The Inevitable

I entered this story very late in the scene.

I am not the star of this show, I’m the supporting cast.

This is not my story to tell, though perhaps I was led into her story to help lend a voice where she will have none. I’ll willingly lend it, if that time should come and if that should be my delegated role.

Words such as “oracle” have been frequently used to describe her, by more than one person.

And it’s for good reason. She has a wisdom and perception that truly belie her scant years.

Perhaps it’s the fact that her life is a short one, full of more suffering than any one person deserves, and this has lent her a keen empathy.

Perhaps it’s the fact that she’s been toeing the line between life and death for so many months now that she overhears quiet conversations from further beyond the line growing more audible as each day passes.

It’s only speculation. It will probably always only be speculation.

Understand that she is someone who values her privacy, therefore shall not be named by me.

Understand that for as fragile as her body is, her spirit is twice as strong.

Understand that she is kindness, generosity, resiliency, and humility personified.

Understand that she has been in hospice for all of this year.

Understand that Alicia warned me that her words would make me cry at some point.

This is all anyone really needs to know. Well…that, and the time of the inevitable is drawing near.

This morning, I padded through the darkness from my bedroom to the kitchen, on my way to fulfill my morning ritual. Jack snorted happily on my heel, despite my many pleas for him to use his inside snort.

I felt along the far wall until my hand hit the switch. Then, as light filled the kitchen, I turned and found something awry with my coffee station. A device sat there that wasn’t present before I went to bed.

coffee station with a note and a small frother
Jonah tysm 4 helping hope this frother adds some joy 2 ur coffee routine ur so deserving

What I may have failed to convey is that the star of this show is, quite literally, on her deathbed.

She is tiny, like a little sparrow. Each movement of hers is a calculated expenditure of energy that she can’t recoup. Every effort is a study in pained determination.

However, at some point between 11 pm and 6:30 am, she put herself into her wheelchair, stealthily navigated it from her room to the kitchen, and left a gift for me, along with a little note.

That effort alone will probably cost her most of a day in recuperation time.

Little acts such as this have the biggest impact.

I am humbled.

Published by Jonah Sheridan Fenn

Nerd herder, word wrangler, working on the next chapter...

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