A Comfortable Life

A COMFORTABLE LIFE
By

Beth



1.

Then came the bad weather. It could come in one day in Texas. Winter had already crept slowly upon the rest of the world; covering Earth’s life with its frosty death but in Texas the sun would warm you on Monday and by noon on Tuesday your land was covered with snow. The cold wind had stripped the trees and the leaves lay sodden in the wet, gray snow. All of the sadness in the world seemed to come with the first cold day. You could no longer see the tops of the trees as you looked out upon the land, only the skeleton of what was once a welcome shade from the Texas sun. So was the weather on the day that Johnny Murphy died. He awoke that morning in the electric bed he had been confined to since early October. It was a comfortable bed and it made it easier for him to breath. The cancer had taken over most of his lungs by now and laying flat gave him the sensation of trying to breath under water. The bed and the room that he spent his last days in had become very comforting to him. He had known this day was coming for many months. His wife and Hospice nurse had worked hard to make it a comfortable place for him. His bed faced a window that looked out upon the land that he had spent the last half of his life working. He had a hand-sewn quilt his mother had made for him before she died. It was thread bear in many places and not very effective at keeping him warm but it still carried her scent and he liked to look at it and remember her sitting in her favorite chair late into the night working on her Rhapsody. The walls of his room were decorated with his favorite paintings of wildlife, Indian art, and scenes of warm places he had always wanted to visit. His wife had wanted to make this a comfortable place for him, placing a small sofa and chair in the room for visitors and a bell so she could hear Johnny anywhere in the house. There was room enough for an extra bed for her to sleep near him and Johnny often wondered if she had thought of that and if so… had she decided to stay in her own room, instead of by his side. Toni had been a “good wife”. Over the years they had become comfortable together. They each had their work on the farm and that had kept them busy.
As long as there was work to be done and children to raise, there was comfort. Comfortable was the best thing Johnny could say about his marriage. Through his life he had told himself that was enough, but today he wondered. He knew this was the day he was going to die. Just as the winter chill had crept upon the earth and taken her life, he could feel the chill now spreading over him. His feet and hands were cool and blue. The feeling was gone except for a steady ache, like the pain he might have if he had worked to long in the fields. Kelly, his nurse had told him this would happen so
he was not surprised and knew what he needed to do. On the table beside his bed was a small pharmacy. He knew what each medication was for and when to take it. He reached to the table and took a small bottle of clear liquid.
The measuring syringe was nearby and the bottle read, “two milliliters every hour as needed for pain.” He knew well what the label said but
instead he took a long sip straight from the bottle. He had been taking it this way for several days. He had not let Toni see this but had confided in Kelly. He trusted her and, as he expected, she had not scolded him for not following the instructions. She had gently touched his face and said, “You’re a big boy. You know what you need to do.” She was a very passionate person. She had ignored the furniture set in the room for visitors, always sitting or lying on the bed with Johnny. She wore a warm smile that was genuine and strong. She never seemed to notice the odor that he knew filled the room now and she made him feel at ease when she had to perform those embarrassing nursing duties his failing body sometimes required. From the first day they had met she started preparing him for this day. She was seeing him daily now and had been honest enough with Johnny to tell him that his cancer was growing faster and that his days were few. She had promised him a comfortable passing and he knew he could count on her to keep that promise. He liked Kelly, she reminded him of a girl he had known many years ago… when he thought he would live forever.

As the morphine started working he could feel the gentle euphoria that had become such a friend to him. He took another look out his window at the dying earth then closed his eyes and took his mind back to a warm day in his life.

2.
The land had been in his family for over one hundred years. His brothers and sisters had moved to the city to seek their fortunes but Johnny had stayed. He had always known he was part of the land. Like the Bodark tree that shaded his front porch, he knew he would live and die there. For as long as he could remember, the rhythm of his life had flowed with the seasons and changes of the land. His children had grown up here. His grandchildren had played in the same tree house that his grandfather had helped him build. His children had long since moved away. They made the obligatory visits once a month, and then the cancer came. Now they visit more often but the time is short and filled with the conversation you would expect to have at the bed of a dying man. The artificial smiles, small talk, and the redundant phrases… “Your color is good today” or “You look like you are gaining weight again” had become a dreaded waste of last days.
Johnny would smile and endure the vague attempts at cheerfulness. When the idle chatter became too much for him to stand he would conviently become very sleepy and the visitors would exit.
In his morphine trance he could go back to a time when his children were young. He relived every summer vacation, every first school day, first dates, Prom nights and all the other events that to the living seem insignificant. He loved to visit springtime the most. When spring came there were no problems except where to be the happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.
In the spring mornings he would work early while his wife slept. He would be in the fields before the sun came up, wake the children, get them off to school, and be back on the land before the sun was above the tree line. He liked to keep the windows open wide in the little farmhouse. It felt less restricting if the scents from the land could live inside the walls.

