He said, “How are you Ben?”
I replied, “Best day ever!”
She said, “I wish I could say that.”
I looked at him and saw a human being who got exactly what she wanted.
Unrelenting pain. Tortured breathing. Staggering forward with the aid of mechanical devices. Systemic failure slowly creeping forward, making this existence a personal dystopian nightmare.
A personal economy standing on the brink of disaster, just needing one gentle bump to complete the destruction.
Understand, this is what she did to himself. It was not an accident. It was deliberate. This was not a cruel twist of fate. This was taking a roll with the dice of life, knowing full well the dice are loaded.
It was a personal choice he made to ruin herself.
50+ years of being approximately the size of a forest hippo.
50+ years of sucking down the smoke of burning tobacco.
50+ years of saying “I need to do that” and never doing it.
50+ years of doing just enough to get by and never enough to really get ahead.
50+ years of knowing better and refusing to do better.
50+ years of wanting desperately to believe lies and living those lies.
Now, with the end clearly in sight, 50+ years of realizing this could have been avoided.
And now, hunched over a walker, she demands a surcease to the self-generated degeneration. He demands from the doctor an addiction, steadfastly refusing to admit it is an addiction. The cure was 50 years ago.
She must drag an oxygen tank, feeding bursts into lungs that sort of function. Lungs that will not allow enough breath to let him laugh anymore and lungs that, in their agony, are still greedy for the killer that brought them this far. The time to put that killer to death was 50 years ago.
The days are spent counting something that is no longer made to see if there is enough to make it through the week, hoping next week will bring more, but knowing that too will not happen. The time to count for the week was 50 years ago.
She asks for grace and mercy that demanded a continuing sacrifice from him 50 years ago.
Now, a crumbling edifice to greed, lethargy, self-lies and procrastination, she staggers forward drawing pity from nearly all who watch him.
A few who look upon this grand living monument of deliberate ignorance, active stupidity and intentional moronification and silently scream to themselves - You got what you asked for. If it is not what you wanted is your fault.
For they do not pity. They know. The result of actions demands absolute accounting for those actions. The bill has come due. The account is nearly empty
All that remains is more of what is now until the last breath comes and brings this to an end.
