Jacks' Final Journey

Photo Credit: www.pinimg.com

A few years ago, I lived in a neighborhood that was less than stellar. To put it nicely, it was a rough, seedy suburban place that housed the most eccentric group of ghetto individuals I had ever witnessed. To be more concise, it was bad.

Not everyone in this neighborhood exemplified the worst of mankind. One lady in particular was sweet and polite to us every time we saw her. My mom gave her vegetables from the garden, and the two of them would talk about life, and about other things I didn't pay attention to. Every once in a while, we would wander across the street to visit this lady to say hello and offer pleasant company. She was always happy to see us, and her smile would brighten up the dismal disposition of the neighborhood, which was difficult to do. Somehow, she managed to be one of the only positive people we ever met there.

But one day, everything was different. After not seeing or hearing from her for a few days, my mom and I decided it was time to pay a friendly visit. Mom didn't have vegetables at the time, so we just decided to bring ourselves. With a slight knock on the door, we waited for her to answer. I stood there, looking up at the clouds, wondering what kinds of animals I could imagine flying through the sky when she finally answered. When I looked back down, I froze.

Her eyes were red, and tears dripped down her wrinkled cheeks. She waved us inside and shut the door. My mom looked worried.

"Are you alright?" My mom asked her, gently searching her eyes for a response.

"I just miss him." She said, wiping her tears with a tissue and looking across the room. "That chair over there, that's where he used to sit." She stated, pointing her finger at the ornate furniture.

It was a beautiful chair. It showed signs of age, but not of wear. In my mind I could imagine a distinguished gentleman reclining in it, smoking a pipe and reading the newspaper in the morning before a healthy breakfast. No wonder she missed him. Such a gentleman probably treated his lady well.

"We used to walk together." She said, blowing her nose, which interrupted my train of thought. "One day, when we were outside, he collapsed." She paused, "I tried to give him water, but he barely drank any of it."

Suddenly my mind abducted my attention and forced it to relive this memory. The old gentleman, distinguished and mighty, collapsed to the ground like an old oak felled in the forest. With a sweet, gentle embrace, she grabbed him, saying "Jack, it's going to be okay ", and tried to let his parched lips drink from the plastic rim of the water bottle. His lips barely caressed the edge of the bottle, as cool streams of liquid dripped down his cheeks and onto his fine clothes. "Come on! Drink, Jack. Drink! It's going to be okay..."

"...I know you miss him." Mom replied softly to the woman. I shook my head and returned to the conversation. 

"I really do..." The lady replied, and then looked in the living room again. "He stopped eating his food too. I couldn't figure out what was wrong." She said, wiping more tears away.

The old gentleman sat at the table, grimacing at the delicious food before him. His wife stared at him with loving eyes. "Honey, please eat your food. I made your favorite. Chicken noodle soup. I even added the saltine crackers on the side." She said, pointing at the food with tears in her eyes. It was no use. With each passing moment he was leaving her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. After all of these years of being together, spending precious moments with each other, and loving one another, his life started to decline into a darkness that neither wanted to fully address. He was dying.

"How old was he?" Mom asked, bringing me out of my deep thought. I really needed to stop doing that, I thought to myself.

The lady froze up. Her body trembled at the thought as more tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks. She sniffed a few times and then slowly regained her composure. "He was nine years old." 

Suddenly, my body froze. Nine. All of my thoughts flashed back, replaying each scenario with the thought of an innocent boy as the victim instead of the distinguished gentleman. "Come on Jack! Drink!" She cried as the little boy sat nestled in her soft embrace. "Jack, I made your favorite food. Pancakes. Why won't you eat?" She said as the boy stared blankly at the hot cakes dripping with syrup and melted butter. No, this wasn't right. My eyes almost started to tear up as my mind wandered through the scenario, seeing everything through an entirely new and disturbing light. No wonder this lady was upset, she lost her grandchild! My first instinct was to hug her and tell her I was so, so sorry for her loss. I refrained, since I did not know her that well personally and wanted to give her the space she needed. This was awful. 

With a deep breath, my mom replied, "Well, that is a good ol' age. Jack lived a good life." She said, attempting to smile at the woman. 

That's it! A deep rage ignited in my gut. I understand trying to comfort someone, trying to make things better...but good age?! HE WAS A BOY! I screamed inside, trying to hold in my temper until we finally left the house. With fire in my eyes, I glared at my mom, who was walking beside me.

"What was that?! How could you tell that woman that Jack lived a long life?! HE WAS A KID! He deserved to live a lot longer than nine years! I'm OLDER than THAT! Do you not realize that this woman lost her grandchild?!" I growled at her, venting out the furious anger that erupted within my passionate soul. With a slight raise of the eyebrow, my mom stopped walking and looked at me.

"What's up with you?" She said calmly.

"What do you mean what's up?! You just told that woman that Jack lived a long life! What the heck was up with that?!" I said, raising my voice at her. 

With a deep breath, she responded gently. "You don't know who Jack is, do you?" She said, which made me stop.

"Her grandson?" I replied, trying to figure out why she was so calm.

A smile crept across my mom's face as she decided to reveal to me the identity of the deceased.

"Jack...was her dog."