In the spring of 1995, Johnny had not been able to be with his land. There had been a drought the year before. The crops had died early. They had lived on savings and loans through the year and with that exhausted there was nothing to get them through to the harvest. Johnny had taken a job driving a truck. His route was good and he enjoyed the travel. He drove from Dallas to Santa Fe and back to Dallas, was home for two days then back on the road. Though the road he traveled was not his own, he grew comfortable with it. He liked the solitude. The long hours of dessert driving induced a trance filled with contemplation of what could have been.

Even before the sickness came, what if, had been a favorite pass-time. The long days on Highway 40 would become hypnotic and he could dream of a different life. All was comfortable in his life. He never worried himself with trivial things like money. He had always been able to support his family, one way or another. He had put his children through college and his wife had the things she thought she needed. His family was liked and respected in the small Texas community. Still, he had always felt like something was missing. It puzzled him. He had everything he needed and could not think of anything he wanted but he continued to ask himself… what if.



3.
It was late at night and a fine rain was swirling softly down, causing the pavement to glisten with a hue of steel and blue and yellow in the innumerable lights of Albuquerque. He had hoped to make it to Tucumcari before stopping but his eyes were already heavy from the sedating rain and the rhythm of the windshield wipers. This time tomorrow he would be home. He felt a hint of guilt because he was not homesick. He started watching the road signs and looking for a place to call it a night. He looked forward to crawling into the comfortable bed of his truck and listening to the rain sing on the metal roof.

The next rest area that could accommodate an eighteen-wheeler was just east of the Manzano Mountain range. He hoped it would still be raining when he got there. On the road ahead of him he could see the flashing red lights of a troubled motorist. He always stopped to help out fellow travelers. Tonight he thought he would let somebody else be the Good Samaritan but as he got closer to the stalled car his conscience spoke and he pulled over.
He turned on the hazard light and reach behind his seat for the flares then he heard her voice. A young woman was trudging slowly towards him, her hands buried deep into the pockets of her coat. “I’m out of gas.” she yelled. “I have a can, could I siphon some of yours?” Johnny had to laugh when he saw her. She was a pretty girl. Early thirties, her long strawberry hair was soaked and sticking to her face. She wore a brightly colored southwestern coat and faded jeans with holes in the knees. I spite of her predicament she smiled and seemed untroubled. What struck him the most… she did not seem surprised to be out of gas. “I’m afraid I don’t have any gas miss” he said politely. “This truck runs on diesel”.
“Well couldn’t I just use a little to get me to the next town and then I’ll put real gas in it?” Johnny laughed. “You had better come with me miss, we will get that gas can of yours filled and I’ll bring you back to your car.”
She agreed with the plan and ran quickly back to her car. Back beside the towering diesel truck she was carrying a gas can in one hand and an old tattered guitar case in the other. He placed her possessions into the sleeping area behind the drivers seat and helped her climb into the cab of his truck, instructing her where to place her feet and where to hold on.
Johnny had driven this truck for three months now and Lucinda was the first passenger he had ever had. He didn’t remember reading any rules about passengers but he knew the company would not like it. He did not like to break the rules but it was dangerous for a young lady to be on the side of I40… so his conscience kept quiet. There was no formal introduction between the wayward travelers but in the course of conversation he felt he knew everything there was to know about Lucinda Casey. Her home was in Dallas. She worked nights, as a bartender in a trendy club on Lower Greenville Ave and her dream was to be a songwriter. She had driven to Albuquerque to play one of her songs to a band that she heard was buying but had been disappointed to find they actually had no money. She had given them the song anyway with the stipulation that she would get credit for it if the song were ever recorded. She came from a large family and was very close to her brothers and sisters. No children but she had been married twice and added her dvice “Never get involved with musicians. They’re all a bunch of heartbreakers.”

