Saturday Story, December 31, 2022 - The Trail

 Saturday Story, December 31, 2022 - The Trail

He sat down, maybe for the thirtieth time today.  He was so tired.  

He had made this trip so many times in the past.  He knew he had.  But as he said, he just couldn’t be sure how many times.  600?  1025?  316? 

There was that time when the rain clouds blew in and he got soaked.  

And, that time when the deer ran across the path in front of him, but then stopped and watched at the end of the glade.  He had stopped to look at the deer too. It was an 8-point buck with a scar on the left side by the front leg.  Maybe the deer wouldn’t be afraid of him.  It seemed like ten minutes but it was probably only two minutes.  He knew he had to keep going.  And, as he walked on, the deer sniffed twice and stepped into the woods.  

Then the thoughts of the trips in the summer.  Why was it always so hot?  Some days he took his water bottle with him, but some days he had forgotten it. It really was a nuisance.  It kept one hand tied down while he walked, and most times in the end, he hadn’t even stopped for a drink.  He laughed at himself.  There was that day when he didn’t drink the water but dumped it over his head.  It was refreshing.  Sure he got everything wet, but it worked.

Twice he had met somebody on the trail.  The first time was the kid from the village, Mike? Tim? John? They had said “hi” and each kept going.  The second time it was the young woman.  He saw her in church every so often, but he didn’t know her name.  Kind of tall, with black hair, and black eyes - might be Hispanic.  Seemed to be nice.  She had stopped and talked to him about the woods and the trail.  

There was the trip when he didn’t take the trail, but a beautiful lady named Shirley, dressed in a white gown took it and he met her on the trail.,

And, after that trip there was Steve on the trail, running ahead, scaring rabbits; and Becky, walking hand-in-hand with him.

He paused again, heavy with the memories.  Shirley was gone, Steve and Becky didn’t acknowledge him and hadn’t seen him in twenty years.

This time, it was cold.  He had a parka.  It had been zipped up, but as he walked, he unzipped it when his body got warm.  It was his blue parka, not his brown one.  The brown one only came out when it was below zero Fahrenheit.  It was cold, but not bitter cold.  

Okay, time to get up and get going again.  He had to push himself up twice off the rock.  His knees just weren’t all that strong.  As he stood, he heard a creak and a little snap.  It isn’t much fun getting old.  He stood for five seconds to get his equilibrium, then took his first step down the trail again.  

There was the deer again -the 8-pointer with the scar.  How did the deer show up today?  Just luck?  Some kind of karma?  Happenstance?  This time the deer didn’t spook and didn’t run away.  Kind of some respect?  Did the deer know this was his last time on the trail?  Nay?  The deer was just an animal.  The deer walked before him down the trail, why did he do that?  

He cut across the glade and back onto the trail.  The trail would go left for a while, and then slightly uphill, and then right and climb again.  He knew.  The trail was etched in his brain.  

Most of the leaves were down as he went left.  December is kind of a barren time in the woods.  The Sumacs had turned red and yellow, but now they were bare branches again.

The train was generally prettiest in May.  Fifty, one-hundred, shades of green, some late buds and some early leaves.  Some of the bushes got berries in the spring.  The trees would produce their seeds - acorns, pods, the maple seeds that were like little glider planes twirling to the ground.  

On and on he went, around the turns up the hills, down the hills, across the old, mostly rotted bridge over the silent ravine.  There had been a few days when there was rushing water down that ravine, but not many.  

Would there be anybody to meet him today?  Probably not.  Just the way of life - over the hills and through the woods.  

It was down to 100 yards - the length of a football field.  He had watched too many football games - but he liked football.  He had tried to play football years ago on a junior high school team.  He was a lineman, and not very fast, not very good.  Now 50 yards.  At 20 yards he was in the “red zone” - pushing towards the end zone.  But there were no tacklers waiting for him, and he wasn’t carrying a football.

Then it was there.  His goal.  He sat on the rock on the left of the trail and took his last breath.  There was a tunnel with a bright light ahead of him.  The end of his last journey.

*****

The hospice nurse was there, watching the monitor.  His eyes had been shut, but the monitor was taking his pulse.  The monitor stopped.  She typed 10:21 into the laptop and checked the ‘heart failure’ box on the “cause of death” form. She knew there wasn’t any family coming to say goodbye.  She had read the hospice directive that Bates and Oakley would cremate his body and there would be a small service at the funeral home.  Maybe there would be six people there, but definitely under ten people.  In the six months, he had been in hospice, there had been one person that stopped by - a chaplain.  

*****

But, the nurse couldn’t see all the people that filled the room, maybe thousands.  It is hard to see angels that are invisible and take up no space.  One of the angels reached into his body and the soul came out holding the angel’s hand without a sound.  The nurse didn’t see this, didn’t know this.  Then the room was empty and the body was just there.  Ned was gone into the tunnel of bright light and welcoming arms.

*****

Friends, this is fiction.  I don’t know what happens at the moment of death.  We all will face it.  On this last day of the year 2022, there is both the end or death of this year and the anticipation of the new year.  

I remember a clergyman who added this prayer to his list of prayers, “And we pray for those that will die today alone”.  

And, I add my prayers for those who will die alone today.

*****

Goodbye, 2022, hello 2023.

Love wins

Karen Anne White, ©, December 31, 2022