Member-only story
Wolfie
As if through a veil, a departed friend came through and we had a chat.
Wolfie lopes into view, mopping his brow after a several-mile run with the dogs in the humid morning air. After a long drink of water, he folds his long, lanky body into a plastic lawn chair. He looks healthy like I remember him, not gaunt with sunken cheeks like he became after his surgery.
Wolfie doesn’t speak so much as he exudes a calm, grounded presence. His eyes meet mine and he smiles and nods like we’re sharing a secret.
“Wolfie, what’s it like now, and what do you make of your sudden end?”
Wolfie takes another drink, sighs, and then laughs.
“A brain tumor! I would have guessed a plane crash before that. Or sawing my arm half off on my table saw! I wasn’t ready to go. I thought I’d live until at least 80, 85. I feel bad for all of the work left undone. Irene of course. Things I should have cleaned up. The bills that needed paid. The dogs. ”
“Any thoughts on life now that you’re gone?”
“Trust people unless they prove to be dishonest or just plain crazy. We know a few of those, eh? Help as much as you can. Hardly anything is worth getting upset over. Enjoy life, work hard, but take it easy. We never know when the show is going to be over. Stay fit and…
