Reunion In Death

Today I held the hand of a dying woman. The deep lines on her face tell a story of untold happiness, sadness, struggles and euphoria.

Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes pass and I am lost in a daze. What is she thinking? Is she afraid? Does she have hope?

I speak to her in a compassionate voice, knowing the inevitable outcome awaiting her, but attempting to bring comfort between labored breath. She has not eaten in days, morphine masks the physical pain... her body is wasting away.

Care aides are trained to help those who can no longer help themselves effectively. We motivate, wash, exercise and note any changes in the physical, psychological or behavioral. We listen, converse and love these aged beings in the absence of their families. Sadly we do not know the person they were in their youth, instead we often meet an obscure representation because disease has taken a firm hold. Dementia ranges from the mild sort of confusion that can lead to frustration, all the way to those who are unaware of their surroundings, date and even their most beloved. The lady I held adored her children, was kind and gracious to everyone, emigrated as a child from Poland to go on to shape young minds as a teacher. She brought value and was valued in this world... she was cherished by her kin.

As I leaned over her bed, she stared up into my eyes, hers still blue as the sky on a clear day... like the eyes of my father. I am transported to the last time I saw my dad, the same sunken features, the lack of vitality. It was tragic to see my old man without his full face, the man from my childhood was strong and young. This lady reminds me how difficult it is to confront death, to confront a loved ones death. Quietly I speak to her about how it is "okay", that she will be in the arms of her mother and father again. She looks at me and blinks deliberately. Is this a blink meant to signal to me that she understands? Beyond reason I accept this as what it was. It comforts me, it is difficult to imagine death without a hope of something more. A fairytale it may be, but we all need escape from time to time.

She runs in the tall grass, her father chases her, her mother watches on...smiling... and wishes the moment lasts eternal . Her father's arms envelope her tiny body, she melts into his, it is ecstasy... this kind of devotion. Only a father can know the love a man has for a daughter. This kind of love cannot be extinguished and it is due to this that I am hopeful she will respond to my words about a reunion, an embrace she has awaited for many years.

After I got home I scooped up my daughter and held her tightly. I reminded her again how much I love her, and how she is everything I could have ever asked for in a daughter. She smiled knowingly, and returns my sentiment. This bond cannot ever die.

I am a Care Aide. I care for and love those who have loved countless others during their time on this earth. They have experienced a lifetime of success and failure, happiness and sadness, struggle and euphoria.

Today I had the privilege of holding the hand of a dying woman.

Lost And Broken

The morning of my discontent. Again dishes were left strewn across the counter, dried and drying morsels from last night's pot luck adhering themselves like an impossibly well designed super glue.

My wife is on the phone, her words ricocheting around my head in a dizzying manner- Something about a clean house and we exchange 'I love you's'. The fog from my swirling alcohol stupor is still heavy upon me.

I hate dish duty. Hell, I hate being a light weight when it comes to drinking.
My father was the culmination in a line of heavy drinkers, his body withstanding years of abuse at the hands of cheap whiskeys before cancer took him last Spring. I have memories of my father nursing the sickness of acute alcohol poisoning with a six pack of American beer and tomato juice. Perhaps there is a limit to the depths a family can sink, maybe I was spared because my 'old man' suffered enough for the rest of us. For whatever reason, I am unable to quell the surge on most mornings after, after the chaos. Bound with zero tolerance but liberated from the clutches of inherited alcoholism, I escaped mostly unscathed.

Today's moping has just begun. Dawn and the kids left for Big White before daylight broke, leaving me to tend house and babysit Harley.

Harley is our Pyrador, a mix breed of British Black Lab and Great Pyrenees. A dog with an exceptional lineage, subservient nobility, loyal till death.

While my family enjoys a day skiing and skating, I am elected master dishwasher/dog walker extraordinaire. We can be categorized as responsible dog owners, if no other superlative jumps out 'responsible' does.

I descend the stairs in our bi-level, half duplex. My ears have tuned Harley thrashing about in a restless sleep. He sometimes huffs and snorts, and runs an invisible race while horizontal- It is quite ridiculous to behold, although not uncommon according to the many fellow dog owners we relate tales to on our travels around Kelowna. Harley is our first dog, and despite our two beautiful children, it is like having a newborn all over again- A slow witted alien newborn that chews on everything.

