Thursday, September 3, 2015

Just A Matter of Time

I'm watching him die.

Every morning HOSPICE arrives and spends a few minutes giving him whatever infusion he requires to not feel any pain.

Around lunch time a volunteer from MEALS ON WHEELS rushes inside to leave a container of hot food which he may, or may not, eat.

Mid-afternoon our neighbor Ray shows up on his bicycle and stands in the yard taking inventory of the yellow house with the Banana Plants and a limp American Flag.

He then wanders inside for ten or fifteen minutes before coming out to again conduct the same inventory of the house before climbing on his bike to peddle home.

At dusk comes the Cat Lady screeches, "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!"

She's looking for Smoky ... his cat ... who eats at her house ... because she feeds cats.

The last time Scott and I talked, he looks like "The Great Lebowski" ... wearing boxer shorts ... a dirty open bath robe ... long hair askew falling into hallow eyes ... holding a cup in his hand ... searching for Smokey.

The way Scott searches is to walk into the Cat Lady's yard and whistles "Dixie" of all things.

I'm trolling our yard searching for our cat Gypsy who loves to escape and wander to the Cat Lady's house too.

He whistles "Dixie."

"Hey man," I say.

"Rev," he softly replies in an almost inaudible voice.

"You doing okay?"

Shrugging his shoulders he whistles "Dixie" and Smokey meanders to him.

Lovingly he bends over exposing dry pasty white skin and hugs Smoky.

"Be good Rev," he says and slowly shuffles his feet across the street, under the limp American flag, through the Banana Trees, inside his house to the bed room in the back.

"Yeah," I mumble ... "You too."

I haven't seen him since.

HOSPICE sees him ... the nice man from MEALS ON WHEELS sees him ... Ray does too every single day ... as does the Cat Lady when she's home.

It's just a matter of time.

I tell myself I should do something so I make my way to his place just as Ray glides in on his bicycle.

"What are you doing Micheal?"

"I was going to say 'Hey'."

Ray has a great smile ... full of understanding and sympathy.

"Yeah," he says climbing off his bike and dropping it on the grass, "I'll tell him for you."

"Yeah," I say ... understanding.

Returning home I stare out of the windows on a dearie rainy day and watch until Ray picks up his bike, takes a last inventory and peddles himself back home.

It's funny.

Ray doesn't believe in God.

Neither does the Cat Lady.

I have no idea if Scott does or not.

But I know Holiness when I see it.

I saw it today.