The rain was lashing now and it was hard to see the interstate. The windshield wipers were going as fast as they could but still the visibility
was very poor. Johnny never stressed over bad weather but tonight he found it hard to concentrate on the road. Lucinda’s voice was soothing to him. They talked about everything and really nothing that mattered to either one of them. He didn’t realize how slow his truck was moving until Lucinda changed her tone and said, “if you can’t drive any faster than this we may as well pull over until the weather clears.” Johnny looked at the speedometer and saw he was now crawling at twenty MPH. Apparently all the other night travelers had the same idea; there were no other cars on the road. He had no idea how far they had gone from Lucinda’s disabled vehicle but the sign ahead read, ¼ mile to next Rest Area, they would stop there until the rain slowed down.

With the truck stopped, the rain took on a different melody. The sky had began to speak loudly now with great thunder and in the lightning flashes he could see her blue gray eyes beneath the strawberry locks. He realized she was shivering and still wearing the soaked jeans and coat. “We need to get you dry miss or you might get to sick to play your songs and you still have a long drive back to Dallas. I’ll go to the men’s room for a little while. You get out of those wet clothes, climb into the bed and get warm.”
From his duffle bag he took a sweat suit and offered it to her.


4.
He left the truck and walked slowly in the pouring rain towards the public restrooms provided by The Land Of Enchantment. There was one other truck in the rest area. The lights were all off and the engine was purring softly, no doubt to keep the driver warm. He stood solemnly in front of the mirror looking at the man that the rest of the world had seen for the past forty-five years of his life. A strong man with sad brown eyes, dark weathered skin and ashy blond hair, he had never expressed emotion to anyone, not even his wife. He had always been a lonely man with many acquaintances but no friends. He never told anyone how he felt about anything but inside, his heart was heavy with longing. He had nothing to complain about, all was comfortable in his world but nothing was good.
There was nothing warm or passionate, nothing to look forward to, and the only thing that had ever touched his soul was his land. Something about the girl who was undressing in the cab of his truck had stirred him. Was it the gentleness of her mood? Her indifference to bad situations, or the way she looked into his eyes when she spoke, as if she had no secrets, nothing to hide? Her passion for life came out with every word and jesture. He could not think of any one thing about her that disturbed him but she certainly made him uncomfortable. What puzzled him the most was; he liked it. He hoped it would storm all night. He had never broke his commitment to his wife and had no intention of doing so tonight. He just liked her company. He wondered uncomfortably around the restroom shelter until he was sure she had enough time to get into dry clothes then walked slowly back.

There was no indication that the storm would slow anytime soon. The wind was strong and the trees that lined the rest area road were leaning to the west. Early spring and the buds had not opened yet. Leaves were sparce and in the electrical flashes of the storm, the barren branches seemed to be trying to escape their captive roots. Inside the cab of the truck, Lucinda was sitting cross-legged in the passenger’s seat, legs bare, she was half draped in the quilt that Johnny’s mother had made. She sat with her guitar in her lap picking slowly and carefully to tune the instrument. As the lightning flashed outside, the light fell across her knees. “I didn’t want to use you last clean clothes” she said. “This will do until mine are dry. I listened to the weather while you were gone. It sounds like we might be here for a while.” The cab was warm and filled with her scent.

5.
The instrument she played was a Martin Six String. Johnny didn’t know a lot about music but he recognized the name and commented on the tone. She had sold her last wedding ring, her favorite leather jacket, and her first husbands Harley to buy it. It had been the only possession she cared anything about. When she spoke of her love for the Martin it reminded him of how he loved his land. He knew how she felt. Johnny had never been much of a conversationalist. He would listen to everyone else talk but never felt like his opinion counted. Tonight he talked about everything. As Lucinda sat picking and strumming softly on the Martin, Johnny told his life story. He spoke of his children and how he had enjoyed their childhood. He talked about his home and wife. He talked about his grandchildren and how he missed them the most when he was on the road. Most of all he talked about the land. He loved the outdoors. He told her how confined he felt when he could not be out in the open air. She played her guitar softly but heard every word he said and seemed genuinely interested.
He had never been able to talk to anyone like this before. He had never told anyone how he felt about anything.

Into the stormy night the two talked. They talked as if they had been friends for many years but it had only been a few hours. “Can you play a song on that guitar?” he asked.
“What kind of music do you like?” He had always been partial to country music but politly replied, “I like anything.”
“You look like a country and western kinda guy to me.” She said and pulled a new pick from the guitar case.