As I emerge from the stairway I spot a sleek black figure frantically wiggling in excitement, Harley instantaneously wakened by the creaking floor boards moaning under the weight of my step.

"Good morning Harley, I am happy to see you too." There is little sense in denying my pathetic ability to carry on a conversation with a species utterly incapable of speaking human languages.

Sun rays splay the floor in luminescent shapes, shifting slightly with each elegant wave of the drapes. Kiandra must have forgotten to close the slider before she left with her mother. Cool air is wafting in the house, permeating the warmth but not overpowering it. The change in temperature is a slight and pleasant relief meant for Harley. Kiandra is a thoughtful and kind child. Her empathy is moving and powerful, she is an angel in a five year old body.

"Let's go out for a pee."

As I approach, Harley is feverishly bending back and forth like a freakish fur coated accordion. I have to chuckle at the comical display of affection directed my way. I command 'down' while freeing Harley from the wire fence that separates us. The instant the small door is opened Harley is out and lavishing me with shamefully loud squeals of excitement.

"You're such a good boy." I repeat this a few times while stroking his warm ears and leading him to the door outside.

After releasing my puppy into the yard, and watching him burst through the gate to relieve himself, I re-enter the house alone. There is but one consideration left, a brief nap to uncork the pressure captured within my cranium.

Itemized tasks begin rolling around my hazy consciousness. Task one: More sleep! Task two: Do dishes! Task three: Walk Harley! Task four: Repeat task one! Before long I am breathing heavily, oblivion has overtaken me for a few hours.

Procrastination is a constant in my life. Before my wife and children, long before, I nestled closely with another mistress and her name is 'procrastination'. She is nary a step away each time I pause to rest my ass.

Upon waking, I slew the dragon and expeditiously scrubbed the dishes, vacuumed, and removed all evidence from last nights festivities.

Breaching the door I am blanketed with flaming white light. A wild shadow stretches awkwardly on the wall, it disappears when I take refuge under the car port.
Supported by the back fence I lean over and call to Harley, he is asleep in his igloo inspired dog house. Time for our walk. Both of us enjoy hiking in the mountains that rise to contain this majestic valley. Harley stretches sluggishly beyond the threshold.

"C'mon boy, let's go for a walk." Harley's trigger word persuades quickening muscle movements.

"C'mon Harley, I'm waiting for you slow poke."

Harley is an amazingly handsome puppy. His body is definitely reminiscent of a Labrador, athletic and muscular, but his face is closer to a Pyrenean Mountain Dog. The fur coating his neck and shoulders mimic an adolescent lion's mane. At four months he is almost forty pounds- Unwieldy for both Tyler and Kiandra who are unable to tame his furious enthusiasm.

I unlatch the gate to meet the bounding energy focused toward me with a chest lead harness. We abandoned using the typical collar when Harley continually choked himself with an unrelenting pull forward. Fearing a broken trachea in his near future, we proactively changed to a safety harness that disrupts his natural instinct to charge ahead decidedly.

The sun cascades down the mountains and pools in the valley. It is an unseasonably balmy day for January, 'Global Warming' bringing it's unwanted changes to Canada. Snow is dissolving rapidly leaving puddles of moisture on top of the saturated earth. Flooding creeks threaten homes near Okanagan Lake when debris and loose foliage are carried in the torrent, creating spontaneous dams. White sheets of ice blaze atop the rock masses that crown this ethereal jewel I call home.

Dawn and I moved from Edmonton, a ten hour drive and one Province East, to offer a different life to our children than the one we had growing up. The Canadian Prairies are famous for blisteringly cold temperatures during the dark months, crushing chill resulting in frozen animation. Kelowna offered four seasons instead of two polarizing ones. Pristine lakes tantalize even the most lazy of us off the couch, experiencing life beyond our dry-walled dens. I often gaze about my surroundings wondering if it is all real. Did we really pack up the life we knew so well to rewrite future chapters that seemed predestined a few years ago?

To escape the swamps growing throughout the lowlands, Harley and I decide to trek higher elevations than customary- Harley honestly had very little to say, but he typically agrees with most everything I suggest.

We quench the thirst of our minivan with about a hundred dollars of 87 octane 'rocket fuel', or 'cheap gas'- Semantics aside.

