My Very Last Day

I have prepared as well as one could in this situation.

I have stacked box after box by the door of my old RV.

Today would be my very last day.

This feeling came over me the minute I woke up.

At first it took my breath away causing lightheadedness and making me dizzy.

Once I realized what I was feeling I was filled with awareness and completion.

I made myself a cup of tea and sat in my weathered chair by the window overlooking the park.

My dog quickly took his place at my feet.

I reached over and grabbed my wooden photo box off the coffee table and placed it on my lap.

I began sorting some of the pictures that were in there.

Photos of my grandson's birthday parties I had missed.

Trips to the zoo, to the museum.

Vacations my son and his family had taken.

My grandson must be sixteen or seventeen now.

Just learning to drive.

I don't see my boys all that often anymore and that's alright everyone is just so busy.

I close my eyes and try to remember when my son was young.

Some memories are in bits and pieces while others are as vivid as the day itself.

I see Andrew and his father and myself walking together down a beach.

I see my son laughing sitting next to me in the car singing one of our favorite songs.

I see my son on stage practicing for one of his performances and he looks up and catches my eye and waves.

My heart flutters.

A tear drop falls making a splash on the letter 'A' carved on the cover.

Andrew made the wooden photo box as a Christmas gift; wrapped in the finest red velvet wrapping paper and the most beautiful red satin bow.

I ran my hand over the dark smooth wood and traced the names etched in it's cover.

My name, my son's and my grandson's names carved years ago by my son.

The gift marked the end of our 'decade of silence'.

Petty differences and foolish, stubborn pride.

I chastise myself for being such a hypocrite.

This has been one of my life's biggest regrets.

Too much time was lost.

I believe people tend to age gracefully if they carry happiness in their hearts.

While anger, regret and guilt become the cross some of us must bear.

I get up and go to the kitchen, I pull out some paperwork from a drawer I have prepared for this day.

I read over my directions for Bentley.

And I seal the envelope that has a love letter written to my only son.

The letter wasn't to heavy, I thanked him for years of joy and commended him for the pride I carried with me.

My son has become my spirit.

I sigh and look down at my greatest companion Bentley.

He's been nervous all week watching me fill and label box after box.

I feel so sorry for him, he's all I know.

I imagine he will whimper and whine for me at night.

At Andrews house he will wait at the door hoping for my return.

He's offered me unconditional love and comfort on many dark lonely nights.

Bentley has definitely become my soul.

I look around at my tiny place that has been home for me for the last couple of decades.

I've found myself handy fixing what needed to be fixed relying primarily on myself.

Patching the roof, repairing the stairs.

I even fixed a few broken pipes.

The only thing I couldn't fix was my broken heart.

I couldn't find the pieces I was missing and I couldn't figure out how to hold it all together.

I knew I would never give it away again and now it serves merely for sustainability.

I look at the clock over my bed.

I knew time would go by quickly and for a moment I wish it would stop.

But why delay the inevitable.

I've been preparing for my very last day for quite some time.

Organizing my belongings.

I don't own anyrhing new or nice anymore and most of my stuff will be thrown away.

So I decided to pack and label boxes accordingly.

Even my broken heart has a box.

This will make things so much easier for Andrew when he gets the call to come pick up Bentley.

I put my tennis shoes on and Bentley fetches his leash.

I laugh and pet his head.

I walk him around the block trying to explain to him what's happening, talking to him out loud as if he was human.

We come full circle and I hang he leash by the door with such a heavy weight I being to weep.

Why can't we look past the mistakes we have made in life and appreciate what little is left and begin to love again?

Why do we let regret and guilt creep into our hearts so slowly that it hurts?

Words said with so much anger that they almost seem passionate to say.

Everything ready now I check the time once more.

A quarter past ten, "right on schedule." I whisper to myself.

I place my rosary around my neck.

I leave my tennis shoes on for all practical purposes.

I lay on top of the blanket and Bentley jumps up and lays next to me placing his head on my leg.

I pet him softly singing him a lullaby I wrote for him many years ago.

Within what seems like seconds he is snoring lightly.

I close my eyes and begin to pray.

I feel my spirit and my soul begin to settle.

My time has now come.

And my broken heart starts to slow it's beat and begins to heal.