Milton's Choice(John Filkins) "You couldn't wait?", the caretaker 'snickered', as he looked down at Milton in his hospital bed. "I guess I should think about cleaning that up sometime", he added, as he laughed and walked out of the room. Milton had been laying in his own 'shat' for days. He was embarrassed of the smell, but knew that he couldn't count on the attendant to clean him up. He tried to maneuver himself into a position, where he could do the job himself, but was unable to make it happen. The incredible, almost intolerable pain in his back, from laying there so long, was bad enough, but the excrement and other waste material that filled his 'brief' felt like it had been eating away at him forever.

That wasn't the worst part of it though. His children would begin filing into his room to see him soon. The looks on their faces, as they watched their father wallowing in his own waste and suffering the indignities of his plight, were pitiful. They knew they would have to wait for the person in charge of his ward to come and take care of it; though they also knew it would never happen. Sometimes Milton could see them crying, though they tried to hide it as they talked quietly among themselves. What was he thinking, when he decided to take things into his own hands; being faced with an 'uncertain' end?

He could see sunshine peeking through the small cracks in the window blinds. It was just enough to make him long to see more. His eyes gestured to his 'keepers', and his kids, every time they came into his room; trying to make it known that he would like to see the outside, with all the hope and beauty it might offer. Unfortunately, he had to be content with the tiny slivers of bright light that came through, but never fell upon his pale skin. He tried to cry, along with his kids, but couldn't muster up even a small tear. His throat was painfully parched, and the pitcher of ice water and Styrofoam cup sitting next to his bed didn't help, because he couldn't reach out and get it. He knew that no one would ever help him get it, so he could quench his stifling thirst.

He tried to cry again, as his loved ones walked out of his room. He knew they were going back to their 'day-to-day' lives, and would forget that their beloved father was wasting away in the 'scat hole' that he had been assigned to. He remembered his efforts to spare all of them from the hassle he thought he would create for them, by having to take care of him for the rest of his life. His illnesses had built up into incredible, unbreachable obstacles, that might make his children's lives miserable for the rest of his time on the Earth.

As he thought about his decision to swallow all of those pills, as a noble way of sparing them the anguish he might cause, he regretted leaving them with so many questions and doubts about his love for them, and his faith in God. He had heard the stories about people who were placed in nursing homes, and suffered many indignities, but knew now that nothing could be as bad as the 'hell' he was now suffering through.

Hindsight was useless now, and, as he screamed for relief, inside his head, his corpse-like body just lay there in misery. He 'ended it all' just yesterday, but in this torturous realm, he had been enduring purgatory for a hundred or more years already; with eternity left to go. He finally managed a small tear as his family shuffled back into his room for the hundred thousandth time.

"Easy for him to say", is what many people are thinking, but no matter how you stack it, life is precious; and even a 'noble' action to spare yourself, or the people you love, won't translate as such in the afterlife. "Put me in a 'home' and visit occasionally", is what I tell my children. I hope I have the strength to endure the relatively short period of indignity I must deal with to, eventually, gain some form of eternal reward.

Father; help me to endure the short duration of suffering on this Earth, to gain the eternal bliss of Heaven, through Jesus Christ our savior.

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