The Old Grey Mule

A true story about my dad.

 

The news from the doctor was grim--dad had terminal cancer. He didn't say what kind and I guess I was too stunned to ask. Something to do with his bowels, I think. He had long complained to his doctor about his intestinal problems, but nothing had ever been done. He was old-- right? Everyone dies of something, eventually. He had somewhere between a month and six months to live, so the doctor said.

                “You’re the oldest. Will you tell him?” I asked my sister, Mary.

                “Why, no, Sammy, I’m not telling him!”

                “He has to know.”

                She looked away, frowned and said, “I can’t tell him.”

                “He’s dying, Mary. Don’t you think he deserves to know? What about you, Patsy?” I asked my next older sister.

                “No, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t,” said Patsy, not making eye contact.

                “If it was me lying there, I’d want to know,” I stressed.

                “But he’ll be happier during his last days if we don’t tell him!” whispered Mary.

                I continued to argue. “He might have something to say to someone. There might be some kind of arrangements he’ll want to make. I mean, who knows?”

                No one wanted to tell him, and that wasn’t acceptable to me. I’m always the one who rocks the boat, it seems. Always the one who isn’t willing to let things be--why is that?  Mother always told me I was just a smaller version of my father, but she was wrong. It was her genes in me that made me refuse to roll over and take the easy way out.

                I announced to the others, “I’m telling him. He has a right to know, and if no one else is going to do it, I will!”

                Mary, Patsy and the others mumbled, “Okay,” and looked at the floor.

                I walked down the corridor toward dad’s room with a lump in my throat. I didn’t want to say the words, either.  Did they think it would be easy for me? An old, very pertinent  memory came flooding back.

**

                Crying inconsolably, I didn’t know about this thing called "death". Dad just told me about how everybody dies one day. Even he would die, he said, and it was too much for me to take. My five year-old mind wasn’t ready for such news.

                “But it's okay, Sammy; I’ll go to a wonderful paradise called heaven,” he insisted.

                “But I don’t want you to die, daddy!”

                I continued to cry, and no amount of his explaining helped.

                Dad rubbed my head like he often did and said, “Alright, well, you know, I’ve decided I won’t die after all."

                My sobbing slowed and I blubbered, “You won’t?”

                “No. When I get really old and grey, and it’s time for me to die, I’ll just turn into an old grey mule. I’ll go to a pasture and eat grass all day. People will drive by and say ‘Just look at that old grey mule out there!”

                That didn’t seem so bad. No grave, no coffin--just grazing out there in the warm sun all day. I stopped crying. Everything wasn’t fine, but it was acceptable. My daddy would just become an old grey mule.

**

                I walked quietly into the hospital room. It was hard for me to speak without my voice breaking.

                “Dad.”

                “Oh, hi Sammy.”

                “Do you remember that story you told me when I was little, about you turning into an old grey mule one day?”

                “Yes.”

                “Uh, dad. It’s that time.”

                “Well, okay.”  He replied, calmly. Rolling his eyes around, I could tell that it was a hard pill for him to swallow, but then he began to smile.

                Dad lived to see his 91^st birthday, but passed away shortly afterwards. There was a funeral, but I know that wasn’t him in the box. No, I saw him just yesterday, standing in a sunlit field, chewing tender green grass.

               

Author's Note

Written several years ago. Two of those who were there that day--Mary and Bob, have joined Dad in the great beyond.

Reviews

[Marie]

Oh, once again tears fall. What amazing inner strength you had as a little five year old child, Sam! Boggles my mind as I think about it. Nobody ever has to be told they are dying, we don't say anything, but we instinctively know it. I love this story and your Dad's good humour. I love how he tried to take your sadness away by telling you he wouldn't die, just be an old grey mule instead, bless him. I simply adore the ending to your very poignant write, Sam:
"Dad lived to see his 91st birthday, but passed away shortly afterwards. There was a funeral, but I know that wasn’t him in the box. No, I saw him just yesterday, standing in a sunlit field, chewing tender green grass". Nobody writes as masterly as you do, in the simplest terms you convey what you want to say, so your reader understands the meaning behind your words. The journey through life is never an easy one, Sam and yet, we all have a hidden well of strength within us to get to the end of our road in life. Remarkable write sublimely inked. Thank you for sharing, Sam...

[Samuel Dickens]

Thank you. It's all true. Dad sometimes said things that were silly, but that wasn't one of them. He was the family historian and story-teller--things that I now try to maintain.

[Marie]

Bless you both! You are doing an amazing job, Sam...

[patricia]

That was a beautiful story sam. A nice thought too.
Hope this doesn't sound flippant. but if I was going to die I would want someone to tell me. Provided of course...he/she wasn't holding a gun in their hand when they said it.

[ice]

An oldie, but very goody, Sam..
The subject matter, even though emotional, has that certain slant of light (thanks Emily D.) to it,. The kind of light that humor sheds on grief.
Just as well when a person dies, to be turned into a mule than anything else.
Your old man found his heaven on earth...for heaven is earth, to me, and can't be seperated..
enjoyed reading this story

[Ron]

Sam this was so sweet. So perfectly short and meaningful. Relaxing too and the Grey Mule an inspiration. I shall tell this to my Grandson when he stays next time. I won't try and do an American accent. Newcastle Upon Tyne talk will have to do. Great stuff old son!

[Coyote Poetry]

A wonderful story of a different age. I like how you told it. Most of us would know already something bad a-coming. The wisdom of a missed generation is missed. My Grandfather life was simple and he loved his yard and a good beer. Your story was kind and beautiful. A outstanding story . Thank you.
Coyote

[Norma M Sutton]

I like this.

[Miss Coral]

Beautiful and sad, but so happy at the same time. :)
Tears are in my eyes. From about a minute read. There are other people in the room looking at me like I'm a total freak because you are an incredible writer. Excellent piece. Totally worth the odd glances. :)

[Millionth Muse]

What a beautiful story. I'm enchanted by the way that you show the adult becoming the child becoming that adult again, and the idea of the "old gray mule" is fantastic.

[Wicahpi]

That was a good way of soothing the fears of a five year old child.
It was a good way to break the news, too, I thought with that memory.
Good story and shame on your sisters!! 91, wow! Sad that our loved ones
have to pass on, but one day we will, too. Why not go out to pasture :)
God Bless

[Tate Morgan]

You are the human experience personified.

[March Books]

A wonderful story. It is sad but uplifting, the way you bring it around full circle in the last paragraph.

My only suggestion is that I found the dialogue to be a little bit stiff.

If this is non-fiction, I give you a lot of credit for being able to write about such an emotional topic.