Saturday, July 18, 2015

Unfit Farewell

 “Migizi, you listen up,” said Daisy, sternness in her voice and expression. “You can’t trust your thoughts or feelings right now. Remember, trauma? Granted, you’re a bit of a restless soul. Your name lends to this trait don’t you think? Like the Eagle, you are most at home in the air of thoughts, concepts, and the big picture of existence. It helps your writing in fact.”

She sighed hard at realizing her last statement and while trying to be supportive, it would likely chafe my conscience.

“Forget that last part for now,” she said. “You gave it a good shot with Clay, not an easy task, and I’m sure you took plenty of notes, mental if not digital or written.”

She was right about one thing. I wanted to soar away as an Eagle and keep going.

“I know you are doing your best to care for and about me dear, and I am not nice when I suffer. I love you, dearly as can be you know, so thank you for being here with and for me.”

Daisy saw an upcoming pothole and swerved to miss it only to hit a second one soon after. My boogered-up body reacted instantly.

“Ow, ow, and ow!” Shoodest priest, they haven’t brought out the road patch yet I see.”

“SOooory, Hon,” said Daisy. “I’m going three mph over the speed limit to get us home quickly. I guess I better slow it down so I can dodge road hazards better.”

“No, I want to get home sooner so keep it going. Turn the radio on please. I’m so out of touch with reality and the rest of planet. Some news and music will distract my thoughts for the rest of the trip.”

My wife obliged and the 2 hour trip home went by much better. We stopped briefly only once so Daisy could use the restroom and get me a drink loaded with electrolytes. Rolling down the two- track back into our house, a big Doe and twin fawns slowly moved to the side and watched us go by. It helped my mood immensely.

“There it is sweety, the sign of new life,” I said, “It gives me hope somehow.”

After pulling into our attached garage, Daisy turned the vehicle off and instructed me.

“Just wait here. I know it seems like a short distance to your recliner but when you’re hurting it will feel like a mile. I’m getting the spare walker I keep for my clients.”

“Yah, yah, okay then Daisy,” I said, sneering at myself in the side mirror.

I’d never needed a walker in my 64 years. A symbol of geezerdom, I wasn’t ready to embrace the thing. Spiteful tolerance would be a stretch perhaps but falling and risking further injury was not an option either.
It was indeed more grueling than anticipated. I made it as far as the bathroom and stopped there first. That went better than earlier in the day, and territory marking, accidental as it was, remained reserved for hospitals.

“Going to your chair or to the bed?” asked Daisy, watchfully assisting me from the toilet. “Please say bed and spare me the need to nag and bitch at you.”

“What, Sweety?” I asked, concerned about her tone. “When did you take to swearing? You said bitch.”

“I did not. I said snitch on you, as in tell the doctor when she inquires about your progress. Are you having auditory hallucinations on top of everything else?”

“Forget it, chair for now,” I stated curtly. 

I half fell into the not-so-easy chair and pulled the walker beside me. “Be good, stay.” I commanded. Daisy shook her head while going to the kitchen. I heard the answering machine beeping and felt my face flush hot. I was in no mood for any messages. My wife tapped the play button.

“Monday, May 31st, 9:30 am,” said a computerized voice. “Hellooo, Migizi and Migizi’s wife, just lettin’ yas know that my Wheel Boy is walkin’ on. Yah, he’s all done…”

With a click, one sounding much like that preceding a shotgun blast, the call and Clay’s life ended.

Eyes filling with vengeful tears, I shouted at myself, “Curses on you Migizi!”

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