Ending
Author: Nightshadow
Warnings: Angst, Angst, Angst
Rating: PG 13
Notes: This is the last I believe I'll write in this series. It's the ending, plain and simple. And with that I leave a warning. Never trust the Drs. If you or one you care for is sick. Don't trust them to know what to do. Question their decisions. Ask for other options. Get second, third, and fourth opinions. Read the charts, ask friends of yours who may be nurses or know something of the medical field. There was no reason for me and mine to lose him like we did, for the cancer wasn't what killed him. And I'll leave that now since I'm getting off-topic and that's a no-no. If any are curious for the whole story, try my live journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/nightshadow_t2/
Disclaimer: I don't own the G-boys, but if you wrap 'em up and send 'em to me I promise to treat 'em nice. ^_^ And with that onto the fic.
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Ending
Travelers down a wooded way,
Footfalls echoing all along,
Imprints seen only in memory.
A bird of feathered flame,
Rising high with feathers bright.
Heroes. I had Heroes for parents. All my life I heard tales of their battles, not just the fights themselves, but their pain from the outcome of that war. They won, yes, but still they lost. My fathers were Gundam Pilots as were my uncles. They raised me and I spent my youth with them. Now I share shifts in this hospital room. Come early to relieve Dad for a short time, then head to college and classes when he returns. School passes a small time to forget, but never for long. To think we got him out before Christmas, thinking we'd head to that fancy hospital in Alabama. Thinking, only thinking. Then waking the next morning, school starts and finding them walking around, preparing to return to that godforsaken building of white. Black is what I'm told represents death, but I've seen it only as a place to hide. It's the white that truly stands for death, its pristine color adorning the walls and gate to the very doorstep of that...place. I watch him walk out that door after hugging his all too slight frame and frown at the shadow that follows him. Its cloak growing deeper, the closer he gets to the truck, the way to his destination.
Players upon a wear-less way,
Laughter seasoning life's song,
Chimes dancing in pictures held.
A bird of silver voice,
Gliding now with feathers light.
So much has come and gone. His birthday, the opening of Christmas presents. He loved his saw, slippers, and checkers board. I could have gotten him a chess board, but I do have some sense. A soldier knows strategy and I need some chance. So much joy in a day, but shadowed still when dinner came and he wasn't there. What was the use after all? He couldn't eat, not solid food anyway. To think someone so strong depended on a feeding tube to live. I remember the days we'd spend doing yard work or some other outside job and, when it was finished, he'd have his arm around Papa and give me a pat on the back that sent me stumbling, all three of us laughing as I did. We left his place empty as we ate. Food had lost its flavor and delight. It's only a necessary thing now, even for Papa, who Dad swears would eat us out of house and home without him to watch him. Especially when one you hold dear just wishes he could drink a glass of cold water without hurting.
Comrades down the seasoned way,
Wisdom held passing onward,
Gems residing in treasured times.
A bird of ancient eyes,
Slowing now with feathers grayed.
Dad has never been one for talking much, but when he did, you listened. And as time passed, we had to listen harder, for his ability to speak was fading. I remember that day when silence reigned. He was out for tests and Papa was with him. They'd be back soon. My Uncle with the ponytail was waiting with me and scowling at the state of the hospital room. He hated it as much as I. And then they were back and it was soon time to say goodnight. He spoke then and said "Love you," his words so faint as to be a whisper on the wind. Seeming moments later, he fell prey to a seizure and respiratory arrest. And then, the silence
fell.
Kindred souls on the shadow way,
Love given as silence settles,
Bitter sorrow in deaths passing.
A bird of tired times,
Resting now within a world's ending.
We just stood there. In the movies, there's always yelling and noise, but there was only silence. Ten minutes. It felt like mere moments. Time goes by so fast at first then it just creeps slowly, crawling as a slug does. The shock wears off soon and all that's left is a bone deep exhaustion and tears that never go away, but rarely fall. Everything just settles and you become one of dozens standing in the hallway, waiting for a scrap of news. Papa crying and the tears falling as five who should be six gather close. We had no idea when or if he'd wake. There was blood on his face and no one washed it off.
