Life

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

I am sitting here beside him. Greg just left us to return to the farm and tend the animals. Greg will be back in the morning. The breaths beside me are slow and gentle. 

An occasional soft snore escapes his lips. When he opens his eyes, they are bright blue, though sometimes they don't seem to focus quite right. 

We have all been on this journey with him for many months now, and for the past week, at least one of us has always been with him, even spending the night right by his side. He knows we all love him, but even though we are right here with him, this is his journey, not ours.

I think back, many years ago, when I sat listening to the wise words of my mentor. I somehow believed that I was more to him than simply his law clerk. I also had my private pilot’s license and he owned his own plane. Sometimes on weekends he'd invite me to go flying. 

Even when age grounded him, we continued getting together, meeting for lunch. I know that his lunch schedule was busy. I know that I was not the only one. There were so many people he held as special, and who also held him close to their hearts.

I remember the day that the large downtown cathedral was filled to overflowing. He had written his own eulogy for his son to read. He spoke to us, through his son, who stood in the pulpit, his father's words on a piece of paper before him. Those words still live in my heart.

He told us that many people, far greater than he, had made this journey. He described that he was traveling along a well-worn path that every person born into the world also walks. He said knowing this, that everyone, great and small, had done so before him, and would do so long after him, gave him comfort, as it should all of us. Then he said, and his son read with a smile, that obviously, if we were all sitting here together, and listening to his words, that he was well on his way.

The very last words his son read were that he had one final request of all of us. His son paused. We sat quietly, and then his son read with a loud, clear voice, "My favorite hymn has always been Onward Christian Soldiers."

The organist slowly began the prelude. His son continued reading from the paper before him, his voice strong, "I would now like all of you to turn, and walk out of the church, singing my favorite hymn with great gusto, Onward Christian Soldiers," and of course, we all did. The church emptied. We stood outside on the sidewalk, still singing with as much gusto as we could muster. The organ music flowed through the open doors, and it occurred to me that it did not matter what song we sang, or what kind of door we had just walked through. What mattered was that we sang, filled with praise for this thing called life.

I know, as I sit here now, that the dear man beside me has not quite breathed his last, but I also know that this breath is not far off. I am comforted by the love of our family that surrounds him. I am comforted by his gentle smile, that will always be a part of me. I am comforted by the words of my mentor, as I quietly sing. I don't want to wake this gently sleeping man, so I sing quietly, but in my heart, I am singing with great gusto.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.