Category: Short Stories (Page 9 of 46)

There was a funeral near my office today. I noticed a long line of people heading toward an equally long line of tombstones, both neatly arranged in some semblance of human order. The procession was slow, somber befitting an end all knew were coming even if the when had remained a mystery.

At the head of the line a woman walked unsteadily, aided by a man who seemed shaky himself. The woman let out a sob as she neared the opened earth, and collapsed into her aide’s arms. The final resting place of her beloved was at hand, and she was not prepared.

Her knees weakened as her tears flowed, her cries no longer muffled as all restraint left her body. She wanted him back, near her, but all she could do is grieve her loss uncontrollably.

The many around her stirred in their discomfort. They seemed unable to reconcile the grief of this woman with their own need to feel immortal in the moment. Death and its inevitability can do that to people. For those who have lost, the grief can be unbearable. For those who witness that loss, the realization of mortality and what it means in our fragile sense of control can be discomforting.

We can always want more time with those we love. The time to value that time is before the end, not as you’re staring into a hole dug just for that purpose.

We can always wish for one more word. The time to utter it is before the end, not in the uncontrollable sobs that echo in every direction save the one they are intended for.

If you wish to be in love, be in love. If you wish to waste time, waste time. If you wish to stand one day at the stones of our end trying to find some final words to say, then consider life unending until that moment when the end finally comes. The beautiful thing about being human is the power of our choice. The curse of that power is often the unenviable burden of regret.

I had to get back to my office, so I said a prayer for the woman and those who have lost something today. For some, we’ve lost a loved one. For others, we’ve lost our sense of immortality and gained, in its absence, the discomfort of knowing that we rarely will know when the end is coming.

I’ve seen the end come for many, and I’ve seen the end come for those who they’ve left behind. Perhaps, in our discomfort with those things, we’d have an understanding of the importance of our moments when air flows freely through our bodies and blood courses bountifully through our flesh. Perhaps we’d kiss a bit more. Maybe we’d love each other a bit more comfortably. Not out of fear of the end of our time, but in honor of the time itself and the gifts that time provides.

“Hug me tighter tonight, for if the end comes before I wake let that memory be my eulogy. Kiss me before we close our eyes, for if the morning I am not meant to see let my last memory be of your lips, your breath, and the touch of your hand on my chest.” ~tg.

There are so many things my grandfather taught me about being a man. I want to share a couple of them.

First, a disclaimer I think he would lecture me about. He was not a man who liked disclaimers, particularly when they pertained to him. He fearlessly lived his life, offered no excuses and sought no approval. Yet, it is necessary for me since he was a fallible man with admirable traits.  I am not intending to idolize him here, since he would not have liked that much either.

Adelbert Munyan was a career MP in the United States Army. He served in combat, or so I’m told. He never much talked about it even in those moments when he would try to convince me the Army life was for me. Instead, he quietly went about his life doing all he could. He exposed me to fishing, to boating, to CB radios, and to how to love a woman.

My grandmother, Harriet, was a kind woman. She would call my grandfather “Pop” and he would call her “Mom”. They were always together playing Yahtzee or doing their crossword puzzles. They fished together on their boat in the bay near Barnegat, NJ and often took me as a young boy to the lighthouse there. I never saw two people who knew each other so well, and who never had a harsh word to say to each other. They would argue, but it was never vicious or mean and it always ended quickly.

They taught me how to be a couple, even though it would take decades for me to fully understand their lesson.

My grandfather was a chain smoker who inhaled about 4 packs of unfiltered Pall Malls a day, a habit he picked up in the Army.  Needless to say, this did not bode well for a healthy life, especially after 60 years of it. He developed emphysema, a disease which would inevitably kill him.

My grandmother had quit smoking 23 years before it took her husband away. She developed lung cancer in her advanced years, likely caused by her past smoking and living with a chain smoker for most of her adult life. That lung cancer, and a stroke caused by it, eventually took her to a place where I am sure my grandfather was waiting for her, crossword puzzles and Bic pens in hand.

My grandfather was a German/Irish man, very kind (at least in my experience) and very stubborn. I don’t think they invented a word describing how stubborn he was and stubborn doesn’t quite seem to do him justice. He would learn how to use that stubbornness to great effect, and to hang around this earth much longer than anyone believed he could. This story is one I will take with me when I meet my own maker.

