He would be leaving soon but his expiration date had not quite arrived. A friend had told him, “God is just as stubborn as us,” as a way to pump some humor back into the old man’s veins.

In younger years he often thought of what old age could be like and would promptly return to the present with a keen sense on how to gain success in his world. Surely, it would just take some time and effort to work his way up the socio-economic ladder and move to America. That’s where the real lives are made.

Now, he finds himself in a cramped living situation while the world outside his son’s home seems to be falling apart. Was it ever any different before? If he were to think hard enough there was a time when life was simple and tending an Irish farm was not simply a means to an end. It was a way of life and one that held meaning before his ambition was captured by tales of great adventures beyond the sea.

His son clicked off the television and performed a yawning stretch-and-stand as a jumpstart effort before preparing dinner.

“Why’d you do that?” he said in a grumbling tone, “we were watching that.” His son did not appreciate his feistiness and quickly snapped back.

“What? Do you just plan on watching commercials? The game just ended!” The son had to yell so the hearing aids could fully detect the words.

The old man let out a resounding “hmph” before tossing both arms at his boy dismissively. As the son peeled away into the kitchen, he began to drift off into thoughts of mystery and sadness. He knew his time was almost gone but the dramatic moment just hadn’t quite happened yet.

Any day now, he often thought. God will take me any day now. Can he not see my suffering?

At 7pm his son promptly brought him his food and a glass of water which he laid on the wooden table beside him. Would this be his last meal? More meat and potatoes? He felt like yelling some Yiddish slur that remained a relic of a past era but he allowed his frustration to gradually resolve to a new focus.

“Maybe you could bring me one of those cookies that your friends made,” he slid the question over to the other side of the room while his eyes remained fixed on his plate.

“Dad, you’ve had too much sugar today already.”

There was a pause and then he reached for the utensils like a coal miner picking up his shovel before heading back into the mine.

I know you mean well and I love you, but I’ll be leaving soon. I know I will be.

After his nightly exercises he got ready for bed and slid into pajamas with the help of his son. His whole body ached with discomfort and it felt as if the weight of gravity was too taxing of a task to maintain anymore. He slid into bed and accepted a “tucking in” that rang of the same quality as that of when he was a child. His son left the room only to return moments later with a small cookie to offer him.

“Here, there won’t be any for tomorrow though.”

“I won’t want any tomorrow, but you were right I don’t need it. I’m too full.”

He closed the cookie in his son’s hand. “You have it,” he insisted.

The son took it back and proceeded to the door with a solemn look in his eyes and then turned back to his father briefly.

“You know he’s gonna take me soon right?” the old man said with moisture collecting at his lower eyelids, “I’m ready and he knows it. So don’t be sad.”

“I know Dad,” the son did well to keep his composure, “I’ll save this for tomorrow.” He flashed the golden brown cookie between his two fingers and finally closed the door behind him.