It was tomorrow, but now it’s today. Again.
I was rolled out to a sunny spot on the lawn
and parked, wheel brakes locked. Like it mattered.
The nurse said something that didn’t matter and then left. Or maybe
he didn’t. That didn’t matter either.
The sun was warm. That mattered. The sun soaks through my thin, mottled skin and wakens me. Like it wakens the colors in all the world and
rescues them from the darkness.
I sit and stare. The trees are speaking green in highlights
and shadows and more shades than you can count or remember. Or care about. You
can see them rustle. Do they fight the fickle, arrogant wind or do they dance
to the gentle caresses of loving breezes? It doesn't matter.
My head slumps forward from tired, atrophied muscles and dissipated will. It’s not sad. Muscles and the will to move them do not matter
now.
A cloud hides the sun and the world fades quickly away. The
cloud passes and the world blossoms again. Or is it me that shrinks and
blossoms? It doesn’t matter.
“Are we ready to return, Joe? It’s nearly time for lunch.”
was said from behind. She didn’t bother to come ‘round and look at me to ask. The 'we' makes it sound like it matters. To her.
Yet I was but, to her, a voice that was expected say, “Yes.” I simply said, with
simple truth, “It doesn’t matter.”
She wheeled me around. We both waited for tomorrow to become today.
The years of wonder and excitement, the years of energy and
exploring, the years of thought and questioning, the years of design and doing,
the years of love and hoping, the years of regret and sadness, have all led to this
stillness. And finally seeing that, after all, none of it matters.
And that's OK.