In one example, my grandmother found my grandfather in a fetal position on their bed. Apparently, his gall bladder had ruptured inside him after weeks of debilitating pain. They got him to the hospital in time, and his gall bladder was removed.

When I asked him why on earth he would wait so long to go to the doctor his answer was simple. To him anyway.

“I thought I had cancer. I don’t want to leave your grandmother, so I figured if I didn’t know I had cancer that I could beat it.” He had endured weeks of severe pain simply because he didn’t want to leave my grandmother.

My grandfather had an obvious fear of cancer. Even though he smoked like a burning warehouse. Even more so, he feared leaving my grandmother behind as well.

As the years progressed, my grandfather’s conditioned worsened, and they both had to move in with us. They stayed downstairs, and I thought it was odd given that one point my grandfather would have to stop walking every 3 feet or so just to catch his breath. I would ask him if he needed help and he would brush off any suggestion of the kind. He would not need help from anyone except, of course, my grandmother. She began to make both of their breakfast without his help at some point. She would cut the grapefruit, divvy up the prunes and make the poached eggs every morning like clockwork.

Whenever he would go to stand, the conversation would go something like this. I can remember it like it just happened.

“Pop, why don’t you just tell me what you need.”

“I don’t want to be a bother. I can manage, Mom.”

“Don’t be so stubborn. What is it you need?”

He would tell her, and she would get it. Each and every time.

One day, my grandfather was rushed to the hospital. After a battery of tests, the forlorn doctor came to talk to our family.

“I’m afraid he isn’t going to last the night. Please, get your affairs in order and say your goodbyes. I’m sorry, but that time has come.”

Three days later my grandfather was walking in the door of our home. That happened three more times over the next couple of years.

The fifth time came when my grandfather couldn’t move. I hated seeing this big German man who epitomized strength looking so frail and wasted. The fifth time was to be the last. My grandfather died stoned on pain meds, unable to speak. I am sure that was the exact opposite of what he would have wanted.

He did, however, have the final word. He had left a cassette tape for us before he left. My mom played it for us.

In it, he asked my parents to leave me alone. He told them that I was a good boy with great potential, and that all they had to do was lay off me. I will never forget those words, it seemed like that was the first time I had heard anyone ever say something like that about me.

My grandfather, that man of few words, also explained why he survived all of those trips to the hospital. I will never forget his words.

“The truth is I love my wife. I love her more than life, and I never wanted to leave her. The day I met her was the best day of my life, and I’ve loved her every day since. She’s stood by me, loved me, cared for me, and never once complained. She’s been my partner, my voice of reason and I am just sad that I have to leave her now. I’ve been lucky to have been with her this long.

But I am tired. I’ve given this my all, and it’s time for me to go. I don’t want to burden you anymore, and I don’t have anything left inside. Mom, I will see you someday soon, but don’t make it too soon. I love you all, and Mom…I am always with you.”

I am writing this with the same tears I shed that day listening to it.

My grandfather taught me how to love a woman. He also taught me how to be loved by a woman. See, the story isn’t so powerful if my grandmother hadn’t been the type of woman who inspired my grandfather to survive horrible odds time and time again. He may have been the inspired one, but she was his inspiration.

My grandfather surprised even the best medical doctors in our area, but he didn’t surprise me. I think that part of him lives on in me, and the more I open up the more I understand him.

Love is like the Sun. It is always shining.

Want proof? The fact that you can see the clouds on an overcast day proves that the Sun is shining even if you can’t see it. Go out in the darkest part of night and you will see the moon reflecting the Sun’s glory to light your way. Even on a full moon when things are at their darkest you need just be patient enough and the Sun itself will light the horizon.

Love, like the Sun, is always shining. Even in the turmoil of your ego love is lighting the way. When fear and anxiety raise their voices love whispers in the background. When we lose sight of everything we have strived for, love stands patiently by like a gentle guide just wanting to wave you home.

Home, my friends, is but a choice away.

