By Rev. Richard L Bennett,
My friend is dying.In slow increments his working partsare rusting out like an old New England car.Whoops, there goes a pathway of circulation,Swoosh, there goes the rhythm of his speechto the far place where I will always miss his laughter.Damn!He writes to me now, his hand so shaky,a hand which can no longer bring me to my kneesin the ritual greeting of men.
My friend is dying.He used to be able to smell the fishbeneath the shadows at the darkside of the lake.Why he could hear the echo of a starstooping in free-fall across the northern sky.He used to be able to walk all day without complaintand tell lies with the best of them.Now he drools from a stroke-stiff lip;he catches his own spittleon his lap with a towel.His eyes are eternally damp with memoryas frustration clamps tight his gifts of expression.
My friend is dying.But together we found laughter today.We shared memories on a yellow padof a place we both have known and loved.We talked of the reservoir’s shineon the steep hill just northwestof the river where he used to fish each springa mile or so down from his old house.From out of the place of his silence,a half-grin ascended, as memory,just for a moment or two,overcame his headlights dimming.
My friend is dying. I love him in the way of men.We punch each other in the arm.We share a knowing look or two.We don’t say overmuch.We pass the time in silence, or within memory,grateful for the moments remaining.
Dick Bennett has a bit of high mileage in several work/study areas. In addition to teaching and public-school admin, serving as Protestant Ecumenical Chaplain at University of Connecticut, he appreciates the privilege of serving as an ordinary United Church of Christ pastor for 30+ years. He holds special interests in hiking, animal tracking, mentoring, chaplaincy, the Enneagram/Myers Briggs, and writing. His 1993 BMW motorcycle has over 103,000 miles of joyous adventures of wandering and wondering.
Derelict car photo by Patti Black
