Six months ago, Jane’s doctor delivered news no one wants to hear. Then he tried to soften the blow by taking her back to terribly unrealistic themes assigned by English teachers who want their students to practice and demonstrate their writing skills.
“Jane, it is time to think about what you want from your last six months of life. Do you want quality or do you want to eke out a couple more days or weeks with rounds of chemo?”
She wished his words inspired thoughts of how she spent her summer vacation or what Santa should bring for Christmas. Instead, the doctor’s counsel sent her spiraling for a couple days. Then Jane decided that she would fill her last six months with as much wonder as possible.
Traveling and making time for friends filled most of her bucket list. Accomplishing goals she put off for far too long distracted her from the pain as her body slowly ate away at itself. But today marks six months, allegedly leaving her with very little time to finish everything she wants to accomplish before mortality slips away. As always, Jane doesn’t leave much to chance. She plans to cross off that one last item today.
She looks up at the simple wooden building at the end of the street. Next to all the brick and mortar, it stands out. She knows she found the right the place even without the vivid green words “Solidly Planted” to provide reassurance. She takes a deep breath and steps out of her car.
By the time she reaches the tiny shop, her breath comes in deep heaves. “Come on, body, just a little longer.”
The young man behind the desk looks up as she enters. His dark eyes fill with sadness as he takes in her slow gait and pallid face. He quickly steps forward to offer her his arm. “Hello, Miss, welcome to Solidly Planted. Can I help you?”
She smiles up at him. “I hope so. I don’t have long to make my own decisions.”
He nods gravely. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shrugs. The pitying looks don’t even spark her self pity anymore. With acceptance comes the ability to take this final step.
“I’d like to become a mighty oak,” she declares as the young man guides her to a cushioned seat.
He smiles down at her, but his eyes take in her shabby coat and worn shoes. “That package costs $600 dollars.”
“I know.” She opens her purse and pulls out a slender envelope.
He takes it and quickly scans the six hundreds inside before lifting a clipboard from a nearby table. “We just need you to fill out some forms.”
“So my family knows my wishes. I know,” she nods her head and begins scribbling on the first page.
The young man stands nearby as she writes, looking ready to step in and help her finish if needed. To her own surprise, her energy doesn’t flag until after she writes the date on the last form. Her assistant scans the forms quickly before offering her another smile laced with pity.
“This all appears to be in order. I will get your packet together and bring it to you. Do you need anything? Water? A cookie?”
She follows his gaze to a counter stocked with snacks. “I’m good. Thank you.”
Of course, as soon as he returns to the main counter, she slowly rises to pick her own treat. By the time he returns, she has nibbled her way through a giant peanut butter cookie.
The smile he offers now holds more humor, “Glad you found something you liked. You can take another for the road. I recommend the oatmeal chocolate chip.” Then he is all business as a he extends a thick green envelope toward her. “This envelope contains paperwork to give to your estate planner and this…” he extends a silver bracelet toward her, “…will let others know your wishes.”
“Like an emergency alert bracelet for death.” She laughs and grabs a couple cookies.
He doesn’t laugh at her attempt at levity. His lip curves into a bit of a smile as she tucks the cookies into her purse, but his face resumes a funereal aspect as he guides her to the door.
~~~
We are all looking to save the planet, but not all of us are committed until death. I know these options exist, but I haven’t looked into them—mainly since I know my family wouldn’t follow through. I base this on the looks they generally throw my way when I declare my desire to be buried in a flimsy pine box in the middle of the Hundred Acre Woods or whatever woods are nearby to avoid traumatizing Piglet, Pooh, and Eeyore. (Side note: autocorrect keeps trying to change his name to eyesore which is giving me so perspective into why that sweet little donkey was so glum all the time.)
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