Leaving The Mortal Coil

My dad was a doctor. He used to tell a story about an elderly Native American man he took care of in the hospital. Dad referred to him, with some affection, as Chief, and Chief had congestive heart failure. His heart just couldn’t pump effectively and he had been in and out of the VA a lot. My father figured the old man had maybe a month or two left before he succumbed.

Chief was a “code talker” during the First World War. Code talkers were Native Americans from various tribes that were assigned to communicate secret information by speaking over field telephones in their native tongue. These languages were so unlike anything else, that the Germans were never able to “crack” the code. The Navajo were the most famous for this in WW2, but the Choctaw were doing the same thing a quarter century earlier in WW1.

As Dad told the story, late one afternoon the nurse came to get my dad at the request of Chief. When Dad arrived at the hospital room, Chief was sitting calmly in a wheelchair and brighten when my father walked in. Chief asked the doctor to take him to the sun porch on the west side of the hospital. The building they were in had originally been built as a sanatorium with big screened porches on every level. So, Dad wheeled the old man down the hall and over to the porch. The sunlight flooded the room as it was just about sunset. Chief asked to be positioned where he could get the best view. Once settled, Chief said, “Thank you for your council, Doctor Fred.” Then looked back at the sun dipping below the horizon and said, “I go now.” With that he closed his eyes and passed peacefully away just as the last sliver of sun disappeared. He had chosen that day to be his last. Chief had willed himself to die. Dad always used this story as a proof of the power of our minds over our bodies.

Ok SlowBro, but what does this have to do with thru-hiking the OHT? Which is a fair question. I got started thinking about death recently when I got an email from Cappuccino. She has a dear friend who has had serious health problems and was recently diagnosed with an untreatable terminal illness. This friend probably only has a few weeks left. So, Cappuccino may not be able to join me on the OHT.

As I reflected on her friend’s impending death I understood the sadness of it. But then I remembered my dad’s story. In that case, sad though it was, Chief’s end had an element of triumph in it.
Death entails a lot of emotions and reminds us that it’s the living that you do everyday that counts. Singer songwriter Si Khan said it best-

It’s not just what you’re born with

It’s what you choose to bear

It’s not how big your share is

But how much you can share

And it’s not the fights you dreamed of

But those you really fought

It’s not what you’ve been given

It’s what you do with what you’ve got.

We all must confront the grim reaper as some point and I doubt many people are really ready for that knock on their door. What I find sad are the folks that seem to sit around and wait for that knock. I took up long distance hiking for the adventure, for the exhilaration of accomplishing something that, from the outside, seems impossible, and to, at least, make the reaper have to hike out there and find me.

Until next week, Happy Trails