A few doors down from the gas station is a pet store that beckons us to replenish supplies for my four legged buddy. Like humans, dogs require nutrient dense foods during extended periods of exertion... 'Responsible'.

Following the niceties thrust upon my companion by two twenty-something 'emo' girls- (Crisis averted, substantiated by the broad smiles plastered across their pixie complexions. Dogs act as a 'lightning rod' on the path to catharsis.) We jump into our chariot and ascend the snaking asphalt, cutting a swath through abundantly treed forests.- Currently threatened by an intruding pest called the 'Mountain Pine Beetle'.

Pressure converging inside my skull results in a painful popping, Eustachian tubes coaxing a chewing motion to relieve the disturbance. A piece of gum removes the irritating malady.

Our destination is not a great distance from our front door, but the climb is steep. I turn off of Highway 33 onto a logging road and park facing North. This particular logging road is thick with snow, the altitude brings a bite in the air which prevents melting. Disappearing after a bend along the natural topography are four sets of tracks, they appear to be going in the same direction. One set seems to be of a child or a small woman- Perhaps a vacationing family looking to take some pictures of the scenery.

I quickly scan the area for a vehicle, it is unusual to see people walking this far from the city without some form of transportation. Across the main highway I find what looks to be a red 'Mercedes' sedan resting just off the roadway. Perplexed with how I could have missed it, turning barely a hundred meters away from the spot, I open the side door behind the driver's to release Harley.

A curiously uneasy feeling overcomes me, but my instinct dictates that I confront these moments with calm. Harley thrives when I am relaxed and fun, so I clear my mind and execute controlled, level energy. I grab the backpack containing our supplies- Two water bottles, a couple of sandwiches, and the bag of cookies I picked up for Harley at the pet store.

I help Harley down from the van trying to avoid any possible hip dysplasia caused by jumping. He circles the vicinity and squats to urinate- Male dogs don't lift their legs to pee until they are approximately six months old. Once Harley is ready to go we take off following the caravan of tracks before us.

The wind brings sweet evergreen scents, and kisses my cheek while tickling Harley's thick fur. The sun hangs in the south western sky steadily deteriorating as it threatens to set for the day. Deer, wolves, mountain lions and thousands of other animals move undetected, working to survive and perpetuate their species. Bears hibernate in rocky depressions, wasting away accumulated fat built over a few months gorging on berries and Kokanee(Land locked Sockeye Salmon). Birds fret loudly, alarming whenever an intruder disrupts the silence. Mulch infuses the soil with nitrogen and other compounds, absorbed by the rivulets beneath the insulating ice. Spring is coming, and 'Mother Nature' is doing her best to prep for it's arrival.

"We better get moving before it gets dark." Harley flicks some loose snow in the air with his nose, a gesture I interpret as agreement.

I align myself on the same bearing as the footprints, and mush on. Harley slinks in and out of the stunted vegetation, panting his approval.

"You like it out here don't you?" The dialogue, although one sided, comforts me.

The road is level and wide, designed for massive vehicles hauling long tree shafts. The curves are gradual enough to allow me to view deep into the forest.
Within ten minutes the tracks I am pursuing diverge. Two sets continue down the road, and two vanish between a scattering of large boulders advancing into the towering trees beyond.

My curiosity is piqued, and I contemplate the adventure of stalking the way into snow laden pines. Harley scours the footprints leading away from us. The tracks are oddly juxtaposed in size, a child and their father?

Determining the main road is our best bet, I call to Harley, disrupting his sniffing.

"Come Harley, we're going this way."

Ignoring my demands, Harley continues further.

"Harley! Let's go." He lifts his head, stares me dead in the eyes, and then drops his head again.

I turn my back and step on, knowing Harley is uncomfortable when I am not within a assuring distance of him. There are sounds of feet scampering over my shoulder, a gentle nudge is felt on my leg, and then whining because I ignore his attempts at an apology.

"You done pouting?"

Harley charges me, tail waving, head nodding, a last leap, and finally a playful bow. A silent truce is accepted, all is forgotten, we are best friends again.

I love how easy it is to make up with a dog, you only need to acknowledge them, that's it. Dog's are driven to please, to serve, to play.

Dawn and I carry scars from exceptionally nasty arguments, scars that last a lifetime. We accept these battle wounds as normal, badges every married couple must accumulate to be deemed worthy. If only we could accept loved ones the way dogs do, world peace might be possible.

