Tuesday, April 19, 2011


Youthful Death

A young 32 year old man was in the end stages of cancer He and his beloved were lying together on his bed, she offering calm support as she gently massaged his shoulders and back. He began to talk about how he would face his approaching death. She asked him if he was frightened and he thought for a few moments and then began to describe what he was thinking.

Do you remember, he asked her, when you were a child and you were allowed to go out after dinner on a balmy summer evening when it stayed light longer? All the kids on the block were out in the street playing kick the can or red light or stick ball. Moms remained in the kitchen doing the dishes and fathers sat on the front porch reading their newspapers and smoking their cigarettes or cigars. There was a gentle, soft glow in the evening sky as the sun began to set and the fireflies began their nightly dances under the street lights .

And then one by one, the screen doors would open and close and moms would come to the door and call you inside. The first one to be called was always bummed to be the first called. He or she knew there would be a warm welcome inside, probably a cool drink and a few cookies, nice crisp, clean linen on the bed and a warm hug and good night kiss. But it was no fun to be the first one called home. And as each child was called, one by one, the game became less and less fun. The last one to be called in wasn’t really having much fun any more but knew it was time to go.

I feel like that first kid called home. I don’t want to go so early but I’m not afraid


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