{"id":5282,"date":"2011-06-01T01:10:07","date_gmt":"2011-06-01T06:10:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/paganpages.org\/content\/?p=5388"},"modified":"2011-05-17T19:17:42","modified_gmt":"2011-05-18T00:17:42","slug":"greetings-from-afar-18","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/2011\/06\/01\/greetings-from-afar-18\/","title":{"rendered":"Greetings from Afar"},"content":{"rendered":"

I\u2019ll Wait For You<\/strong><\/h1>\n

It was the summer of 1994, and Nikolai Nikolaiovich was dying. He knew he was dying, and he was ready to go. He had cancer. That was alright with Nikolai. He was ninety-four years old, and he had outlived all of his family, all of his friends, and most of his relatives. In his long life, he had seen the world change in ways that he did not understand, could not fathom, and did not like. The cancer, in fact, had come as a sort of perverse blessing. <\/strong><\/p>\n

He had long before made his peace with whatever powers that be. Now, as he lay in his bed, surrounded by his doctor, and two of his grandchildren, in the comfort of the neat little flat that he had shared for over sixty years with his wife, Olga, he had nothing to do but wait. He had declined pain medication. It wasn\u2019t so bad. He had, many times in his life, experienced worse. At least the doctor had allowed him to come home to die. He could not bear the thought of leaving the world in the sterilized, sanitized and frigid environment of the hospital. Here, at least, he could spend what little time was left to him amid his own things, in the place that had been his home for over half of his life. <\/strong><\/p>\n

The old carpenter was wasted, a shadow of his former self\u2026 only his large, callused hands showed any evidence of the strength that had once been his. He had never been a large man, and the sheets\u2026 clean and crisp\u2026 and the blankets\u2026 made him look even smaller than his five-feet, four inches. Of course, the cancer had taken its toll, and the extra weight that he once carried had long since melted away. Still, his eyes were bright, his mind was clear, and his intellect keen.<\/p>\n

Every five minutes or so, his oldest granddaughter, Elena, would gently brush an unruly shock of snow-white hair away from his forehead, smooth his bushy eyebrows, and ask the old man if he needed anything. From the look on his face, what he needed most was to be left alone. Of course, he would never tell the girl this. He simply shook his head, and said in a weak voice, that he was fine the way he was. The younger girl, Natasha, sat quietly beside the bed, occasionally glancing at the wall above the headboard, where an old photograph of Nikolai Nikolaiovich and his late wife hung in a handmade wooden frame.<\/p>\n

The old man glanced up at the girl, and caught her staring at the picture. \u201cYou look a lot like her, you know\u201d. He smiled weakly, and reached for her hand as he spoke. \u201cThe same eyes\u2026 the same smile\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSave your strength, grandfather,\u201d she said softly. \u201cYou have to conserve your strength.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy? Your grandmother will be here for me soon\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you talking about, grandfather?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour grandmother,\u201d the old man replied softly. \u201cShe\u2019s coming for me. She promised me that she would.\u201d<\/p>\n

Both girls had been present when their grandmother had passed away. Both of them had heard the old woman make that promise to her nearly frantic husband. She had done it to calm him. They both knew that. Now, it looked as though the old man was living some sort of fantasy. Did he really believe this? Certainly not\u2026<\/p>\n

That day passed, as did the next. With each passing hour, Nikolai Nikolaiovich grew weaker and weaker. Finally, after a ten weary days, it looked as though the end was near. With each passing day, the old man grew weaker. He stopped eating altogether. Elena and Natasha had both suggested putting him back in the hospital. The old man was weak, but he still had his wits about him. He simply would not hear of it. The priest was called. He came and went.<\/p>\n

He slept all through the day on the twelfth day. The doctor came, shook his head, and left. There was nothing more he could do. The old man\u2019s breath grew shallower and shallower, but still he held on. Neither girl left his bedside. Neither expected him to wake from his sleep. Then, in the small hours of the morning, on what was to be the thirteenth day, he rallied.<\/p>\n

Both girls\u2026 they were hardly girls\u2026 but that\u2019s what he called them\u2026 they both had grown children, and one had a grandchild of her own\u2026 had nodded off into a fitful sleep. They didn\u2019t notice at first. Then, they heard his voice\u2026 Not the voice of the sick old man that they had come to comfort in his dying, but the voice that they remembered from childhood\u2026 a strong, firm voice.<\/p>\n

Elena and Natasha looked up to see the room bathed in a gentle glow. Their grandfather was sitting bolt upright, looking intently at the door, across the tiny room, at the foot of his bed. He spoke again.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you\u2019ve come,\u201d he said\u2026 a smile lighting up his lined face. \u201cI knew you would. You said that you would. I was waiting for you. I told you that I would wait\u2026 remember?\u201d<\/p>\n

The young woman in the doorway smiled back at him and said, \u201cYes, darling, I remember, and, now, I\u2019ve come for you. It\u2019s time for you to go.\u201d<\/p>\n

The two girls sat frozen in their chairs, unable to speak or move. Both saw the young woman. Both recognized her. She was younger than they remembered. She looked exactly like she did in the picture hanging above the bed. She was dressed in a long, opaque dress, of the style worn at the turn of the century. Her chestnut hair was long and flowing, and there was a look of gentle concern on her face. She looked solid enough, but not quite real.<\/p>\n

The figure glided across the floor to the side of the bed, and took the old man by the hand. \u201cCome darling,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s time\u201d.<\/p>\n

\u201cPast time,\u201d he replied. \u201cLong past time\u201d.<\/p>\n

With that, he laid back gently into his pillow and heaved a deep sigh. The glow faded, and before Elena and Natasha\u2019s startled eyes, the woman vanished. As if a spell was broken, both reached for the bed. The old man lay there, still, his eyes closed, a smile on his face\u2026 quite dead.<\/p>\n