A few minutes up the road the remaining tracks lead off in the same way the others did. Between some boulders, and into the shaded forest. Harley and I continue along, deviating from the explorers we pursued.

Harley tips his nose at the prints, stopping momentarily before catching my gaze with questioning eyes.

"No Harley, we're going this way." Once more I am caught validating my puppies intelligence with a clarification he cannot possibly understand, and yet he accompanies me with no other command.

Staring skyward I view stars dotting the dim expanse. Clouds eclipse the moon rising in the East. We are trapped momentarily between day and night, existing in neither and both simultaneously. The inspiration for every script of good versus evil began during a second like this.

Thousands of years ago a solitary man stood upon the earth and contemplated the eternal heavenly dispute- Does dark snuff out light, or does light inspire life from blackness?

Pulverizing the silence encircling us, I am blasted by a shrieking echo of what sounds to be a tortured scream. Harley barks deeply and charges quickly five steps back in the direction of the path we bypassed. After supporting his instinctual response, trailing him- Harley continues to bark madly leading me down a ditch, over a downed cedar, and into the darkening hillside. My heart thuds in it's ribbed case, my breathing tightens, I am perspiring. We beat the ground blindly, lead only by more muffled cries. A wall of stone towers over treetops before us, Harley pushes me, hopping through the deep snow furiously.

Nearing the alarm, I begin to hear bewildering laughter incorporated among muffled sobbing. I slow my pace and watch Harley exploding boisterously onward, undaunted. Dizziness overwhelms me. My step falters. I dip a knee into the snow and contact the mixed decay beneath. Trying to make sense of the situation, I stand and propel determinedly after Harley.

I discover a clearing as I approach the disorderly notes bombarding my consciousness. Harley must be at the scene, I note growling and barking coming from the base of the rock face- Only steps away now.

Figures can be deciphered, moving in a silhouetted dance. A dog jumping and clawing, tearing at loose clothing. Ushered towards the fray by concern for the people dodging Harley's frenetic advances, my world comes into focus.

"Fuck man where did this dog come from?" A boy calls out to his companion. The boy looks to be twenty at the most. He circles, backing from Harley, taunting him with excited giggles. The boy's friend is attempting to coax Harley away from his committed course.

"I don't know dude... quit moving so I can grab him."

"I'm trying but I don't want him to bite my dick off." The guy Harley is lunging at has his pants down and is naked above the ankles.

Almost lost in the background, is a body laying propped on matted fabric. The lack of light obscures some detail, but I perceive more nakedness. It appears to be a child, a little girl- She could be Tyler's age! Suddenly I realize the seriousness of what I have stumbled into. The girl is delirious and exhausted from whatever horror she has survived. Blood stains her hip and belly.

"What in the hell is going on here?" My voice silences the bedlam.

Harley latches on to a hand in the melee. I am startled by a cracking branch and a rush to my left. My body goes numb when I am bludgeoned to the back of the head. Nothingness...

Awakened with blinding pain firing down my spine, I sense my body dragging over moist soil. Sadly I am unable to resist whatever is coming, paralyzing weakness disables my defenses. Harley is growling, thrashing near me, I cannot see him. The sky is brilliant, orange and yellows dance over the western mountains. The injuries I have sustained leave me permanently looking to my left. My captors are talking worriedly about what they have decided to do with me.

I am aware of what is coming, and all I muster is a tear. I think of Dawn and the kids enjoying the day, the panic and fear devastating them in waves when I don't come home. Suffocating sadness chokes me. I will never hold my wife again, or read stories to Kiandra, or watch Tyler play soccer- Another tear, and then another, followed by a steady stream warmly streaking my face.

The pressure felt at my feet subsides. We stop. More growling and determined squeals... A grunt. Harley falls into the emptiness. Nervous chuckles when he thuds after a cruel drop. I shut my eyes tight, 'playing dead'. Three sets of hands work to move me closer to my open grave. Someone is throwing up, I smell the pungent aroma. They are quiet now, do they have the mettle?

I am left to contemplate their resolve momentarily, and then a kick. Six hands claw at my lifeless limbs. I am rolled to the precipice, and nudged into the unfathomable canyon. I tumble through the air for what seems like an eternity.

"Goodbye Love!"