Yesterday I received word that my grandmother was not doing well at her nursing home (she’s 93). Darco and I were going to meet a few family members there around lunch today.
At 9:30 AM this morning I was notified that she had been moved to hospice.
I’ll let you fill in the rest.
Today took me north to the land of my father, literally and figuratively. I was around truckers, drinkers, racers, and dreamers. I saw a family that has more strength in a single toe, fairly compared to some full scale countries.
I saw my childhood rendition of the cowboys of the Wild West.
…and I was humbly shown that those great cowboys can cry too.
Throughout the day it was emotional swings of laughter and deep thoughts. It was catching up on what was, while carefully thinking about what quickly could be. I saw heroes from my childhood eyes, resting on canes, crutches, and couches.
The cowboys are tired.
I saw misty eyes while talking about ’66 1/2 model cars that ran 12.5 pistons instead of 12.6.
I heard simple political conversations, end smoothly as any cowboy would have:
The day my second amendment is gone is the day I become an outlaw.
I witnessed a dying monarch that had known nothing but love, family, and faith, rest easy as her time here begins to pass. My heart hurt of knowing about the other wounds suffered by these rough riders, how fate dealt such cruel cards to the kindest souls that roam the earth.
Through days end and the sun’s rest; these riders disembarked on another sealed journey’s past.
My concept of these cowboys has changed since my childhood.
They are so much stronger compared to what my past’s minds eye could have ever comprehended before.