Storytime by Jim Bates, hot chocolate

 

Some might call it “serendipity,” others might term it “pure hell.”  Whatever the case, the situation was not a pleasant one.

The job I’d worked at my entire life had been demanding but I was okay with that. It was the price I paid for earning the money I did to have the things I wanted: a beautiful house in a gated community, a lovely trophy wife, Erin, and all the money I could ever want. The plan was to travel and see the world, something I looked forward to doing.

Then, BAM! A massive stroke hit me. It was a week after a lavish retirement party where I officially resigned from my job as CEO at Upper Mississippi Solutions, the three hundred employee consulting firm I’d built from the ground up. Instead of traveling with Erin, I ended up in the hospital. After three months of around-the-clock care, I was sent home for further recovery under the watchful eyes of healthcare professionals. I was told it was going to be a long process. It has been. I’ll tell you this: retirement is not like I expected it was going to be.

Erin is certainly drifting away. Sure, she stops in for a few minutes in the morning, and then in the afternoon, but that’s about it. I really can’t blame her. I’m certainly not the man I used to be.

My home healthcare workers are attentive but that’s not surprising. I pay them well. However, they are mainly just so many faces. There’s Sidney who is remarkable because of all the women he’s the only guy in the bunch. Then there’s Ramona who wears beads in her dreadlocks. But all the others? Unremarkable.

If this all sounds depressing, let me tell you, it certainly could be, ‘could’ being the operative word here. But it’s not. Why? Because of my grandson, Simon.

In fact, he’s just arrived! I smile to myself as he comes into my room.

            “Grandpa!” he grins and raises his hand in greeting. Even though it’s nearly impossible for me to move or talk, I make the effort.

            “Simon,” I mumble. It sounds like I have marbles in my mouth. For a former CEO, it’s extremely embarrassing.

            My seventeen-year-old grandson doesn’t mind. He hurries to my bedside. “Good to see you again Grandpa.” He hugs me. I can’t do much of anything except lie there and imagine hugging him back. Which I do. An imaginary hug. It’s better than nothing and the feeling it gives me is wonderful.

            “How are you doing, Grandpa?”

            Simon asks the same rhetorical question he always asks and I give him the same response I always give. I flick my right index finger. It’s the only thing I can do to acknowledge him.

            “Cool,” he says. “That’s really good.”

            How he knows what that flick of the finger means I have no idea. But then, there is a lot I’m learning about as I lay in bed mulling over my life - a life that I now believe was wasted in the pursuit of so many materialistic goals.

            Simon pulls up a chair. “I brought our book,” he says, sitting down and making himself comfortable. He holds up Walden by Thoreau. “Would you like me to read to you?”

            I’ll tell you right off the bat that for my entire life I was never a reader. Too busy, right? Too busy wasting my life is what I’d now say if I could. Thank goodness for Simon. And my son, too. Jack. I definitely need to mention him. Somehow, Jack turned out okay. In fact, really good. Even though I didn’t talk to him much after I moved out, divorced his mother, and got on with my life with Erin, Jack had made it a point to try to stay in touch.

            “You’re my dad,” he’d always say. “I’ll always love you.”

Thank goodness for my son and his persistence.

And thank goodness for his son Simon. My unselfish and loving grandson.

            “Grandpa,” Simon says, opening the book, “do you want me to read or are you too tired?”

            Too tired? Man, all I do is lie here twenty-four-seven seven trying to come to grips with my wasted life. I cherish these times with Simon.

            I flick my finger. “Read,” I mumble. “Please.”

            Simon smiles. “Okay.”

            He starts reading. His voice is soft and soothing. Why has it taken a stroke for me to realize the importance of him? And of my son, too, for that matter?

Both are good questions.

            I must have dozed off. In the instant when my eyes shoot open, I wonder if Simon is still there. Thankfully, he is, right next to my bed.

            “Hi, Grandpa,” he says, patting my arm.

            I try to smile but can’t. Damn! I flick my finger instead. “I love you,” I mumble.

            “I love you, too,” Simon says. He kisses my forehead, then glances at his watch and frowns. “I’ve got to go.” He looks at me. “My job.” He teaches swimming to five-year-olds at the YMCA.  “See you tomorrow?” For the last three months, ever since I’ve been home, he’s come over every day to see me. He’s got more compassion in his little finger than I ever had. I could learn a lot from him. I’m trying to. A tear leaks out of my eye and runs down my cheek. Simon reaches over and wipes it away. He looks at his watch and then says, “How about if I stay a few more minutes? Would you like that?”

            I don’t want him to be late for work. As if reading my mind, he says, “Don’t worry. I won’t be late for my job.” He grabs the book. “I’ll just read another page.”

            I flick my finger and try to smile. Simon smiles at me and starts reading. I close my eyes and listen, thinking to myself that I’m the luckiest man in the world. Because I am.

About the author 

Jim lives in a small town in Minnesota. He loves to write! His stories and poems have appeared in over 500 online and print publications. To learn more and to see all of his work, check out his blog at: www.theviewfromlonglake.wordpress.com. 

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