It's All Gravy

The casket was the center of attention at the front of the small sanctuary. Flowers lined the walls and people crowded in to show their respect. In the few moments before the ceremony started I thought of the events that led to this point in my life. I have no regrets; I've made few mistakes. It's all been gravy.
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         The lines etched in his face told the story of his life, each line a chapter-days spent chopping wood, trout fishing on the lake, playing with his grandkids in the park. His skin, weathered and brown, hung loose around his cheeks. I leaned forward and ran my fingers through his gray, thinning hair. Years ago this man had been my idol, my role model. He still was. I lightly placed my hand on his chest and felt it rise  and fall as he struggled for each breath.
         I pulled away from the bed and closed my eyes tightly, trying to squeeze away the pain. The soft hum of the instruments in the room droned on. I thought of God. It seemed I always thought of God when I was desperate or in trouble. Now was no different. It seemed like a good time to pray.
         "God," I whispered. "I don't understand why people have to waste away and die. I don't understand why good people have to suffer. I don't understand it but I'm asking you now to touch this man. Ease his suffering and if he must die take him now."
         "So you want your old grandpa to die do ya?" I looked in the direction of the hoarse whisper and saw his smiling face.
         "You know I don't, Papaw." The sound of his ragged voice brought a smile to my now red face. "I'd do anything in the world to take your pain away." I leaned forward and wrapped my hand around his. "How are you feeling?"
         "Tired. I'm always tired, BooBoo."
         I loved it when he called me BooBoo, even at twenty-nine. He started when I was four. I hated to get haircuts and after one such event I saw my Papaw. The haircut embarrassed me so I grabbed my head. He asked what was wrong. In my limited vocabulary I told him I had a booboo. He laughed until he cried. It stuck.
         "How are you doing?"
         Just like Papaw, always worried about someone else. "I'm fine. Just worried about you. I'll be a lot better when you get to go home."
         "Don't set yourself up for disappointment," he said. "I believe this is the only bed I'll know till I close my eyes for the last time."
         "Papaw, don't talk like that." I felt the lump in my throat and knew I couldn't fight the tears that were forming. "I . . . it's just . . ."
         I lost the fight.
         "Come here, Booboo." Papaw pulled me to his chest. "I know it's not going to be easy for you. You've got to remember that I'm going to be a lot better off."
         I wiped my eyes and pulled back. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was upset him.
         "I'm sorry," I said.
         "Don't be sorry. Cry when you feel like cryin' and laugh when you feel like laughin'. Just don't ever be sorry for it. If other people have a problem with you it's just that, their problem. Live your life by God's rules and man's laws. Everything else is just gravy."
         Papaw had a way of over simplifying things. Heck, it would make it much easier to think of everything else as just gravy, the extra stuff that comes with life. I wish I could do that.
         "You said something that I want to talk to you about," Papaw winced. The pain was coming back. "A little while ago you said you'd do anything to take the pain away. Is that right?"
         "Sure it is," I answered. "I don't know what I could do but you name it."
         Papaw pushed himself up on his elbows and motioned me closer. Again he winced and took a deep breath. I could see tears in the corners of his eyes. They were always there with the terrible pain. I leaned close to him. Close enough to smell the old flesh, the stale breath. The mixed aroma of sweat and antiseptic nearly overwhelmed me.
         "I want you to . . " he winced again and held his breath. "I want you to help me die. Help me end this now."
         The words hung in the air like the smell of rotten meat. I was repelled yet curious as to why those words were there. I backed away and looked into his blood shot and pain filled eyes. My imagination ran away with me and I was sitting next to him in an amusement park ride. This time his eyes were smiling. Papaw laughed as the ride moved us right then left and up and down. His strong arm wrapped around me and I felt safe. At the same time I was so afraid I thought I would wet my pants. Just as suddenly as the vision came, it was gone. I was back in the hospital room but still afraid, still about to wet my pants.
         "Don't check out on me, BooBoo. I need you."
         From somewhere deep in my heart anger replaced the fear. Anger at the cancer that ate away at my Papaw, at God for being so unfair and at Papaw for asking me to do something that so repulsed me. I stood and turned toward the door.
         "Booboo, don't leave me now. I really need you."
         I looked down at the shiny tile floor. The horror in his voice held me in place. I could no more walk out on Papaw than I could do what he asked me to. I turned to see his eyes closed so tightly that the tears seemed to squirt from their corners. His face was knotted in pain. The knuckles of his hands were white where he gripped the bed rail. The spasm of pain eased; he opened his eyes.
         "I'm going to die anyway. The cancer is slow and painful. These doctors are keeping me alive just because they can. Is that what you want for your Papaw? I'm going to die here, Booboo. It'll be the middle of the night, I'll be alone, and I'll die. I want to move on, to start the next adventure. Don't let me waste away to dust lying in this bed."
         I let the anger take control. "How could you ask me to do that? You ask me if I want you to die here in this hospital? You know I don't. If God would answer my prayers, if my wishes would come true, we'd be sitting by White Water Creek fishing and talking about life and love and God." I moved to the foot of his bed. My voice had grown loud and I fought to control it. "You just told me again to follow God's rules and man's laws. Do you know that if I did what you've ask me to I'd be breaking both?"
         A nurse, pulled from her daily duties by the conversation,  stepped into the doorway. "Is everything all right?" she asked. We both nodded and she stepped back into the hallway. Her list of duties pulling at her attention once more.
         After an awkward pause he looked up at me. "You can't kill what's already dead. I have no life, Booboo. This is my world now. This sterile hospital room. Doctors and nurses are my neighbors and friends. I see your parents when they can get here. It's not their fault, I know. Your father had to follow his job. I just wish it hadn't been so far away. You, Booboo, are the only family I have now. My kids, your aunts and uncles, live far away. They have their own lives to live. You need to do that too. The problem is that you won't or can't until I'm gone. This has become your world too."
         "You always taught me to respect life. Where there's life there's hope. I've heard you say that a hundred times. I'm supposed to forget all that? Should I just dismiss all you've ever taught me, all you've ever been to me?"
         "Booboo, I'm dying. All I'm asking you to do is help me find a way to take a short cut. I want to bypass all the pain and get there sooner. Is that so bad?"
         Again his faced twisted into a mask of pain. He fell back into the bed, his knuckles again white on the rail. Just as suddenly as the anger appeared it was gone. Sorrow and pity replaced it. Tears found their way down my cheeks and dropped from my chin. I took my place in the chair next to his bed, waiting for him to breathe again. Was I selfish for reacting so badly to his question? Could I expect his mind, so riddled with pain, not to seek another outcome? How could I watch him be eaten alive? Love is a funny thing. Just when you think you know all there is to know you discover a little more.
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         The last few months of Papaw's life were spent in pain. Pain of a different kind filled my life. Knowing that I couldn't honor his last request of me had eaten at my soul. Morphine that Papaw could administer to himself with the push of a button eased his pain. Mine, on the other hand, wasn't eased until the night before he died. Papaw stayed off the drug so he could tell me one last thing. Through clenched teeth he fought the pain to tell me what he though of my decision.
         "You did good," he whispered. "Pain can fill a man's head and throw his judgment out of balance.  You fought  your pain and made the right call. I'm proud of you Booboo. I'll see you on the other side."
         Life isn't always easy. I felt better after that but I still sometime wonder if that's how he felt or if he wanted to remove the burden he had placed on my heart. Either way I think I made the right decision.  When I see Papaw on the other side, I'll ask him if he meant it. I'll also tell him it's good to follow God's rules and man's law..
         "Papaw," I whispered, "It's all gravy."
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