I’ve been blessed. I have people in my life who love me and who I love in return. A chosen few (I say that tongue in cheek), are witness to my infrequent-but-not-impossible weakening. In those moments when I am so challenged, all of the fear and insecurity I’ve accumulated over a lifetime seem to be brought to bear. It’s a lesson in human irony, fear often shoved on us by others that has never served us well suddenly becomes the very weapon we use against ourselves, our happiness, our joy. We defeat ourselves with the very same weapons others used to defeat us, whether that effort was intentional or not.

I’ve spent a lot of my later life healing those wounds through meditation, agreements, and self-love. I’ve overcome all kinds of emotional, mental and physical challenges to reach a  place of happiness, joy and security. Recently though, I’ve discovered a place I’ve kept at bay, a place I had chosen not to wander in until one miraculous, continuous, and ongoing moment.

Thus, the challenges began. It was as if I found myself, a traveler with a fear of heights, perched on a narrow ledge high on a mountain with only one way up and one way down. In each direction the ledge only got narrower. Neither direction was suitable because the voices in my head told me that I would fall and my survival was in peril, that I could not trust the ledge, and that there was no way out. As I listened to those voices they only got louder until I felt paralyzed with fear.

In truth, the only threat to survival was me. The ledge was just being a ledge. I was being a human who created threats in my head and then chose to make them real all around me. In hindsight it was a necessary, albeit silly, exercise. The reasons for this exercise are pretty irrelevant, although I can understand them as a way to increase my own awareness, wisdom and self-love. It also gave me an opportunity to further forgive myself and understand the role my past experiences play in my present moment.

No amount of those closest to me asking what happened to the Tom they knew mattered to me. What I see as important is when one of my closest friends said, “It’s beautiful to see. This stoic, stubborn, confident man has been brought to his knees in love. Watching this transformation has been beautiful. I can’t wait to see what you look like when you stand again.”

Even in the throes of emotional upheaval those who love and know you, those who have developed a high level of trust in you, will marvel at your bloody knees and mud-stained face because they can’t wait to see what will result from the fall. They will stand by you, and then they will honor you as your rise and hand you a towel after you’ve washed off in the rain. Those types are few and far between, rarer even than diamonds, so honor them back by always choosing to rise when it is time.

Fortunately I’ve never been one who can stay down for long. Life has built a resilience in me, and I am grateful for it. When it is time for me to stand up, I stand up and it generally doesn’t take me long to do so.

That happens because of that whispering voice that has always remained behind the chorus of fear. It’s always there, and I can always hear it. When I’ve had enough of the ego, of the nonsense…when the lessons presented to me have been taught, that voice becomes my focal point. I can feel it in the shades of emerald-green and blue I see in my meditations. I can feel it in the quakes rattling my mind until, suddenly, it becomes the only voice I can hear.

“ENOUGH! Now stand and fall back in love.”

I often laugh when that happens. When it happened this time, I cried through my own chuckle. That’s what happens when a million pounds of your own shit falls off your back. Not only can you stand, but you can stand quickly. Love once again lights your path, bathes your flesh, and settles your mind to the real task at hand.

That task is to not only return to love, but love in earnest. Take the hand of those around you and be the love you wish to see. Tell the significant other in your life the truth of what they mean to you. Mostly, stop being afraid. Don’t listen to any other voice but love’s whether that voice comes from within or from others. Don’t own the fear others have, just be yourself in a loving and caring way. Mostly, just have that towel ready for them when they finally stand, wash off, and are ready to continue.

For me, the work now is finding that balance between being in love with someone and being the keenly aware being I’ve been sculpted into. I think I’ve got it, and I believe this has been the work I’ve been prepared to do for my entire lifetime. When “the One” comes, we are rarely prepared for what will happen when we’ve waited an entire lifetime for that arrival. So it’s okay to fall as long as you use that time wisely because what results is absolutely beautiful.

Now…on with it.

In the pale light of the evening moon the mind can wander. It leads a man into swampy places where he plays with the thorns he finds on folded roses, teasing himself with the feel of the pinprick against his heart and soul. He marvels in the slow trickle of blood that washes down over his chest, bathing  him in the pain and silence he has grown so accustomed to.

This must end.

