Fulfilling Destiny
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No Slave To Destiny free porn video
I’m talking to myself again. So what? Who else would listen? God, it hurts. It hurts so bad.
I knew it was coming. But there’s no way I could have prepared for this. The pain’s deep down inside my fucking chest. The feeling of emptiness is unreal. The loneliness. I’m gonna lose it. I just know I’m gonna lose my mind. They’re going to put me away somewhere. A place where the world can forget about me. But I won’t forget. I can’t.
Maybe I should just end it. It? Yes, it. End it all. It can’t be that hard to do. It would be a relief. Forever. Why not? I can’t face tomorrow. Heck, I can’t even face today. Look at my hands. They’re shaking. I’m tired. So very tired. I can’t take this anymore and there’s fuck all I can do about it. That’s the worst part of it. I’ve always been able to do something about it when shit happened. All I know now is what hollowness feels like. A great big fucking void sucking everything out of me. That’s all that’s left. A lifeless, useless shell of a man.
My thoughts are only for myself. It’s a gray September day. I’m sitting on a park bench with weeping willows (what else) on either side and a small pond directly ahead surrounded by manicured lawns. The pond water is dark and still. No sunlight reflects on it. Nothing disturbs the surface.
I’m tearing loaves of stale French bread into too-small pieces trying to make it last so I don’t have to do anything else for a while. The Mallards gathered before me are eager for the feeding ritual to continue. I don’t even notice their spirited antics as they jostle for the morsels I toss nonchalantly in their direction.
There’s no-one I know around. That suits me just fine. The last thing I want now is company. Even the presence of strangers is more than bothersome. I glance to either side with bowed head. I see pedestrians everywhere – children walking to school, housewives with strollers or puppies on leashes. Businesspeople hurry to their first appointments of the day. Each carries a sense of their own self-importance in conspicuous briefcases or laptops clasped tightly in clenched fists.
Don’t dare disturb me. I feel my utter despondency radiate out towards them, driving them away. Good. I don’t want to see anybody smiling. I don’t want to hear them laughing. Or even see them going about their daily routines. Because, whatever their personal difficulties, I envy them.
Do you know how lucky you are, just to have normalcy in your lives? I’d give anything to have that again. But you can’t help me. It’s been three days, do you hear? Three days and two very long fucking nights since the funeral. And I haven’t stopped crying. Yeah, I know. Who cares?
Damn it, Peg, why did you have to leave? Why? I know, I know. It wasn’t exactly your fault. You didn’t plan it this way. But, still. Fuck it. I was supposed to go first. Remember, I told you I wanted to go first. I’m no good without you Peg. Sounds like a cliché. But it’s true, especially after 36 years. More than three fucking decades. A damned lifetime. All we had, just disappeared in the blink of an eye. All those years spent building a life together. Caring. Hoping. Modest dreams. Shit. Turns out our efforts built nothing more a fucking house of cards. All gone. Replaced with nothingness. Maybe one day I’ll again appreciate what we had. Right now, I just hurt so much.
Sorry. That wasn’t very fair. Some kinda man I turned out to be. Just a 58 year-old has-been without a future. Fuck, all married people lose a spouse. Eventually. Some sooner than others. Most everybody else seems to be able to cope. What’s wrong with me? God but it hurts.
I glance up at the sky. Huge, dark cumulus clouds block the sun and promise yet another day of relentless rain. The ducks don’t mind at all but the threatening weather just adds to my despair.
How fitting. Gun-metal gray day. Wish I had a gun. Well, fine then. Let it rain. Forever. I don’t give a rat’s ass. Something to wash away the tears so no-one will notice. But it won’t take away the fucking cold. It’s too damn fucking cold for September. Even the weather is against me. Thanks, God. That’s really kind of you! Fuck it.
At what stage of grief am I right now? What did I read about that once? Oh yeah, five stages… something about denial, then followed by anger. I guess I’m at anger. Mad at me. Mad at Peg. Mad at God. Especially mad at God. Why me? And where the hell are you now anyway God?
The funeral kinda took care of denial. Not much choice in that one. Oh shit, next comes depression. I’m not going to make it. There’s no way I can get past depression. Oh God, help me! That’s right, bargain with God. Talk to God. Maybe then yours won’t be the only voice in your head. Forget it. Fat chance God is talking to anyone.
