Oct. 09, 2003 - 21:49 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Old Timer

We couldn't complete our tour of the Fall Aspens recently. I have been eyeballing the weather since. Today, besides having a good weather forecast in the paper, on looking out I saw no clouds. It presaged a good day in the mountains. Usually if the sky is clear over the mountains it will be afternoon before any weather drops down on the unwary. At least at this time of year.

So, we made ready and as we went down to the car Heather remarked that we should give John Henry (our brother in law) a visit in his nursing home on our way up to the hills. His nursing home is in the foothills near Red Rocks Park. He fell and broke his hip some time ago and being afraid to walk after the bone knit, went downhill thereafter. He was born in 1913 so had a long life. We spent some time with this very unresponsive old man, stopped in the other end of the nursing home to visit his wife who is in the Alzheimer's section. She reacts to warmth and kindness, babbles a bit now and then and holds Heather's hand, smiles when Heather calls her, "My big sister." Then we went upward.

Between this trip up and the one before we were treated with eye candy de luxe, but due to the drouth we saw no vast panoramas of Aspen in their glory to photograph. Today as we travelled the road to Echo Lake we saw some nice Aspens, singles they were, lit like glowing candles among the evergreens. As we rose into real Aspen country, most of the limbs were already bare, had already been frosted. But still it was pleasant, it has been unseasonably warm here in town, and of course smoggy and a trip into the mountains brought to us refreshing coolness and pure air. Then too, the limitless vistas of mountain country which is pretty clear of human built anything but roads, restored our souls. It was especially precious as we knew that today was the last trip to the mountains we would take before snowfall this year.

The deciduous trees were in full color too which added to our enjoyment this time. We spent time at outlooks enjoying the mountain vistas we love so much until Heather looked at me and said, "Well, we've done it again, are you ready for the trip home through rush hour traffic in town or do you want to come home in the dark ? Take your pick." Reluctantly we headed home. The traffic hour was about as "rush" as it gets, but by taking the slow, zig-zag route we arrived home probably long before those who travelled the freeways reached theirs.

We settled in, I watered the outdoor plants, we ate our last meal of the day, Heather settled at the TV and I to the keyboard went. Shortly she came in and told me, "John Henry died this afternoon." We will miss him, the him that used to be, who hadn't been here for a long time. His nursing home life and his wife's disability pretty well made it a depressing time of life for him. Heather and I grieve realizing that the grief is for ourselves, bereft of yet another member of a large family.

He married Heather's big sister some years before Heather and I met. The already had a youngster mastering the tricycle when we married. He and I bonded as being outsiders who married sisters. We were at the "Sunday at Mom's" every Sunday. Then there were long periods of time we didn't see each other, for instance our ten years in Florida, yet we would pick up where we left off when we were again near them.

There have been ticks on our calendar for quite awhile now marking the passing of family members and friends, Dear God I do pray that we do not have to attend the funeral of any of our progeny - or theirs.

But the passing on of relatives is just one thing that reminds me that I am getting old. The gradual worsening of my physical condition, heart, lungs, back and energy/endurance as well as wrinkles are things that remind me that I too am mortal and am near the bridge from life to death. I do not fear the crossing and know it is near the year and is inevitable.

Tonight we bid farewell to a ninety year old man who embarked on the major journey of life . . . . . goodbye Old Timer . . . . . . . . . . . .

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