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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Aging / Maturity
- Published: 12/12/2017
Mike's Last Moments
Born 1954, M, from St Louis Mo, United StatesThe engine was running and the garage door closed. Mike had put new weather striping on the walk-in door a week ago, whether in preparation or by chance we may never know. Mike was a smart old man, he did not want his family to suffer the disgrace of knowing what he was doing or had planned.
So he opened the hood, took off the air cleaner, made sure the right tools were on the fender protector and hands had some black oil on them. The fumes were building up fast, of course he knew what happens when you run a car in a air tight garage. But it was cold outside and he was old, so he hoped it would be called an accident for the kids sake.
His eyes were running and his COPD lungs were already full and breathing was hard. He opened the drivers side door, took his Philips screw driver and stretched out on the seat, taking a few of the steering column screws out and dropped them on the floor mat. Mike was pretty sure his plan would work perfectly because no one would ever think he would do this on purpose.
His eyes closed and he coughed up what he was sure was his lung. Some, if they knew, would say he wasn't being fair. His kids would of argued, how can you do this if you really love us. His ex wife would say let him and good riddance. What his kids would not know was he was doing this for them as much as himself.
He had watched many walk the last mile of the way, and saw the pain they had suffered. He had sat and held hands with and prayed with and tried to comfort many families beside the dying, and many at the side of that velvet lined brown box. He could not bear his family witnessing as he lay groaning in some hospital bed. Nor could he bear the thought of begging for pain meds or not being able to take a breath.
The very idea of spit running down his chin and urine soaking the sheets as a daughter or son tried to nurse him was not acceptable. He had been a boy, then a man, that had always made it on his own. Met life head on, didn't whine every time he got a bad break, just dealt with it best he could. He would deal with this too.
There was no farewell note, he had made time to talk to his kids, ending each call with, I love you. No he was not going to have to move in and be fed, washed, changed like a baby by his kids. The thought was more degrading to him for their sakes then anything he could imagine.
No one knew and frankly did not care, what his life had become. The pains of his aging body, the lungs that had a tug-of-war going on with his heart as to which would or could hurt the most. The times he ate little till he no longer could eat a big meal. How climbing down the steps hurt his knees and back as much as climbing up. Oh no doubt his kids loved him and would of done the unpleasant deed.
Sure they would of done as others he had witnessed and behind closed doors fussed at the job he had become. He knew the complaints and inconvenience. Most of all that is not the memories he wanted to be remembered by.
Loneliness takes a toll on the human mind just as much so as the physical body wearing out. His heart was right with God, he had done all he knew how to do to live the right life.
As he lay in the seat now, the screw driver dropped from his hand, he made no effort to wipe away tears. His life he guessed like most was a series of ups and downs. Sometimes his bad choices had been embarrassing. Worst they had been painful for him to live with. Mistakes were just as much a load because he had a sack full of those on the debits side of his life. He had done his best to make right his wrongs, repent to God and make apology in public and restitution when possible.
Still he knew as he coughed up some drops of blood, that many would only remember his mistakes and failures. It is not what he wanted, but that is just how people are. Some would hate him even as his ashes were tossed on some dung heap.
Yet, he hoped more would remember him for his love. His giving as he had the means, for his faithfulness. He hoped some would be saying with a knowing he judged no man nor sat in condemnation of anyone, even though he had never shied away from speaking truth as he saw it.
His eyes closed, and he started to relive his life.
His days of playing with his brothers, he wondered now, if they would know how much he loved them. Of his mom and dad and grandparents, soon very soon he hoped all he believed was true and they would welcome him home. From his first day in school his mind jumped to his oldest daughters first day, how cute she had been. Then too his son that was not nearly so happy about leaving his toys. Then to his youngest daughter, her pig tails, her smile, and he smiled in his pain.
He thought of trips they had taken, playing in the parks, camping, and he knew he could of written a book on each. His eyes now stuck closed, his mind drifting. He was no longer feeling pain. Perhaps he was already asleep.
He no longer heard the sound of the engine nor did he see the dim overhead light. Was that singing he could hear? Was that the Angels and those that had already passed on giving praise to his Lord. He whispered, but it was the sound in his mind, his lips turned blue, did not move. I am coming home Lord, I am almost there.