You’re such a jerk Dave. Remember what you always told others about mourning? C’mon big hero. You remember. ‘After a time, grieving becomes self-pity.’ You aren’t feeling sorry for the person who died. They no longer feel anything. ‘You’re feeling sorry for yourself, that’s all.’ Brave words, even if they are true. Well, almost all true. Memories of how much the person suffered. Memories not yet been buried. Regret for their lost years, for the life they might have had. Opportunities to love and be loved. There’s reason enough to feel sorry for the one who has died. But mostly it’s self-pity. Right? Right? Right.
What I need is food. Can’t live on coffee and whiskey. Did I say ‘live’? Shit, Dave. Get a grip. Have another cigarette. Peg’s only vice. She gave up dozens of times but kept coming back to it. Her dependence was more psychological than physical. Growing up we smoked because cigarettes were cheap and smoking was the socially acceptable thing to do. Even expected. A real ice-breaker when making or greeting friends. ‘How are you Bob? I’d like you to meet Rachel. Like a cigarette? What you been up to? Have another cigarette. Don’t mind if I do. Thanks.’
I never could give up the weed either. Not permanently. Cancer? Yeah, well, bring it on. Got nothing to live for anyway. No great loss. Since when did a person dying ever mean anything in the greater scheme of things? Unless you were some big wig or something. And even then the world just keeps turning, spinning along on its merry way. Never mind the daily misery of millions and millions. Thanks again, God. Nice work.
Oh God, help me. If you do I won’t drink anymore. Peg? Can you hear me? Someone! What am I gonna do? It’s early, but there’s a bottle of Jack Daniels at home. Fuck it, that’s one way to cure another hangover. I need to be home. With a bottle.
As I stand up from the bench and prepare for the long walk back the rain begins to fall, gently at first and then, quickly, in flooding torrents as if the clouds are intent on crying harder than the grieving mortal beneath their smothering blanket of gloom.
The ducks know the free meal is over. They make their way to the water’s edge, at first in ones and twos, and then in random groups. I want to follow them. To just keep on walking into the murky depths. But there’s a bottle waiting for me. I’d rather drink whiskey than pond water. For now, anyway. It won’t help me to forget. Not completely. But at least I won’t have to deal with today for a few more hours. Instead, I’ll keep filling the glass and think morbid thoughts about my own misery and mortality.
****
Peggy and I were high school sweethearts back in the 60’s. We grew up in the era of flower power and free love, beliefs that would redefine how the world works. Or so we thought. ‘There’s a whole generation, with a new explanation…’ sang The Byrds. We were in love with being in love. And Peg was so easy to love. She was gorgeous. Vivacious and innocent with a passion for living life to the fullest. Tall, she carried herself with pride, a certain laissezfaire exhibiting her independence and self-confidence.
She had long, brown shoulder-length hair, Azure blue ‘deeper than
the ocean’ eyes, generous lips, a winning smile and an honest, unbridled laugh. Her slim waist perfectly complemented her overly-broad hips. Ordinary? Hardly. This girl was the complete package. As I got to know her better I discovered her physical attractiveness was exceeded only by the beauty of her inner self.
Me? When dripping wet I weighed 135 pounds and wore a mullet that my kids, viewing our wedding photographs, would tease me about for years. Undershot jaw, immature beard, chewed fingernails, a problem wrist and bad ankles (the result of falling out of trees and off motorcycles in my spirited youth). Bespectacled, quiet and reserved. Peg’s parents accepted me, which was kind of them. They had likely wished better for their daughter. I always wondered what Peg saw in me. Of her many suitors I was the one she chose, though she never did tell me why.
We didn’t completely buy into the hippie culture but we wore the clothes, spoke the language and danced to the music of the times, losing ourselves in the promise of the future. As with most of our experimental generation, we were determined to let our imaginations and the nurturing environment of our peer group help us bring change to the world order. Big drugs and big dreams, both of which died a natural death when we realized that the only way to really make a difference was to become part of the establishment.
We were married in 1971 on a sunny July day. Peg was radiant in her homemade wedding gown. The bridesmaids, resplendent in red, carried bouquets of Flame Lily and White Orchids, Peg’s favorite. My parents, who had not yet met the bride because of an extended overseas posting, were a surprise show at the wedding and fell in love with her immediately. There could not have been a more auspicious beginning to our married life.