\u00a9\u00a0 2011 by Dr. J. Lee Choron; all rights reserved un less specifically\u00a0 granted by the author in writing.<\/em><\/strong> <\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I\u2019ll Wait For You It was the summer of 1994, and Nikolai Nikolaiovich was dying. He knew he was dying, and he was ready to go. He had cancer. That was alright with Nikolai. He was ninety-four years old, and he had outlived all of his family, all of his friends, and most of his relatives. In his long life, he had seen the world change in ways that he did not understand, could not fathom, and did not like. The cancer, in fact, had come as a sort of perverse blessing. He had long before made his peace with whatever powers that be. Now, as he lay in his bed, surrounded by his doctor, and two of his grandchildren, in the comfort of the neat little flat that he had shared for over sixty years with his wife, Olga, he had nothing to do but wait. He had declined pain medication. It wasn\u2019t so bad. He had, many times in his life, experienced worse. At least the doctor had allowed him to come home to die. He could not bear the thought of leaving the world in the sterilized, sanitized and frigid environment of the hospital. Here, at least, he could spend what little time was left to him amid his own things, in the place that had been his home for over half of his life. The old carpenter was wasted, a shadow of his former self\u2026 only his large, callused hands showed any evidence of the strength that had once been his. He had never been a large man, and the sheets\u2026 clean and crisp\u2026 and the blankets\u2026 made him look even smaller than his five-feet, four inches. Of course, the cancer had taken its toll, and the extra weight that he once carried had long since melted away. Still, his eyes were bright, his mind was clear, and his intellect keen. Every five minutes or so, his oldest granddaughter, Elena, would gently brush an unruly shock of snow-white hair away from his forehead, smooth his bushy eyebrows, and ask the old man if he needed anything. From the look on his face, what he needed most was to be left alone. Of course, he would never tell the girl this. He simply shook his head, and said in a weak voice, that he was fine the way he was. The younger girl, Natasha, sat quietly beside the bed, occasionally glancing at the wall above the headboard, where an old photograph of Nikolai Nikolaiovich and his late wife hung in a handmade wooden frame. The old man glanced up at the girl, and caught her staring at the picture. \u201cYou look a lot like her, you know\u201d. He smiled weakly, and reached for her hand as he spoke. \u201cThe same eyes\u2026 the same smile\u2026\u201d \u201cSave your strength, grandfather,\u201d she said softly. \u201cYou have to conserve your strength.\u201d \u201cWhy? Your grandmother will be here for me soon\u2026\u201d \u201cWhat are you talking about, grandfather?\u201d \u201cYour grandmother,\u201d the old man replied softly. \u201cShe\u2019s coming for me. She promised me that she would.\u201d Both girls had been present when their grandmother had passed away. Both of them had heard the old woman make that promise to her nearly frantic husband. She had done it to calm him. They both knew that. Now, it looked as though the old man was living some sort of fantasy. Did he really believe this? Certainly not\u2026 That day passed, as did the next. With each passing hour, Nikolai Nikolaiovich grew weaker and weaker. Finally, after a ten weary days, it looked as though the end was near. With each passing day, the old man grew weaker. He stopped eating altogether. Elena and Natasha had both suggested putting him back in the hospital. The old man was weak, but he still had his wits about him. He simply would not hear of it. The priest was called. He came and went. He slept all through the day on the twelfth day. The doctor came, shook his head, and left. There was nothing more he could do. The old man\u2019s breath grew shallower and shallower, but still he held on. Neither girl left his bedside. Neither expected him to wake from his sleep. Then, in the small hours of the morning, on what was to be the thirteenth day, he rallied. Both girls\u2026 they were hardly girls\u2026 but that\u2019s what he called them\u2026 they both had grown children, and one had a grandchild of her own\u2026 had nodded off into a fitful sleep. They didn\u2019t notice at first. Then, they heard his voice\u2026 Not the voice of the sick old man that they had come to comfort in his dying, but the voice that they remembered from childhood\u2026 a strong, firm voice. Elena and Natasha looked up to see the room bathed in a gentle glow. Their grandfather was sitting bolt upright, looking intently at the door, across the tiny room, at the foot of his bed. He spoke again. \u201cSo you\u2019ve come,\u201d he said\u2026 a smile lighting up his lined face. \u201cI knew you would. You said that you would. I was waiting for you. I told you that I would wait\u2026 remember?\u201d The young woman in the doorway smiled back at him and said, \u201cYes, darling, I remember, and, now, I\u2019ve come for you. It\u2019s time for you to go.\u201d The two girls sat frozen in their chairs, unable to speak or move. Both saw the young woman. Both recognized her. She was younger than they remembered. She looked exactly like she did in the picture hanging above the bed. She was dressed in a long, opaque dress, of the style worn at the turn of the century. Her chestnut hair was long and flowing, and there was a look of gentle concern on her face. She looked solid enough, but not quite real. The figure glided across the floor to the side of the bed, and took the old man by the hand. \u201cCome darling,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s time\u201d. \u201cPast time,\u201d he replied. \u201cLong past time\u201d. With that, he laid back gently into his pillow and heaved a deep sigh. The glow faded, and before Elena and Natasha\u2019s startled eyes, the woman vanished. As if a spell was broken, both reached for the bed. The old man lay there, still, his eyes closed, a smile on his face\u2026 quite dead. \u00a9\u00a0 2011 by Dr. J. Lee Choron; all rights reserved un less specifically\u00a0 granted by the author in writing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"iawp_total_views":1,"footnotes":""},"categories":[],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5282","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5282","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5282"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5282\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5185,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5282\/revisions\/5185"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5282"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5282"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5282"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}