Dying To Be With Sylvie

Author's note:
This story combines experiences from many different aspects of different people's lives. Many of the characters in the story are based on real people, but all names have been changed and locations anonymized. Its writing was prompted by listening to Gordon Lightfoot singing 'Home from the Forest', some of the lyrics from which are incorporated into the story. It brought to mind the poignancy of death and dying, of losing loved ones and the hypocrisy surrounding the death and waiting for God industries in this modern world, in which age is a reason for people to be thrown on the trash heap while the world goes on with more important things like making money.

While the story does not contain my usual level of eroticism, hopefully the reader will find the emotional content more than makes up for this lack. I trust that this story will bring more meaning to your life and the lives of your loved ones, especially those of an earlier generation who are so easy to forget.

The old man ate his lunch in silence, largely oblivious to the people surrounding him, as they were of him. Nowadays his life was very much lived in the past. Remembering all those joys and fears of his youth, the loves he loved and the loves he lost, recalling the names and faces as though it all happened only yesterday.

"Come along, dear," said the kindly voice in his ear, "Let's get you into the lounge where you can socialize with the others. Maybe you'd like a game of cards or something, do you think?"

Her name badge said she was 'Debra'. Funny, he thought, I always recalled Deborah as having an 'o' and an 'h' in it. How things change. He let her help him from his chair and leaned heavily on her arm which supported him as he limped on sore and stiffened joints to his favorite chair by the window in the lounge.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he sighed as he sank into the comfortable chair. "I think I'll just sit for a while; maybe have a game later on."

"That's fine. Now you be good and don't go running away anywhere," she chided jokingly.

He replied with a smile, gazing into the beautiful blue-green eyes that so reminded him of his Sylvie. Debra moved away to help others while he gazed out the window at the weak winter sunshine patterning the ground through the now naked branches of the trees. How appropriate, he thought, a winter scene for the winter of his life.

His mind drifted back to winters past, learning to ski, he and his wife, the first one, taking their new baby to the snow in a perambulator fitted with skis instead of wheels; how proud they had been of her, and of the two sons who followed. Proud until he returned home to a note saying it had all ended, 'Don't come looking for me'.

It had been an almost sexless marriage, completely frustrating, starting with high hopes and an emotion mistaken for love, and ending in acrimony and divorce. Best forgotten.

He moved on to the next stage of his life, the devastation of his entire being as he sought meaning from life after losing all those who mattered to him. He thought of the friend he made, alcohol, and how he could lose himself in his friend's company, meaning he didn't have to face life alone; didn't have to face a loveless, joyless existence; didn't have to face his loneliness, his loss, his failure, himself.

In his mind he moved to his savior, Sylvie. Every person on earth has someone who is there for them. Often they are a person who will challenge them, maybe even a person they consider a competitor or an enemy. Yet always that person is there for them. Sylvie was that person for him. Was it just coincidence that she and he were both at the same hostel? Was it just coincidence that she asked him to teach her to ride her motor bike when the person she had meant to ask wasn't there? Was it just coincidence that she sat by the winter fire knitting a jersey while he really had no warm winter wear? Was it just coincidence that she agreed to knit him a jersey but "it will cost you a night out"? Was it just coincidence that this night out became their first date?

Of course not.

They courted cautiously; news of amorous liaisons spread fast in the hostel. He was, after all, still married, a state that caused great concern among Sylvie's family. The first date led to others and trust and intimacy gradually grew.

As he remembered the first night she came to his bed, his lined face cracked into a smile. He closed his eyes to better remember the feelings of love, of actually being loved for himself by this wonderful being, Sylvie. He was impatient, she was inexperienced. The condom was a problem, breaking the flow of love making. He came quickly, leaving her frustrated. Still, it was a start and once the dam is broken, the water continues to flow.

He remembered the shock, horror and devastation he felt a few days later when he withdrew to find the tattered remnants of a broken condom on his deflating penis. Together they lived the imagined future of a child so early in their relationship, of the shame brought to both families, of the hardships that would be endured, of being ostracized by society. The joyful news that Sylvie's period arrived two weeks later brought welcome relief.