Post-secondary education complete and with degrees in hand, we boldly stepped out into the real world to begin our careers, Peg in marketing and me in the IT industry. We traveled extensively in those early years, both for pleasure and on business. Then, as throughout our married life, we were inseparable so that in time we learned to read each other’s thoughts and predict one another’s needs.
We became a true family in 1982 with the arrival of Jennifer and, two years later, son Mark. Jenny was a surprise, Mark we really had to work for although I can’t say either of us minded in the least. Life was so uncomplicated back then. All we focused on was being there for each other.
Peg excelled at taking care of me and the children. She was truly special that way. As the years slipped by she became increasingly driven to do something with her life that would fulfill her natural maternal instincts. When the opportunity arose, she went back to school and ultimately traded selling consumer products for a career in mentoring the health and well-being of humankind’s most precious of all resources – children. Our photo albums overflowed with her images, but not because she necessarily enjoyed being a model. She was simply everywhere the kids were. And, invariably, the camera caught her smiling or laughing.
There are only so many Christmases and birthdays in a couple of short decades and while our family enjoyed celebrating these special occasions together, time dictated that eventually the spell would be broken. Children have a habit of growing up. Soon, all too soon, they were college graduates and had moved out on their own. Mark had an environmental engineering degree and joined a construction company in a neighboring state. Jen’s qualifications were in Financial Planning. That left Peg and I working diligently towards our retirement. ‘We had earned our stripes’ and were entering our ‘golden years’.
****
‘Hey, hon. Wazzup?’ I remarked casually one fine day in late Spring. I kicked off my shoes and walked over to the kitchen table where she was sitting. Studying her more closely I thought she looked unusually tired.
‘Nothing,’ replied Peg in an off-handed manner.
‘You look exhausted,’ I observed as she sat holding her head in her hands. ‘We should order something in and get an early night.’
‘It’s nothing,’ she said again, getting up to begin dinner preparations.
‘Headache?’ I inquired.
‘No. It’s my back. There’s a pain in my upper back,’ said Peg. ‘It’s been there for weeks it seems. It won’t go away. Just keeps getting worse. And I’m short of breath all the time.’
‘Have you taken anything for it? The pain I mean.’
‘No. Not yet.’ Peg had hurt herself as a competitive diver at school and occasionally needed to take a couple of aspirin to relieve chronic pain in her back. More frequently she availed herself of chiropractic services to ‘get everything back in alignment.’
‘When’s your next chiropractic appointment?’ I asked. ‘If it’s next Tuesday, maybe I should come with you. I think I need an adjustment too.’
‘Actually, yeah. Next Tuesday. Maybe that will help. I haven’t had anything pinching in that part of my back before,’ explained Peg.
The visit to the chiropractor didn’t help. We liked Peter well enough. He had done wonders for Peg over the years keeping her mobile and relatively pain free but this time his manipulations had no effect. As the pain worsened, I suggested she make an appointment with the family doctor.
It was months later by the time she got around to making the initial appointment, followed by a series of tests. A curtain of early-morning snow on a mid-November morning obscured the roadway on the day we were scheduled to get the results. Plows were everywhere and driving was hazardous. Still, we were expected at the doctor’s office at 8:30 and somehow we managed in the blizzard to find the entrance to the office suite where Dr. Norman Kazowski had his practice.
‘Do you want to go in together?’ asked the receptionist. I looked at Peg but we already knew the answer.
We waited only a few minutes before Dr. Kazowski came into the office holding two files, both pregnant with papers, well-organized with section tabs and bound with paperclips.
‘Morning,’ said Norman as he seated himself behind his desk. There was a moment of silence. ‘In my profession,’ he began then, ‘it’s inevitable that sometimes we have to share bad news with our patients. I’m sorry, but this is one of those times.
‘Peg, you remember we took x-rays of your back? And nothing showed up, right? Then we did a CT scan. I’ve got the results here. I don’t how to say this any way but straight out. It looks like cancer, I’m afraid. Lung cancer.’ He was silent, then, though his eyes remained fixed on Peg waiting for her reaction which, presumably, would tell him how to proceed.
Peg and I were holding hands. I did not realize how vice-like my grip had become. On hearing Norman’s words she sat still for a long moment, looking directly at him. Finally she said, simply, ‘Oh.’ Then she turned towards me.
‘Dave, your hand. You’re hurting me.’ I relaxed my grip but not my gaze into her eyes, pleading for her to stay connected with me in this way. She was the first to look away.
