(Dedicated to honoring my Uncle Dave who has valued strength and passion his whole life, who now faces his next greatest act of bravery: living passionately in the weakness of a life with ALS.)
When I see my strong memoried uncle stare straight into his short future, my head spins his direction. From my angle, I can't quite see his face, but I see his reflection in the darkness of a TV screen. He shallow breathes words with his eyes.
There's sweet assuredness mingling with pain and doubt like whiskey and coke. But his wrestle with the hard life ahead can't be watered down with ice cubes. The slow sweet drink of Coke won't drown out the bitter taste of the lowball he's been handed. Certainly, he'd say he's been slid a strong kicking tumbler.
In this part of life's ride, he's facing the frustration of a stop sign on a steep hill. Smoothly moving uphill is putting his control and riding skills to the test. He's had to disengage the clutch on the life he prefers to live. Yet, his hands still clamp handles of a walker to steady walk him through a daily path of moguls. Life has already taught him there are many times when the smooth roadway turns to a patch of loose gravel, offsetting his stable footing.
But he's clinging to his unforgotten riding skills for this one.
He hasn't forgotten to make life an honest ride....There are days when this disease kicks his ass, when he faces the shelf life of wine rather than whiskey. There are days when he kicks back and knows without doubt the fight is worth every second if a second is all he has of his ride.
When I see my strong memoried uncle stare straight into his short future, my head spins his direction. From my angle, I can't quite see his face, but I see his reflection in the darkness of a TV screen. He shallow breathes words with his eyes.
There's sweet assuredness mingling with pain and doubt like whiskey and coke. But his wrestle with the hard life ahead can't be watered down with ice cubes. The slow sweet drink of Coke won't drown out the bitter taste of the lowball he's been handed. Certainly, he'd say he's been slid a strong kicking tumbler.
In this part of life's ride, he's facing the frustration of a stop sign on a steep hill. Smoothly moving uphill is putting his control and riding skills to the test. He's had to disengage the clutch on the life he prefers to live. Yet, his hands still clamp handles of a walker to steady walk him through a daily path of moguls. Life has already taught him there are many times when the smooth roadway turns to a patch of loose gravel, offsetting his stable footing.
But he's clinging to his unforgotten riding skills for this one.
He hasn't forgotten to make life an honest ride....There are days when this disease kicks his ass, when he faces the shelf life of wine rather than whiskey. There are days when he kicks back and knows without doubt the fight is worth every second if a second is all he has of his ride.
He hasn't forgotten to live humble these days. He has no white horse to travel upon.... With each given day, he bows long and slow to his queen, kissing her hand.
He hasn't forgotten that kindness is love lived out in action. He softly hugs me and whispers, "I love you." Like a gentleman, he escorts me to the door, head weak and low, once again reminding me, "I love you." Struggling to lift the weight of both hands to his lips, he blows me a kiss goodbye from behind his glass paneled door.
He's rightly reworked living well into willing to live. When breath doesn't come easily and spending it is worth a million dollars, what does he dare to gamble his last breaths on? He has no time or energy for the deep breathes of reserved regret. Breath is reserved for the bravery of asking forgiveness. So much life breath wasted on needless worries.
His soul praises with resting palms on his knees, weeding out and emptying all the unnecessary. He speaks of what mattered in the whole of his life, not wasting a breath.
And his words mattered. For the rest of my life, I'll hold his "I love you" close.
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