After The Work

He was north of 65, but his smile was that of a 17 year old man. Ball cap on backwards, shorts and a tee shirt, he was playing catch on the ball field to warm up for practice. It was a hot summer day in June, perfect evening for softball. He had helped organize a co-ed softball team but only 2 women had shown up. The rest of the guys all agreed to practice anyway even though there would be no team unless 2 more ladies were found.

The lack of turnout did not deter him from bringing a bag of balls, extra gloves, and bats. He hoped to be a player-manager on a summer league team one more time. He maintained his youthful joy on the field, hitting infield-outfield practice and pitched batting practice. Some preteen boys showed up to watch us play, so he invited them to come participate since the evening turned into just another summer evening ball game in the USA repeated thousands of times over generations.

Coach took the time to show the boys how to hold a bat, everyone shouted encouragement to them as they tried their hands at hitting. They had to connect three times, and on the third hit they were to run the bases and the team would attempt to get them out. One boy hit a nice line drive to left field and made it to second. Another hit a shot to the second baseman who took his time to throw the ball to first, allowing the lad to get there safely in his first time playing the game.

By the end of the evening, where dusk began to make the ball hard to see, coach was holding his arm, sore from throwing all night. In his heart he was 17 again, but he couldn’t outrun his age for the whole night. People began to gather their equipment, when we saw coach giving his extra gloves and bats to the young teens. He let the rest of us take balls home to add to our collection. He reasoned since we didn’t have a team this year, he didn’t need his equipment for the rest of the year. “What about next year?” we asked, thinking we could try again, maybe recruit more women sooner (always had a problem getting gals). He responded “That’s it for me, I don’t think I’ll be playing next year” he replied. We just didn’t know.

He didn’t let on what his real motivation was for playing this year, his cancer was terminal. He was always a proud man, one who didn’t complain of the pain in his abdomen from the cancer pushing on his guts. He always had worked hard, played hard, didn’t have much success with family, but had accumulated a host of friends. Being fiercely independent, he liked living alone and didn’t wish to be a burden on people. He knew he had cancer for around a year, the radiation didn’t work, didn’t like the chemotherapy drugs, so he had resolved himself to just be comfortable and live each day as much as he could.

The next I saw coach was in his home. He couldn’t care for himself anymore, but he had kicked out his state worker. “Can’t trust the government ya know” he would assert. His friends had been dropping off food and taking him for rides now that he finally had told everyone he was sick. Now he couldn’t get up to use the restroom, was in pain much of the day, and the cancer had metastasized into his brain. He was confused and seeing people in the windows, accused another lady of hiding his pills (they were under his pillow). Finally an old friend stopped by and coach admitted he needed some help.

She came from hospice to interview him and felt terrible for him in his present condition. She knew they could help him. He listened to her talk about a visiting nurse, people to help him bathe, social workers to help him find help, and a friend to come and pray with him. Funny how dying can make a man humble, the great equalizer of all humans. The strongest, most feared individual meets their end just as everyone else. Dying has a way for God to teach the last lessons of humility, surrender, and forgiveness.

He got better pain medication, finally he could sleep. He finally began to rest and reflect upon life. He was clean and fed, he ate as much as he wanted but eventually his hunger subsided. He no longer got out of bed, so friends and helpers stopped in to visit. One friend decided to say on the couch while coach slept on his hospital bed in the living room. The television played the Major League Baseball network all day as coach would wake up, watch baseball games and highlights, then fall asleep again. He smiled like that 17 year old again watching the games. He felt normal when baseball was on.

The cancer caused the full range of emotions, anger, sadness, fear, and peace. He knew he was going to die, but he had lived 5 years in his last year of life. He had a host of friends around him and he could see his path to Eternity. He stopped drinking and started sleeping all day and night. As his breathing slowed he dreamed of baseball in his youth and whatever God wanted him to see as he died. It is a great mystery what happens in the mind of one on the brink of dying, but the small content smile on his face said it all. He was up to bat, 9th inning, bases loaded and down by 3 in the 7th game of his world series. He breathed his last surrounded by friends, many would say he hit a grand slam.