‘What’s the prognosis, Norm?’ she asked. ‘We’ve known each other for a long time. I trust you’ll honor our friendship and not sugar-coat your answer.’
‘Well,’ replied Norman. ‘We have to run quite a few more tests before we can be certain, of course. I can’t say too much now but it doesn’t look very good. I’m sorry. The specialists believe the cancer is already pretty wide spread. The back pain you’ve been having means it’s probably gone beyond the lung lining into your bones. A bone marrow biopsy and MRI will tell us more. If it has spread, that limits what we can do from a treatment standpoint,’ he continued. ‘I’ve been in touch with Oncology at the hospital. Surgery doesn’t appear to be an option I’m afraid.’
‘I see,’ said Peg quietly. ‘Then what’s left?’
‘Chemotherapy is the standard,’ he replied. ‘Followed by a course of radiation. We can perha
ps slow the cancer down somewhat, but that’s likely all we can do. I wish you had come in to see me sooner Peggy.’
‘Would it have made a difference?’ I asked, having finally found my voice. ‘Seriously. Would it?’
‘Perhaps. It’s hard to say. But the earlier we find the cancer the more options we have,’ explained Norman.
‘And the better the prognosis,’ added Peg.
‘Yes but to be honest, with lung cancer it’s often pretty aggressive and in the end we’re mostly just buying time,’ Norman responded. ‘Peg, I’m writing you a script for some more painkillers and I need for you to make an appointment with the clinic downstairs to have some further tests run. More blood work, the MRI, a bone-marrow biopsy and so on. Once we get those results in, we can discuss more definitively what course of action is best to take. The sooner we begin the better.’
While Peg did well on the painkillers over the next few weeks, she tired more easily than ever before. She lost her appetite and was sometimes unsteady on her feet. The cough she’d had for quite some time got progressively worse.
Still, she found reasons to get out of the house as often as possible whenever she felt well enough. She especially enjoyed short trips to the corner store or going to the mall for an hour or two. Occasionally, on a warm evening, I would drive her to the park where we would sit on a bench by the pond and keep company with the ducks. But most days she was just as happy staying at home, curled up on the couch in the sun-room passing the afternoon quietly with a good book close at hand.
The kids began visiting on weekends even though for Mark this meant a five-hour interstate drive. Jen had moved to an apartment across the city to be close to her work but was within a relatively easy commute on public transit.
Family chatter was awkward at first. Mostly we limited our conversations to how the kids were doing at work or what movies they had seen. Yet as cautious as we were our discussions inevitably included some reference to the future. Whenever that happened we would sit in embarrassed silence, painfully aware of how our enthusiasm inevitably cut through Peg’s heart like a knife. She never failed to put us at ease, however, with a smile and an encouraging word. Often she would ask questions so that we could continue our conversations. She was determined to help us get past the feelings of anguish or despair that invariably arose.
‘I’m really looking forward to next May,’ said Mark innocently. His company had planned a weekend trip to Rhode Island for a handful of their best performing employees and Mark eagerly anticipated the opportunity to spend some relaxation time with his colleagues and immediate supervisor. As he finished his statement, he looked directly at his mother and winced.
‘Sorry, Mom,’ he said.
‘Nothing to be sorry for, Mark. If I can, I’ll come and caddy for you,’ teased Peg. ‘Who’s all going?’
‘Well, my boss of course,’ explained Mark. ‘And four other junior engineers … Jack, Paul, Sam and Sean. Sounds like a comedy team, doesn’t it? Anyway, Sam was a real surprise choice. No one figured him for one of the top performers but he’s really come along and seems to be enjoying the work now that he’s had a year under his belt.’
‘You should bring him with you one of these weekends,’ continued Peg. ‘You talk quite a lot about Sam. I’d like to meet him sometime.’
‘Okay, that’s a great idea,’ responded Mark. ‘If you and Dad don’t mind. I know Sam’s very partial to road trips.’
‘But not next weekend,’ I interjected. ‘Mom’s chemo starts on the Monday and I want her fully rested.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Mark. ‘In a couple of weekends, then.’
****
It was early morning shortly before Christmas when we arrived for Peg’s first treatment at the chemo day-ward. As I took her arm to walk into the Oncology Center I was struck with how sparsely the foyer and reception area were appointed.
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