She began to play. Johnny sat like a statue with his head in both hands and listened while the song grew and blossomed like a great emotion. She sang and cried at the same time, lost love, broken hearts, and misguided direction. The passion she sang brought tears to his eyes. The storm outside seemed to hush and listen to her as she poured her heart into the words;

“I hope you’re gone before I wake dear,
My tears might make you try to stay,
I’d never hold your ramblin soul hear,
When you get lonely, come back my way.
The winds of change, they come to early,
Now you’ve got ramblin on your mind.
I’ll leave a light on for you baby,
When you need love I’ve got the time.”

The song was over and the quiet and stillness filled the space. The storm outside resumed its rage but Johnny could hear nothing but the sound of her breathing. He leaned over and kissed her in a way he never knew he could. He held her face in his hands and she melted into the kiss like her life depended on his touch.

A dozen emotions filled him when the kiss was finally over. He had not contemplated the kiss. He was drawn to her by a primordial instinct that
was stronger than his good judgment or parochial morals. He waited for his conscience to speak but it was silent too. He looked for the guilt but all he found was the human instinct that he had longed for all his life; the instinct to be with someone, just for the sake of being.


6.
Lucinda laid the Martin carefully into the case and set it on the passenger’s side floor-board. She put her arms gently around him and kissed him softly on the neck. “How did I find you?” she asked, there was a tremble in her voice. They kissed again and moved into the bed of the big truck. They did not make love that night. They talked and kissed and eventually fell into a restful sleep in each other’s arms When they awoke the storm was gone. The sky was still overcast and a chilly wind rocked the truck. In silence they drove to the next truck stop. They sat close to each other on the coffee shop. If there were other patrons there, they did not notice. Lucinda quietly drank her coffee and smoked a cigarette, keeping one hand in Johnny’s. “Will I ever see you again?” she asked. He searched her face for a way to answer but his conscience was yelling at him now. “I don’t know.” He replied and turned away, not wanting to see the tears.

They put gas in her 1985 Chevy. They stood on the shoulder or I40 but neither of them could remember how long. Finally she took a pad and pencil from the glove box, wrote something and handed the note to Johnny. “I love you” she said, “If you get lonely come my way”.

7.

The drive home went much quicker than Johnny would have liked. He looked at the note Lucinda had written to him many times; her name, address, and phone number. She had said, “I love you.” He kept the note for many months, even started to call her a few times but never finished dialing the number. He just wanted to hear her voice. He knew he could never leave his family and he was not the kind of man who could keep a mistress or concubine. He had considered it but thought Lucinda deserved more than that. One day in July of that year he became frustrated with the discomfort. Somewhere between Santa Rosa and Montoya, he threw the tattered reminder of his broken heart out the window of his truck. When the note was gone he watched for her Chevy on I40 and wandered if he would be able to drive past her if he saw her.

The years went by, Seasons changed, crops were good and his life was comfortable. Then the cancer came. When faced with your own mortality you begin to evaluate your life and its quality. Cancer can take your life from spring to winter without regard for the summer or fall. Days in your life become weeks, months, or years from the past. Seasons may change in the outer world but you are trapped in perpetual winter. Death creeps slowly, starting at the fingers and toes and working its way up to the heart. With each inch of demise, your mind withdraws from the world and everyone left in it. Memories fold in upon themselves as you relive your life. This is a time of contemplation without resolution. It is the time when we are either forced to accept the course our life has taken or die in despair.

8.

As each day of Johnny’s life unfolded in his withdrawn mind, all his regrets were resolved, except Lucinda. He woke from his morphine sleep to the sound of Toni shifting dishes filled with soft colorful food on his bedside table. He felt as if he had closed his eyes days ago but looking out the window he realized it had only been a couple of hours. Now it was lunchtime. He’d had no appetite for several days but had tried to eat for Toni’s sake. Today he could not face another bite of baby food. “I will help you if you are too tired.” She said placing a towel over his chest to catch the drips.
“I can’t eat today Toni.” He made no contact with her but continued to stare out upon the wintered earth.
“You have to eat to keep your strength up. Doctor’s orders.” It was not the doctor’s orders and they both knew it. Kelly had told Toni several times that she was “only feeding the tumor now” but she had to feel like she was
doing something.
“I just want some pain medicine.”
“That’s why you can’t eat. You sleep all the time. I’m calling Kelly.” She said angrily. He was glad she was calling the nurse. His pain was getting worse now but he felt too weak to open the bottle of elixer. He knew Toni would not be able give him what he needed, she never had. Kelly would be here soon and he could get comfortable.


9.