He did not feel fear, though Mike had felt plenty of that in his life. In the past few weeks more than the law allowed as he struggled with the burden he reckoned every aged person feels. He had wished he had someone close enough to talk to about his war inside, but who, no one, and he would not have wanted to weigh them down with guilt thinking they might of saved him anyway.
No, he had most of his life fought his own wars, carried his own burdens, always with help of a loving friend, named Jesus. Odd now, he thought, tis so sweet to trust in Jesus, just to take him at his word....
No Mike knew in the last moments he felt free, light, not sad, not happy, just release.
The neighbor walking his dog noticed smoke slipping under the garage door. He could hear the sound of the engine and knew it was fumes he had taken a deep breath of. He pulled out his cell phone and called 911, then sat on the steps and waited. He knew Mike, and had a good idea what was to be found on the other side of the door.
He was much like Mike in many ways but had one thing that kept him pushing onward, a wife by his side who needed him. Plus he could never do it, his faith and fear of death too strong.
By early the next day the kids had been called, his son raged, why did dad do that, he knows about carbon dioxide? Then it hit him first, and he fought tears of anger mixed with sadness. His daughters cried and his ex wife tried to comfort the kids but deep down was rejoicing now at last she would have all his pension.
Mike was right, in a few days they were moving on with life, all the friends had sent this, I am praying for you and so sad, and moved on. The kids got rid of his junk, washed their hands and went home.
Sometimes they see a picture a memory creeps in, once or twice a year they miss him. But they move on as they should and as Mike knew they would. Perhaps strange as it is, maybe it hit his remaining brothers the hardest. Deep down they knew, after all they grew up with him. They missed arguing with him, or just going someplace, but they moved on as well, as they should.
Mike would not want you to be sad, he made his choice in a way he still had in his mind dignity. All he hopes is when your time comes you rejoice as he will to see you again.
Mike's Last Moments(Rich Puckett)
The engine was running and the garage door closed. Mike had put new weather striping on the walk-in door a week ago, whether in preparation or by chance we may never know. Mike was a smart old man, he did not want his family to suffer the disgrace of knowing what he was doing or had planned.
So he opened the hood, took off the air cleaner, made sure the right tools were on the fender protector and hands had some black oil on them. The fumes were building up fast, of course he knew what happens when you run a car in a air tight garage. But it was cold outside and he was old, so he hoped it would be called an accident for the kids sake.
His eyes were running and his COPD lungs were already full and breathing was hard. He opened the drivers side door, took his Philips screw driver and stretched out on the seat, taking a few of the steering column screws out and dropped them on the floor mat. Mike was pretty sure his plan would work perfectly because no one would ever think he would do this on purpose.
His eyes closed and he coughed up what he was sure was his lung. Some, if they knew, would say he wasn't being fair. His kids would of argued, how can you do this if you really love us. His ex wife would say let him and good riddance. What his kids would not know was he was doing this for them as much as himself.
He had watched many walk the last mile of the way, and saw the pain they had suffered. He had sat and held hands with and prayed with and tried to comfort many families beside the dying, and many at the side of that velvet lined brown box. He could not bear his family witnessing as he lay groaning in some hospital bed. Nor could he bear the thought of begging for pain meds or not being able to take a breath.
The very idea of spit running down his chin and urine soaking the sheets as a daughter or son tried to nurse him was not acceptable. He had been a boy, then a man, that had always made it on his own. Met life head on, didn't whine every time he got a bad break, just dealt with it best he could. He would deal with this too.
There was no farewell note, he had made time to talk to his kids, ending each call with, I love you. No he was not going to have to move in and be fed, washed, changed like a baby by his kids. The thought was more degrading to him for their sakes then anything he could imagine.
No one knew and frankly did not care, what his life had become. The pains of his aging body, the lungs that had a tug-of-war going on with his heart as to which would or could hurt the most. The times he ate little till he no longer could eat a big meal. How climbing down the steps hurt his knees and back as much as climbing up. Oh no doubt his kids loved him and would of done the unpleasant deed.
Sure they would of done as others he had witnessed and behind closed doors fussed at the job he had become. He knew the complaints and inconvenience. Most of all that is not the memories he wanted to be remembered by.
Loneliness takes a toll on the human mind just as much so as the physical body wearing out. His heart was right with God, he had done all he knew how to do to live the right life.
