The Line We Draw

Now I can rest.

The work I needed to do is done. It took some time, though, to decide when that moment had arrived. The doing and the knowing are opposing forces, so a struggle was always going to ensue before the decision was made.

It happens when we least expect it. We wait and wait. We persevere, telling ourselves that the next time will be the last. When nothing else can be gained, when we are continually met with indifference, it is time to say, Enough.

I didn’t want him to die alone, because nobody ought to die that way. We weren’t born alone, although some say we are. To that, I would disagree: our mothers deliver us into this world. Is it not fitting that we exit with someone else present?

He came to my aid when I was in need, when nobody else was there. You cannot forget such generosity for a stranger lost on the road to nowhere in particular. I will never forget his gentle way of welcoming me into his home, with a smile and his arm on the door as he held it open to the aroma of baked bread fresh out of the oven.

We were three decades apart in age, but it made no difference. And his was now up.

However, the time comes when we must accept the things we cannot change. The delicate balance of drawing the line that cannot be crossed requires decisiveness and an attitude of never looking back — he taught me that.

He died four days later; alone, the way he wanted.

His neighbour, Mr Janson, discovered him when he hadn’t appeared on the porch for those last few days. You see, he always went onto the front porch and sat quietly on his rocking chair, looking out, surveying almost, as if for one last time.