I can still hear the machines as they beep and see him lying there, so frail and tired, Papa forever by his side. Time doesn't stop, but the world ends and begins again. It ended with his death and something new lay within its place. He was gone, but so was his pain. And trite as it may sound, we have each other.
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Author's note: And this is the end of this series. I hope never to find the need to write anymore of its ilk, but it's a hope and not a surety. For those who are interested I added something to this. It's what I said at the funeral and surprisingly it's not depressing. Has a slightly happier and more hopeful tone.
Ending
Travelers down a wooded way,
Footfalls echoing all along,
Imprints seen only in memory.
A bird of feathered flame,
Rising high with feathers bright.
Life begins so slowly and there's so much to it. So many things we've done and what we haven't, well, it doesn't matter. Shopping trips that ended in hide-n-seek down the isles. The picnics outside from when papa cooked, letting none other but him touch that grill, for only he knew how to correctly work. it. Days out on that well used boat, watching him sit there, ever so patient, the perfect fisherman out-waiting his catch. The lectures on the proper placement of his tools and the quiet evenings watching the sunset or seeing what stories could be made of the clouds. So many times there are in the youth of life.
Players upon a wear-less way,
Laughter seasoning life's song,
Chimes dancing in pictures held.
A bird of silver voice,
Gliding now with feathers light.
The times you have together with someone are so precious as is the laughter shared. Or in some cases giggles hid behind a small hand as they bicker over what to cook and how to do it. Such a silly thing and a grand entertainment. Chasing pets that decided to go for a trip around the neighborhood or running through the woods while Papa walked, his stride so strong and sure while mine following along took detours into the briar bushes and baby trees. Learning to build traps and pens after having it explained that glaring doesn't make the nails go in straight. He could have said that before, but words he used only when needed. The visits to the creek, laughter echoing as we chased the silver slivers down and fed them to the peeping ducks tumbling around our feet. So much laughter that far outweighed the tears, and though time passed the laughter it could never dim even as youth became distant.
Comrades down the seasoned way,
Wisdom held passing onward,
Gems residing in treasured times.
A bird of ancient eyes,
Slowing now with feathers grayed.
Days pass, as do years. Sometimes they go by slow and sometimes they go by fast, but words are spoken throughout. Bits and pieces are taken, simple treasures with no value to the market, but a value in life that asks no price. Sometimes they come from questions asked and answers given. Their coming has no special marker, but the change they begin can last a lifetime. "Did you have a good day?" "There are no bad days. Some are just better than others." Each a gleaming treasure held, the memory of a way long learned. Some still known have yet to be understood. Why there should never be a goodbye and always a hello. A path walked before, now walked again as footsteps long set are followed once more.
Kindred souls on the shadow way,
Love given as silence settles,
Bitter sorrow in deaths passing.
A bird of tired times,
Resting now within a world's ending.
Life has its dips and swirls, lights and darks. They come and go, never twice the same, but each one as hard. Death and others bring them, but the Ender is far kinder than many, which cause him to be needed. And ending is the reason we stand here, eyes resting upon a stone with letters carved into its heart. The reason flowers, which will never again grow will lay here bright in there youth and gray in there age, fading and mirroring what has occurred. You hear people say the world is ending and so it has. The world that was known has now passed on into ash and from its falling a new one slowly rises to stand, turning much as the other did, but different enough to be called new. The Phoenix has flown and in a world's endings found new wings. They may be gangly and clumsy at first with falls and misturns, but someday they'll beat steady again.
Ending
Travelers down a wooded way,
Footfalls echoing all along,
Imprints seen only in memory.
A bird of feathered flame,
Rising high with feathers bright.
Players upon a wear-less way,
Laughter seasoning life's song,
Chimes dancing in pictures held.
A bird of silver voice,
Gliding now with feathers light.
Comrades down the seasoned way,
Wisdom held passing onward,
Gems residing in treasured times.
A bird of ancient eyes,
Slowing now with feathers grayed.
Kindred souls on the shadow way,
Love given as silence settles,
Bitter sorrow in deaths passing.
A bird of tired times,
Resting now within a world's ending.