As the wolves howl in the nearby underbrush the man’s mind finds chaos. The heart, that usually reticent partner in the journey of this life ridicules its own beat that is so well-intentioned. Just to love, to be loved, openly without the barbed-wire fences his mind creates against it would be…

He can’t finish the sentence. Tears prevent the words from forming, and stain the very ground he once cherished as a place of promise and of hope. Head bowed and hands folded he falls to his knees, legs weakened in the moment. “Please,” he whispers to the night, “let this chalice pass by. I do not wish to taste its bitterness, nor swallow its poison. Let the swill fall to the ground, lest it take me from my heaven. Let those who like this taste take all they want, and leave me with nothing from which to drink.”

A prayer which rises within him a returning growl that silences the beasts of the brush and brushes the cup aside. The pillar within his soul hardens to a purpose for which he is accustomed, the sanctuary of his heart will not be surrendered on this night. His great sword swings with great intention, slicing through the tender parts he’s left exposed and restoring order in the chaos. Silenced will be the mind made again a slave to its Master. It will surrender itself to his purpose, a man steeled against the rages of a mind left to wander.

“Love everyone, but never sell your sword.” ~Paulo Coelho

The Sun crests beyond the distant East, and the noise of night subsides into the sounds of morning.  Fatigued from the lesson, he sits patiently upon a stone, looking out at the line separating night from day. He feels newfound strength course through his body, but he wonders if it is really strength he feels. Perhaps the real power was in his own surrender. Perhaps the real strength was in the battle, not the victory. Perhaps his willingness to feel the flower’s thorn puncture his soul was where he found his greatest triumph.

A long sigh escapes him. Maybe one day he’ll return to that place and there will be no need to fight. Perhaps someday the wolves will embrace him as they do their howling fears in the night. Maybe, if he is lucky, the night and day will unite and there will be no need for him to be cast out for his own survival. Maybe his voice will become the one heard, and not the one silenced.

He will always be willing to go back there. He is not afraid even if he seeks shelter from that place. Some places capture the imagination of poetic hearts in a way in which they can never leave despite the hazards and beasts that live there. Some places are worth the risk to travel to, even if his sword must be released in some moments.

He will wait for the invite, and in turn just journey on his way.

Harry Stoles had learned his lessons the hard way. Life had presented him many challenges and he used those challenges to transform his life from one of sorrow into one of joy. He had overcome his fears and demons to rise above them, finding strength and love as the cornerstone of his experience.

Nothing had been easy, but easy never seemed to be his way. Through countless challenges there he stood, wiser and stronger in the tumble. His wounds would heal, and somehow his soul and body would be stronger in the resurrection. That is the way it had been from his earliest memory, and that is the way things seemed to continue.

Then he met Allison Cramer.

He had met her on a trip he had taken, one that was going to help him clear his mind and recharge his soul. She struck him like a lightning bolt, and within him rose something unusual. He could feel this woman in his entirety, and he could sense her in every part of his soul. It was a connection he had been waiting for, a connection that he never thought possible.

Love sprouted between them. It took its time, but there was no denying it. Both had arrived to it slowly, but one day the words “I love you” flowed from both of them like a spring waterfall. Truer words had never been spoken from either of them, such was the intensity of their connection.

As things will, life would get in the way. They were living quite a distance from one another, and the separation proved agonizing to Harry. He could feel the pain in the very core of his soul, boring into him like a vicious parasite. He wanted her near, but she was not ready. He loved her, so he wanted to grow into togetherness with her. He would see this as yet another challenge, one that would teach him something valuable.

The language of his emotion left no doubt to Harry that he wanted to share his life with her. Allison had taught him so much about love, both in the way she stood by him and the way she slowly allowed him to open up to her. He no longer felt joy in nature alone. He no longer saw the Sunrise in the same way. He wanted to walk with her, see life with her, and experience the act of living by her side. In her absence life was always as it had been. In her presence, life was something else entirely.

He’d share this with her, understanding that she simply was not ready. It was his truth, and he just couldn’t hide it for very long. He wanted her to know what she meant to him, and he never wanted to leave her wondering or leave her without speaking the words, “I love you.” Her truth was she needed to take her time. Together, they would figure it out.

One day, however, Harry got sick. He discovered his life would end soon.

