Much later, not too long ago…

Twenty-seven men died in front of me one spring.  I remember them all, each and every one.  I was 10 years old, stuck in a hospital room with three other beds.  It was the room they brought men to die.  Some lasted longer than others, but every patient that came into that room died.  Except me.

At first, I didn’t know what to think.  Men came into the room for a day or so, sometimes a few weeks.  A few laughed and told jokes.  Some constantly coughed, hacked and spit up blood.  Several spent long periods in prayer.  One had just come in for a minor operation; he was bitter and surprised.  Others had known the day of judgment was coming.  They all died. 
 
My father told me it happened to everyone.  He said that I could be a comfort to many of them.  All I had to do was listen.  Some screamed and cursed.  Some never said a word.  Some told me the stories of their life.

In some ways I aged fifty years in a few short months; in other ways I remained a kid until it finally ended.  Each of the men had an affect on me.  I didn’t know it at the time, but it helped me survive. 

I didn’t die until much later.  Not too long ago actually.  Now I can set a few things straight.  They say that’s best.  They, the ones who used to be in authority.  And they, the voices still in my head.

Stay tuned.  Everyone has a story.  I have twenty-seven to tell.


PawPawJack©11/24/10