Back from College

ON September 1, 2010, this journal published my story, Leaving for College. In the story, a dying man and his grandson share a few intimate moments and say their goodbyes before the young man goes off to college. Both expect the conversation to be their last one before the grandfather dies. The following is a sequel to Leaving for College.

I'm amazed I'm not dead yet. I suspect John thinks the same thing when I answer the phone.

“Hi Pops. How are you doing? It's good to hear your voice.”

“It's good to have a voice,” I laugh. “How's the college boy?”

I can hear him laughing on the other end. Nothing sounds better to an old man dying of cancer than to hear his grandson's laugh. As John goes on about his college experience, I slowly lift my head to view the photos on the bedside table. There's my wife, Anna, during our first year of college. She has her hand in my back pocket. I wonder what girl has her hand in John's pocket.

“I'm coming home for fall break,” he says.

“Great, John. Maybe we can go fishing in the backyard.”

He knows I haven't left the bedroom in six months.

I hang up the phone. Last time I saw John, we said our goodbyes. We reminisced about fishing trips and little league baseball games. That was two months ago. At that time I thought death was imminent. It was imminent. The last sixty days have been Godly gifts.

After talking on the phone, I'm exhausted. It's hard to get comfortable on this firm bed. Through the window I can see geese on the still pond. I fantasize about being on the pond, floating on my back underneath the tall, weeping willows; looking up at blue sky between the branches.

Two days later John is in my room, telling more stories about college. Like the good English professor I was, I have an urge to tell him important things about life. I resist: He will learn enough by sitting with a dying man.

I can see John looking me over, looking for signs of death. The signs are not hard to find: sunken eyes, crusty mouth, gray skin, and a tremulous voice.

He turns his eyes away from me and looks out the window toward the pond. I wonder if he can see the gorgeous geese.

“Pops, what's the greatest gift you've been given in your life?”

I don't answer right away. John pulls his chair closer to the bed. He's so close, I could touch his face.

“I've been blessed with many gifts, John. I'm looking at one right now.”

We both smile and turn our heads toward the pond, where a white winged goose has just snatched an orange minnow.