Where Logic is the New Little Black Dress... 
Logic knows no gender or age; it thinks nothing of education or race, finance or preference. Logic knows no bounds.
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Copyright © 2004
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As a volunteer at the nursing home, I experienced, first-hand, the immense sadness that surrounds an area where aging folks are brought to die. And that is really what it is, is it not? Every day of our lives we are growing and aging, and it brings us closer to death- the inevitable end of life, as we know it. Such an overwhelmingly depressing viewpoint, I know- but facts are what they are. We are like trees in that respect- we grow to be handsome and proud, just as the maple does, full with lush green ambition. We live for a while, as does the maple…only to shed the truth within her foliage, in order to begin all over again, a process that could repeat for hundreds of years. We, on the other hand, are less fortunate- once we shed our truths it is ultimate.
I adopted this philosophy when I met William, a man of eighty-five, with a perception unmatched. I had been asked by the head of the nursing home to keep him company in his final months, as he was lonely and had no family left. They regarded this as a big favor. In reality, I should have been the one thanking them.
He saw the world as very few could have, through old eyes, softened with the passing of time. They beheld the secrets and answers to existence that people would have labeled priceless, for they were the key to true enlightenment. Laugh lines marked a lifetime of jokes and children, anniversaries and family gatherings, happiness and tranquility. Skin that was once tanned and taut now draped over his body in tent-like fashion, its’ sallow shading masking the youth that was once he. His hair was terribly thin and white, while it had formerly been a rich shade of deep chocolate; wrinkles adorned his tired countenance, pronounced and friendly. Although his smile was weak from age, it remained brilliant, and he spoke to me in cool wisdom, even when he said nothing at all.
He had been nicknamed “Father Time” by those on staff who knew him, a name given for his impeccable understanding of what it meant to be alive and for the amount of time he had been. William had a unique sense of humor and a wickedly unpredictable tongue that he used to awaken the spirits of those around him. We would spend our afternoons in his room, and he would regale me with embellished accounts of foolish teenage antics and pretty girls he courted for the sake of courting pretty girls. These stories all contained some underlying piece of advice, geared toward making me a better person. The more time I spent with him, engaged in worldly conversation of fluctuating gas prices and what the quality of life used to be, the more it bothered me that this man was dying. He was so incredibly lucid and astute. His body was failing him, and there were times it literally brought me to tears.
It was then that it struck me that we were all here to die. There could be no other answer, or a man as great as this would not be subject to the same cruel fate as others before him. As the days turned into weeks I could feel time ebbing away, as though each moment were a grain of sand, slipping through my fingers. No matter how hard I tried, I could not capture any of it. I loved William, and in return he loved me, in measures unexpressed by any source. He taught me eons of invaluable knowledge in the short time we spent and meant more to me than any other person I ever encountered. For that, I knew I would be forever in his debt.
In our final days together, we talked of happy times and reminisced, both of his life and mine. He was fading, and it was a sad and scary thing to behold. I asked him about his thoughts of dying, and he told me he was not afraid- that his life was coming to an end, and he was ready. Even in his emaciated state he appeared a pillar of strength, and I could not help but smile at his courage. The day after that he died, and the world lost a body of light so luminous and important that it would remain forever irreplaceable.
We attended the funeral, his nurses and I, to say our goodbyes to our friend. The crisp chill of fall bit my cheeks as I stood by his graveside. It was his way of telling me he was still around, that much I knew- and I cherished him for it. Later that day, when all was quiet and the last visitor had gone, I returned to his grave. I spent an hour planting a maple tree that would grow, with all of the beauty and virtue that he had. The tree, I knew, would far outlive me, as I was purely human, brought to this earth to live and die. But that tree would prosper and grow, living for what would seem like an eternity-- all for the memory of William, my dear Father Time.
That was beautiful. It is a shame that the truly great will die known to only a few, if any. Be sure to spread his wisdom. 
Wishing you strength with this loss, Ms Logic. Cary William in your heart and try to smile. The way you write about him, it seems to me he would have liked that.
for some comfort 
Oh Jess! I was so busy yesterday when I stopped here to tag you that I noticed you had a new entry, but told myself I would read it later, when I had more time. I am so sorry 
that you lost such a dear friend. It is funny how the older folks have gained so much more wisdom than us. They have learned it, earned it, by living. And to have passed some of it onto you, was surely a blessing. If all his family is gone ahead of him, who else could he pass it onto? I do pray that you will be comforted, and that you will glean from the relationship whatever good thing there was of it. Sounds like there was a lot. Sending you hugs, my friend. 
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