 He sat by the kitchen window smelling the coffee perking and looking
out at the sun rising faithfully in the east. Old Tom died around
midnight, and Doc didn't get more than an hour's sleep since then.
Just before he went, Tom reached out and gripped Doc's hand and
thanked him for everything. He was smiling when he went.Somehow
that made it worse for Doc than just having death bring a pleasant
new start for someone in pain and agony.
It was Tom's time, of course. Long past Tom's time, in some ways,
but Doc hadn't been able to patch him up this time. When someone
Tom's age has his organs shut down, there just isn't anything a
doctor can do but make him comfortable and say goodbye.
The percolator finished, and Doc knew he should go get a cup and
start the day, but something made him leave the coffee behind and
walk into the backyard. The buds were swelling on the fruit trees.
The water in the dog dish didn't have a skim of ice this morning,
either.
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He would come out here later, too, he knew. He wasn't in the mood
for coffee with the boys at the Mule Barn today.
This will be a day when Doc, quietly and alone, will raise his
coffee cup to Tom and look at the swelling buds on the fruit trees.
And after 9:30, he'll be able to hear the little girls screaming
happily on the playground at the school, three blocks away.
Yes, he thinks that's the way to start this day: listening to the
happiness of children and watching the swelling of the buds. And
sipping coffee in the backyard. Just Doc and Old Tom.
[Text from file received from Slim Randles]
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