those things he wanted to do. There are plans to go on a family vacation, taking the kids and grandkids into the mountains for hiking and fishing. Plans for a second honeymoon with his dear wife.

He smiles as the tiny minnows nibble on his bare toes. It is a gift, time. He had wasted some, as does everyone. There are hours, days, weeks, months, and even years he would live in a different way, if he could.

No more waste, that is what he has decided. No, this wasn't wasted. It was needed. After fifty years ( he started work on his uncle's farm at 15) of backbreaking labor, this was needed.

He watches the dragonfly drop onto the river, hovering around the blue green water. A fish jumps up, almost catching it. It darts away, just in time. The water calms back down as the fish slips back under the water it's dinner denied.

He chuckles. Nature is amazing. He loves sitting and watching it with nothing else to do. Peace. Quiet. How has he lived this long without making this a priority? Only having moments here and there, stolen from the hectic life he lived?

He shifts, moving a bit to relieve the ache in his hips. This causes a bird, who had been roosting on the branch over him, to take sudden flight. He looks up, watching it glide across the blue expanse of the sky. Laying back, he follows the flight to a tree on the other side of the river. There it perches, scolding him with sharp chirps.

He laughs. He is being fussed at by a bird. How glorious! His feet are getting cold and he draws them out of the water. They can't handle the cold like they used to. His veins weren't in as good of condition as they used to be. He dries them with his socks before placing them back on. He leaves his shoes off. He likes the feeling of being shoeless. Wiggling his toes in the grass, he continues to watch the flow of the river.

He sighs deeply. You never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory, someone had said. He couldn't agree more. Time, like the river in front of him, flows relentlessly. Time can't be damned up. Unfortunately.

He leans back again, thinking of all the things he would change, if he could.

He would fish more with his boys. Dance more with his girls. And his wife, oh that dear lady who put up with so much. The times he promised vacations that his work interrupted, the long conversations that never happened, every harsh word, every sweet word never spoken, and so much more.

He had every intention of making up for that. He really did.

It was a normal checkup. That is what they thought. One blood test changed everything.

It was the C word, Cancer.

Treatments were discussed. They would have just lengthened his life while decreasing its quality. After a long talk with his family, it was decided that it wasn't worth it.

That was six months ago. He has lived three months longer than expected. Really lived. He did all the stuff he promised himself and his family he would do. His wife and I had traveled to Paris. He took a fishing trip with his boys and grandchildren. He took a trip with his daughters and granddaughters a shopping trip in New York.

It isn't a lot, not nearly enough. Still, it is memories, something to hold onto when he is gone.

He has said his goodbyes, made his final preparations, and set up funds for the grandchildren. He is ready.

Having given a lot of thought to where he wanted to be when the end came, he knew he didn't want it to be in the hospital. He also didn't want to be surrounded by his family either. Yes, he knows how that sounds but he had said his goodbyes. He wanted them to remember him alive. There is a hospice nurse waiting to pronounce him when the time comes.

It will be soon. He can feel it.

He looks back at the flowing river. He lays down by it, letting his hand fall into it. The same minnows, or maybe others, start to nibble on his fingers. He smiles as he drifts off into eternity.