He kept it his secret, not wanting to change life around him. People tend to act differently when they know someone is dying. They become more accommodating, nicer, friendlier. Harry would rather have them as they are without the mask, acting like they would normally and not changing just because he was dying.

So, he’d continue his walks. He’d continue working on his body and mind. He’d continue trying to get the love of his life closer. She’d continue telling him she was not ready. While it  was painful, Harry was able to smile in knowing that she was still following his heart and her own journey. He felt confident that Allison, and everyone else close to him, were going on their path and that his death would, perhaps, be a part of that journey.

Harry decided against treatment. He did not want to waste away trying to extend his life. He had learned that there was life, and then there was living. Harry had sworn to himself long ago that he would live, and that without living he would want no life.

The end began to come quickly, within weeks. Soon, those who saw him noticed his condition. They would ask him about it. Harry, for his part, denied everything at first. He’d tell them that his dieting and workouts were the cause of his weight loss. Then, as he became too weak to for physical activity, he told them he had come down with something. Finally, when he could barely stand without great effort, he told them that the end was very close indeed.

His friends and family were shocked. Some of them became angry in his secret. Others came close to him, offered to help him, and stood by him. He, in turn, learned to accept their love in his weakened state.

“Are you going to tell Allison?” one asked.

“No.”

“You need to. She needs to know Harry. You can’t let your life end without a final moment with her.”

“No. I wanted to share my life with her, not my death. I wanted her near to do life with her, not death. Death would be acceptable if life had come first. I will not have her come close to me just because I am dying. I wanted her to come close because I was living.”

He was unwavering on this point, and they respected his wishes.

Allison, for her part, could tell Harry’s voice had changed. She would ask him about it, and he would tell her that he was just tired, which wasn’t exactly a lie. It would be better tomorrow, a tomorrow that he quickly began to realize may never come. Harry always would seem to muster just enough strength to seem somewhat normal for the time he and Allison would talk. That’s all he seemed to care about.

On the day Harry died, he was alone. A friend had said he’d stop over later, and Harry told him he’d see him then. Allison and Harry would talk later in the day, as had become their custom. As Harry laid in bed struggling for breath, he recited in his mind what he would say to Allison when she called. At least their angels would hear it.

“I love you. With all of my soul. You have been one of the best things to happen to me in this life. I’ve always loved you, even before my birth, and I will love you even after I die. We will be together in the next life, I am sure.

My love, I am dying. I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Just know that my life was lightened by your presence, and I am grateful to have loved you and that you have loved me.”

He just wanted to keep going, to tell her everything over and over again, but his strength was fading fast. She was his flame and love was his mantra. One day he would be silent, and that day had come. Today was the day he dreaded, the day when living and loving would end.

Harry looked at a picture of him and Allison on his wall. Through the struggle for breath he sobbed. Tears flowed down his cheek like raindrops, raindrops containing a mixture of regret and gratitude. His struggle ended as he mouthed the words, “I love you”.

Allison would come to him. As she caressed the man she loved in his casket her tears fell on him like a summer rain. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t tell her, but a memory of a conversation they had poured through her mind.

“Love,” she said, “I hope you can understand why I’m not ready.”

“I do,” Harry replied, “and although I am not liking it, know that I am as dedicated to you on your path as I am to me on mine. Of course I wish things could be different, but I rise each morning with hope that this will be the day when you are ready. Until that day arrives, I can do nothing but hope, ask, and love you.”

Allison rose from her memory, and looked at the face of her great love. Through her tears she bent to his ear one final time.

“I will see you soon, my love. I am ready now.”

There is a moral to this story. You may just have to wait to get to the end to see it. I believe, however, that many of you will feel it even before that end arrives.

When I was sick, unable to see, stand, walk or do even some of the simplest things I had become accustomed to I learned a valuable lesson. Sometimes the ease of things is relative. Sometimes the purpose of a moment is not to run from difficulty, but to seek to make those difficult things easy. Sometimes we can find great joy in that undertaking.

I want to share something that will, perhaps, add some perspective to this moment. I am asked to write it because someone needs to read it. Perhaps that someone is you. Perhaps he is me.

