BY SCOTT JONSSON
Ace’s ending arrived rather quickly. After a longer period of slow decay. Strange that. One cannot plan it beyond two rounds. It all happens at God’s Pace. He can work quickly to insert the second challenge. Even if you resist it.
It all started when Ace drove his electric wheelchair off the 5 steps down onto his garage floor. He crashed heavily; unable to deny or even slow gravity’s unspoken inducements.
He was in his bathrobe. That’s all we knew because he immediately stopped being able to ever again stand-talk-spell out-shout-grunt-sigh-cry. There was stoppage of all other things good and true at the moment he fell upon that cursed basement. Those who answered the distress call arrived quickly. We added a continuous silent and circular request for a miracle. There was no answer. Thus, we were left with only memories.
Ace was a multi-decade client and friend. One of those rare folks that both held on and reached out. Insisted on keeping friendship alive and well. In return we watched and helped as he began to shrink. The transition cascaded from slower walking, then walking cane, a walker, periodic wheelchair, full time manual wheelchair, electric wheelchair and onto a new bed. He strongly rejected any human helper.
Despite all of this, Ace continued to work at a high level. He was a voracious reader, yakker, raconteur, and holder of numerous infamous debates. We were like flying bugs drawn to the heat of his generosity.
I learned to restrain myself in only two areas. First, ‘Ace’ was a much loved nickname. He would never disclose what each letter meant. It was as if his very mojo would slowly melt away revealing a lesser person. We would hazard a guess. BJ would smile his native Alabama smile and quietly say ‘no’ to the questioner.
Otherwise, he also loathed well-meaning pity. He ignored ‘insincere pity’ because the spewer was ignorant and deserved his scorn. We had a handshake agreement to give pity a wide berth. Elsewise the rest of everything was fair game. Ace used this freedom to share his world with us without regrets.
The garage step fall changed everything. Ace’s voice was instantly silenced and banned to a 24-7 intellectual prison. Of its own accord. Forever, it appeared. His wife called and asked for a visit without explaining his situation. I readily agreed and appeared the next day. It was her desperate hope that a longtime friend might spark a return of his gift of gab.
Alas, I had no gift to give or power to change anything. I was no Santa Claus. I sat alone with Ace for a couple hours. After vain attempts to break this unexpected curse, we stared at each other for what seemed to be an uncomfortable eternity. His only movement were his two brown/yellow streaked eyes staring at me. Eyes opened and shut on occasion. I ached with grief and shed tears of pity.
My second visit was the same as before. But, this time I let my eyes wander. They quickly found him laying close to stacks of dusty hard cover books. A very eclectic selection presented itself.
My grief and pity attended me once again. Needing a prop, I reached over and out for a book decorated with an old fashioned bookmark. “How did I miss these books the first time?” I thought.
Not one to waste a peek into the proverbial horse’s mouth, I picked up a book, opened slowly to the Mark and leaned in to smell the marked page. The smell suggested a good read. It was Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. Perfect, I thought.
I read out loud to Ace until his wife returned. “No Changes” she said mostly and quietly to herself. I agreed. Reluctantly.
At a later out loud read I could have sworn Ace was staring into my soul. As I read out loud. I swear small tears appeared in the corner of his eyes. I closed my eyes for a short break. When they opened the Ace tears were gone. I still believe Ace’s essence was still there; trapped by his injured body.
I returned to read to him many more times. Ace began to go to sleep earlier and earlier in our sessions. I still kept reading aloud. Finally, the dreaded, and expected call. Ace had passed.
I still read out loud, once and awhile, to myself. With tears as company. I feel his soul is present. A continuing gift from Ace to me.