As he lay in the seat now, the screw driver dropped from his hand, he made no effort to wipe away tears. His life he guessed like most was a series of ups and downs. Sometimes his bad choices had been embarrassing. Worst they had been painful for him to live with. Mistakes were just as much a load because he had a sack full of those on the debits side of his life. He had done his best to make right his wrongs, repent to God and make apology in public and restitution when possible.
Still he knew as he coughed up some drops of blood, that many would only remember his mistakes and failures. It is not what he wanted, but that is just how people are. Some would hate him even as his ashes were tossed on some dung heap.
Yet, he hoped more would remember him for his love. His giving as he had the means, for his faithfulness. He hoped some would be saying with a knowing he judged no man nor sat in condemnation of anyone, even though he had never shied away from speaking truth as he saw it.
His eyes closed, and he started to relive his life.
His days of playing with his brothers, he wondered now, if they would know how much he loved them. Of his mom and dad and grandparents, soon very soon he hoped all he believed was true and they would welcome him home. From his first day in school his mind jumped to his oldest daughters first day, how cute she had been. Then too his son that was not nearly so happy about leaving his toys. Then to his youngest daughter, her pig tails, her smile, and he smiled in his pain.
He thought of trips they had taken, playing in the parks, camping, and he knew he could of written a book on each. His eyes now stuck closed, his mind drifting. He was no longer feeling pain. Perhaps he was already asleep.
He no longer heard the sound of the engine nor did he see the dim overhead light. Was that singing he could hear? Was that the Angels and those that had already passed on giving praise to his Lord. He whispered, but it was the sound in his mind, his lips turned blue, did not move. I am coming home Lord, I am almost there.
He did not feel fear, though Mike had felt plenty of that in his life. In the past few weeks more than the law allowed as he struggled with the burden he reckoned every aged person feels. He had wished he had someone close enough to talk to about his war inside, but who, no one, and he would not have wanted to weigh them down with guilt thinking they might of saved him anyway.
No, he had most of his life fought his own wars, carried his own burdens, always with help of a loving friend, named Jesus. Odd now, he thought, tis so sweet to trust in Jesus, just to take him at his word....
No Mike knew in the last moments he felt free, light, not sad, not happy, just release.
The neighbor walking his dog noticed smoke slipping under the garage door. He could hear the sound of the engine and knew it was fumes he had taken a deep breath of. He pulled out his cell phone and called 911, then sat on the steps and waited. He knew Mike, and had a good idea what was to be found on the other side of the door.
He was much like Mike in many ways but had one thing that kept him pushing onward, a wife by his side who needed him. Plus he could never do it, his faith and fear of death too strong.
By early the next day the kids had been called, his son raged, why did dad do that, he knows about carbon dioxide? Then it hit him first, and he fought tears of anger mixed with sadness. His daughters cried and his ex wife tried to comfort the kids but deep down was rejoicing now at last she would have all his pension.
Mike was right, in a few days they were moving on with life, all the friends had sent this, I am praying for you and so sad, and moved on. The kids got rid of his junk, washed their hands and went home.
Sometimes they see a picture a memory creeps in, once or twice a year they miss him. But they move on as they should and as Mike knew they would. Perhaps strange as it is, maybe it hit his remaining brothers the hardest. Deep down they knew, after all they grew up with him. They missed arguing with him, or just going someplace, but they moved on as well, as they should.
Mike would not want you to be sad, he made his choice in a way he still had in his mind dignity. All he hopes is when your time comes you rejoice as he will to see you again.
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Kevin Hughes
10/01/2018Rich,
You caught the line of thought of most of us men in our late sixties take. We don't want to be a burden, and we have lived long enough to know how quickly the present overtakes the past (for most folks grieving - time does erase most things, or round them off to make them softer to pull back up).
At lunch just the other day, we discussed this very topic - just all of us old fogies, because we knew the "kids" wouldn't understand the difference between depression, and just being tuckered out. Great job. Smiles, Kevin
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JD
09/30/2018I think this story reveals a lot of insight into human nature and aging. Some of us want to let death choose us when it will.... others choose to go out on their own terms, ready and prepared to take that final step into the great unknown. I think your story is thoughtful and thought provoking, and definitely gives the reader pause and a reason to ponder life and death. Thanks for all the short stories you've shared on Storystar, Rich, and congratulations on being chosen as the Short Story Writer of the Month! : )
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