Some of you know I almost died twice in 2014. I was blinded, could not walk, had no strength in my limbs, and lost a bit of motor control as well. I knew my life would never be the same, but I knew it wasn’t over. In most aspects, I believed that it had actually just begun (again).

It’s hard from someone who hasn’t been in this spot to understand it. There are many choices one can make as they lay on a hospital bed unable to even swallow. For me, the choice would be very clear, very quickly.

I would see my children in my mind. I had made a video on my cell for them as I laid in the emergency room slowly losing my faculties. I had no idea if I would survive, let alone ever speak again. I wanted them to know some things that I felt had not been said enough. I never wanted them to wonder about those things, so the video clearly (in the best way I could) spelled out my feelings, my thoughts, and how wonderful of beings I knew they were.

I had vowed in that moment that, if I survived, I would never let those things go unsaid again. I know it is difficult for those who have never faced the likely possibility of never speaking again to understand just how valuable the words “I love you” are, but I sure don’t. Life is just too fragile to let those things slip by, and it’s a fucking shame if we let them.

As my eyes began to fail me, I looked around. I could not imagine the last images I would see would be the inside of that emergency room. I tried to think back to those things I loved to see….and wished I could see them again. I vowed in that moment that if I regained my vision that I would soak in every sight I could, and never take any of them for granted.

As my limbs became numb, I tried to recall what it felt like to have the warm Sun on my skin, or to feel the kisses of my children on my face. I tried to remember what it was like to put my feet in the chilly ocean, or to crunch my toes up in the sand. I tried to remember what it was like to run, to stand, to chase my daughter on the soccer field.

I vowed in that moment to never take a kiss for granted. I never wanted to take any step I took with a grain of salt. If I could ever walk again, or throw a ball, or catch a Frisbee I would do those things with great abandon.

When I regained my sight, I took great joy in the most mundane things. The Sun peeking above the horizon. A sports game. The sight of someone I love smiling. The way the new snow looks on the ground. My daughter scoring a goal, my son showing me his new comedy routine. I wanted to soak it all in while it lasted if I was given the chance, and never take any of it for granted.

As I was learning to walk again, I would take great joy in the little things. Those little things added up to eventually walking without assistance, then to climbing stairs without much help, to running (and falling ) on the beach (I would run on the beach so that when I fell, it wouldn’t hurt so much), to running mountain trails. I still count the little things as very important in a way most of those who haven’t lost those little things can understand.

Believe me. When you aren’t sure you’ll ever walk again that moment you crawl up and down stairs is wonderful. Then, the moment you can walk up the stairs becomes a reason to smile. When that is followed by being able to walk down the stairs, well you celebrate. That celebration continues every time you walk up and down something…stairs, trails, inclines.

About that running on the beach for when I fell. I did fall, many times. Landing on the sand is not painless, and I bore the scrapes and bloody elbows and knees to prove it. One time I went running at a rock quarry just to see if I could do it. Needless to say, it was about a 2 mile loop, and I left with a little less skin than when I arrived, but I smiled because I was actually running at a rock quarry. Ah, those little things.

Eventually the feeling and strength in my limbs returned although I do feel some things differently now. It took work, lots of it. I would lift (for me) the most ridiculously light weights, but as my grip strength improved and my range of motion became more consistent, that weight got heavier. Now, I don’t take any physical activity for granted. Each is a celebration all by itself.

I never take a caress for granted. I absorb every moment my fingertips touch someone I love. A kiss deserves my utmost attention. Oh, and yes…every second counts in love. Ever. Single. One. Take one for granted and, well, you may not get another. Don’t be like younger Tom trying to get out words on a video that should have never been let to chance. Don’t be like younger Tom, take the chance on life when it is offered you.

That is, after all, the point. Life is one big experience, one big present moment, made up of a bunch of little ones. In each of those little ones we get to choose our priorities, our values, our perspective, and the amount of effort we will put into them. We get to choose which version of us shows up, and which one of us departs even if we don’t always get to choose how we leave. That isn’t to say that we need to live in fear of the end. I believe we simply need to be aware of its eventuality, and trust ourselves enough to live the life we want to live until that eventuality arrives.

In other words, I choose to live this life. Period.

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