He remembered the joys that their relationship brought as they grew closer. The leap that their hearts gave when they unexpectedly saw each other during the day; the stolen moments in the back corner of the office for a kiss and cuddle; hitchhiking 300 miles back from a course for a weekend of being together, hitchhiking back for the course on the Sunday afternoon; of the weekend in a local motel, in which they made love seven times one night despite the bed collapsing under them; of Saturday night's dancing in another town, sharing a motel unit for the night afterwards; of their week-long road trip, being together all day every day, making love all night, every night, well, maybe not quite all night; of their decision to leave their work and chart their course through life together.

Sometimes life-changing decisions are made on the spur of the moment. Such was their decision to change the course of their lives and train in a new vocation. They applied and were accepted into the same college, studying many of the same courses together. They shifted hostels, once again having to deal with finding moments of intimacy in single beds. He smiled again as he remembered the generosity of friends and the nights of spent in their houses in a double bed with Sylvie.

He remembered the final few weeks of the course that first year, which they spent completing practical requirements, staying in an old farmhouse, together, alone. The sheer joy of waking in each other's arms, every morning, of feeling each other close and naked in bed, of being able to make love together when the mood arose, which was frequently. Would life have been bliss if it had continued that way forever? Probably not, he thought, even when the situation is blissful, humans need challenges and changes.

He remembered the following year moving into a rented house together, finally confirming the intimate nature of their relationship to friends and families; his divorce coming through, making their relationship now legal. He remembered their marriage.

"Hi Dad," a voice said in his ear, "Are you awake?"

He slowly came back from the past and opened his eyes to see his daughter standing beside him.

"Yes, I'm awake, sweetheart. How are you?"

"I'm fine thanks, Dad," she replied, straightening the cushion that was so comfortably behind his stiff shoulder. "How are you? You look a bit pale to me. Aren't you eating enough? Should I bring some snacks for you? Don't they feed you enough?"

"I'm fine," he replied, "Just bored, I guess."

"Oh, you should join in with the others and play cards or drafts or something. Do you want some books to read? I feel really bad having you stuck away here. Maybe you need to come home with us. I'd feel a lot better if I knew you were eating some lovely home cooking instead of institutionalized food."

"No, I'm fine thanks. I know you guys are flat out and that you're really busy with your kids as well as work. I'm OK. You've got your own lives to lead now."

"OK, if you insist, Dad. But remember there's always a place for you at home if you want it. It must be very lonely here, but I guess there's lots of people around so you wouldn't really be lonely, would you?"

"There are two types of loneliness. The first is when you're alone and lonely. That is easy to deal with because you have yourself and the environment and you can establish a rapport with that. I have never felt lonely when I'm alone. The second, and most common these days, is being alone and lonely when surrounded by people. I have felt that often, and certainly I feel it here. Oh how I miss your mother, my darling Sylvie."

"Yes, Dad, that was sad but really there's nothing anyone can do about that. Anyway, it was good to see you. Oh, I've brought some cookies for you. I know you enjoy these."

"Thanks, sweetheart. You look after me so well," he replied.

"Now, I've really gotta go. I've got a meeting in a few minutes on the other side of town and then I have to organize dinner and stuff like that. I tell you, you just wouldn't know how hectic life can be. You're certainly in the best place here being looked after by all these wonderful staff. 'Bye, Dad. See you next time."

"'Bye, darling. Love you."

She gave him a peck on his bald head then hurried out the door.

He watched her leave, thinking how great it is for her to spare the time to visit. He tossed the cookies on the table, thinking that the one thing he would like is time, time spent with loved ones instead of endless reminiscing. Now where was he? He closed his eyes again, not because he wanted to sleep or was tired; just because there was nothing worth looking at. That's right, his marriage.

