Prompt: Old man, look at my life, I'm a lot like you were. (Neil Young)
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Like You Were
Joseph married again this morning.
To say I was surprised when he told me last week … I'm not sure that even begins to describe my reaction to his news. I listened as he told me of their intentions, he and his Catalina—partners, helpmates, friends—and wondered how it could be enough for him. Had pain and loss truly so dimmed his passion? Despite my best efforts, he saw the doubt in my eyes, heard it in my voice. It hurt him, that my response was not what he'd hoped.
I thank the good Lord that this youngest son of mine is past holding grudges over unintentional offenses, and that he would have forgiven his old man even without the ham-fisted apology I offered the next morning over breakfast. Joe not only forgave, but smiled and embraced, and I saw that his heart really was lighter than it had been in many months.
Since Hoss. Since Alice.
My son is no fool. He has thought this whole thing through, and he is content with the path he has chosen. Without realizing it, though, he has set himself up for so much more. Watching them together now, hearing their laughter, I believe that soon they will leave behind contentment for happiness. Joy, even. It's there to be found, in the ashes. It came to me not once but many times.
Old man.
I am. I have lived long and full. These last years are not what I had planned—not when I married Elizabeth, or Inger, or Marie, or when I built my Ponderosa alongside three fine sons—but they have a beauty of their own. It reflects in the burnish of April's coat, as Jamie—the son of my heart, if not my body—brushes her until she shines. It carries in the sound of clicking checkers, not Joe and Hoss now but Candy and Griff. I smell it in Hop Sing's wedding meal, which our faithful friend spurned aching joints and slowing steps to provide for his beloved boy. I feel it in the wind-blown dust that settles on me as I sit on my front porch - this beloved land claiming me as firmly as I claim it.
Yet … I see now that I have been looking upon it all with a kind of bittersweet stagnation. I wonder how that happened. It has never been my way. It should not surprise me, though, that Joe is moving forward, making some attempt to shake off the twilight that has settled here. I could wish that my son did not know the pains I endured in my own youth—but he does, and he is my son, and he is only following my example. Old man, look at my life, I'm a lot like you were.
Old man. Yes, I am … but maybe not so old as I have been thinking.
They see me sitting alone here, and they're waving at me to join them. Here comes Joe to drag me along, just in case. My son and my new daughter don't intend to take no for an answer - and I don't intend to keep them waiting.