Painted Ponies
The visions we leave our loved ones with, the visions of how we die, these are what last, this is our legacy—death is for the living, after all.
Mrs. Barns is ready to die, just “not today” she told her grandson earlier this morning. She has suffered through years of bad vascular disease. Her intestines hurt more if she eats than if she leaves them to starve.
“I’m really not hungry. I’m not doing anything, so why should I be?” her seamless logic.
But this tiny woman, with short white hair, dressed in a light blue nightgown, snuggled beneath white sheets and a rose-colored blanket in the twin bed of her non-descript, creme, ecru and tan colored facility room, is doing something. She is still very much alive. Even though she openly accepts the close of her life, she isn’t quite finished with what she can still muster the energy to enjoy: namely her family and “horses!”
Literally on her deathbed, Mrs. Barns confides to me in a raspy whisper through parched lips, “I want to come back as a horse.” These would be her last words to me.
It becomes my mission to surround her in her vision before she dies.
Having been stung too many times with the tenuousness of life, I know this can’t wait until morning. I set out to find wall decals with images of horses.
It is dark and rainy outside by the time I make my way back to the assisted living facility. Most of the residents are long in bed, and the institutional quiet of night fills the halls.
I make my way up the stairs to her room and tap lightly on her door. As I turn the knob, I am startled to be greeted by a person standing on the other side of the door. Her daughter.
I introduce myself, awkwardly trying to explain why I have come so late when her daughter stops me with a warm hug. I place my doctor bag containing the package of decals on the floor and turn back to face Mrs. Barns and her daughter. One so alert, almost shaking with anticipation; the other so quiet, no effort to be still. I walk over to Mrs. Barns and place my hand over her heart and whisper, “I am here, and I have brought you some horses.”
I turn to her daughter to explain.
“Your mother shared with me how much she loves horses, so I thought I would …” but her daughter cuts me off.
“She told you? She hasn’t spoken about that for years. But, yes, my God, she loves them! I can’t believe you did this.”
I begin to unroll the decals and place them on the wall and door where Mrs. Barns can see them should she open her eyes again. But I also know that that doesn’t matter. She is certainly surrounding herself with horses in her mind all on her own. The person who needs to see them on the wall is standing right beside me, eyes wide open.