Outside the roads were slick with the snow slush mix that Texas drivers didn’t get to practice on very often. The main highways were closed but
Kelly found her way to Johnny’s farm using the back roads and her trusty four-wheel-drive. The Blazer was filled with everything she needed to care for the dying in their homes. Diapers, bed pads, catheters, enema kits, basins, oxygen canisters, and a wound care kit that would be sufficient for a small MASH unit in WWII. She hated to have to send one of her patients to the hospital so she stayed prepared for anything she might need to care for on her sixty square mile country route. She had been the only Hospice nurse in Johnson County for more than ten years. She was liked and well respected by all the doctors. She knew the doctors she worked for would grant any order she requested for her patients but she had never failed to call them to get a medical blessing. Orchestrating peaceful death had become a lifetime passion to her. She had no religious preference but was well educated in all spiritual faiths. There was a part time Hospice chaplain available but he stayed busy with his own church congregation. She only called him for daytime spiritual needs and never on Sunday. The person she counted on the most was the pharmacist. He would deliver the needed comfort meds anywhere in the county, anytime of the day.

Johnny had become a favorite patient to Kelly. His physical symptoms had been easy to control with the usual hospice meds but there was a longing in his eyes she did not understand. During their visits she had tried to get him to tell her what he needed. He would give a flirty smile and say, “nothing but your company, miss.” She had expected him to enter the “active dying phase” for the past week and was not surprised to get the frantic call from Toni. He had lost control of bowel and bladder, become bed fast, and urine output was down to less that ten cc an hour. When the kidneys start to fail, its usually a matter of days. She looked at the floor-board and saw her down sleeping bag. She planned to stay with him to the end.

Toni’s taste was evident in everything in the home. Clean and meticulously neat, there was no evidence that a strong rugged outdoorsman like Johnny had ever lived here. Toni met her at the door. She was carrying a dust rag and a bottle of lemon oil. She had been trying to stay busy with house work. “He won’t eat anything” she said. “He won’t talk. He just lays there staring out the window and drinking morphine. He’s not even trying to live.”
“He is trying to die Toni. His body can’t fight anymore. His spirit is ready to be free. He doesn’t need food or water. He only needs to stay comfortable until his body sets him free.” Kelly expected tears. “ You need to tell him it is OK to go. Tell him you love him and let him be comfortable.” She still waited for the tears that would reassure her that Toni was excepting the harsh words she was speaking. “ If there is any family that wants to talk to him before he passes, you should call them now.”
“Everybody knows he is dying.” Toni said. “He acts like he just wants to be alone.”
Toni had never been an emotional woman. If she cried, the world would see that she was not in control. Kelly put her arms around the grieving wife and with no other release for the fear, she finally cried. In the winter of life, we can control the circumstances but never the outcome.
“I can stay with you if you like.” Kelly said.
“Yes. I would like that very much.” Toni went on with her chores, stopping to make a pot of coffee for Kelly.

Satisfied that Toni had accepted the approaching death of her husband, she went into Johnny’s room. The smell of death was strong now and Kelly knew with one look that time was short. His senses had diminished. He did not hear her enter the room even though his eyes were open and he stared out his picture window. The room was silent except for the bubbling of the oxygen concentrator and the occasional clatter of sleet on the window. His breathing was rapid and shallow with the tell-tale rattle in his throat.
His face was as gray as the sky, his eyes once warm and bright were now dark and sunken into his skull. His arms and legs were cold and blue, his torso white like the disposable bed pad he lay on to protect the sheets from inevitable body functions.
She sat slowly on the bed with him, kissed him gently on the cheek, “Are you comfortable my love?” she asked. He turned to look into her eyes.
“I have missed you.” He said. “I should have never let you go.”
“I’m here now my love.” she said. “Are you comfortable?”
“My legs are aching. Would you lay here beside me like you did during the storm so many years ago?” She reached to the bedside pharmacy and gave him three large drops of the morphine elixer. He did not swallow but the concentrated tonic absorbed quickly in his dry mouth. Kelly did not know what the dying man was talking about and it did not matter. She knew she could meet his needs.

Kelly lay quietly on the bed with him. Her head gently on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, they lay together watching the winter consume the land. With the medication given, his breathing began to slow. He would stop breathing for many seconds then start again. He was comfortable. He was weak now and the cold blue winter had taken him over, except for the beating of his heart and an occasional shallow breath.
“I’ve always loved you.” He said.

He did not say another word. The winter of Johnny’s life became dark and still. The last memory had folded into the void and then he was gone. Kelly lay with him until she knew his heart had stopped. It had been a comfortable death.



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