It was a lovely ceremony, pretty radical for that era. They had written their own vows and made them very seriously. He was proud of the fact that he had honored them and, as far so had Sylvie; of that he was certain. It had been a wonderful marriage. Nearly fifty years together. He remembered their honeymoon, paid for by tips from the restaurant they both worked at during weekends and holidays, camping on a deserted beach for a week. Again a bliss that was best not to last.

He remembered their first house, the joy of renovating and extending it; their first child, now a grown woman with children of her own. Tears appeared in his eyes as he remembered the sheer pain, panic and helplessness he had experienced when he had accompanied his beloved Sylvie to the operating theater after nearly 30 hours of labor and watched as the doctor sliced open her belly and removed her first born daughter. Sylvie had healed and went on to have two more wonderful children by normal childbirth. However, he wondered if he had fully healed the emotional scars from that experience.

He remembered the joys and struggles of travelling to work in various areas of the country, uprooting the family with each change as the children grew bigger, needed more guidance and love, had their own personal traumas, which to them always seemed so huge, so insurmountable.

Then came the nudges out of his complacency; two nudges from workplace accidents to push him into different work areas, requiring many weeks a year away from home, away from his beloved Sylvie and his growing children. He remembered with deep regret all the times he wasn't there for them; of returning from a few days away working to find his youngest daughter was in hospital without her appendix. It is said that without the pain of parting, there cannot be the joy of reunion. For those years, when his children were developing into adults, he had much pain and much joy.

Before he knew it, the children were leaving home, then returning, then leaving again, several times over. He remembered the emotional traumas of their relationships, the highs as they progressed, the lows as they failed. Learning by experience is the most powerful and most difficult of all modes of learning. His children seemed to choose that as their primary learning mode.

It seemed only like yesterday that his children married and then most had children themselves. He reduced his workload, well, tried to, hoping to live a peaceful life with his beloved Sylvie, once she stopped working. That had been only a few years ago. When she stopped working she became ill. He nursed her through her illness, knowing that it was terminal, and was at her side as she passed on.

At the funeral all the usual platitudes were said, it's for the best, at least she didn't suffer, etc, etc. It didn't alter the fact that she was gone. He would walk through their house, look at everything she had done, paintings, craft work, the bed where she had slept, the pillow on which she had lain her head. He lost all energy, all drive, all will to live. He stopped looking after himself, would go for days without getting out of bed, without eating. He ended up in hospital, dehydrated and mostly starved. His children had their own lives and didn't need the extra burden that he would be. He didn't want to be in this life anymore.

Many years ago he had read a book which said that everyone is able to choose how long they will live. In his arrogant brashness of healthy middle age, whatever that is these days, he had chosen 120 as being a good age to live to – but without his darling Sylvie that was torture – cruel and unusual punishment.

"Here's a cup of tea, love," said a voice at his shoulder. "Oh, I see you've had a visitor. Lucky you to have some cookies to go with your tea. Would you like me to open them for you?"

He opened his eyes and looked up into the woman's kindly face. Her name badge said "Luci" although he always thought it used to end in 'y'.

"Thank you for the tea. I'm sure I can open the cookies but right now I'm just not hungry, thank you."

"OK, love, let me know if I can help," she replied as she turned away.

Why not go to her now? He knew she was there, knew she was waiting for him. He had sensed her presence many times, knew she'd been there to try to help him, try to comfort him, but he needed more, needed to be able to hold her, touch her, make love with her once again, just one more time, there should always be just one more time.

The words of an old song came to him as he relaxed after eating; Home from the Forest sung by Gordon Lightfoot, one of his favorite singers.

'And as he lay there sleeping / A vision did appear
Upon his mantle shining / A face of one so dear
Who had loved him in the springtime / Of a long-forgotten year
When the wildflowers did bloom / In the forest

'She touched his grizzled fingers / And she called him by his name
And then he heard the joyful sound / Of children at their games
In an old house on a hillside / In some forgotten town
Where the river runs down / From the forest.'

He closed his eyes again and pictured her in his memory, as clear today as it had been all those years ago, in those halcyon days when they were young, virile, sexy and together. In those later halcyon days after the children had left when they had time for each other, time to share each other's joys, achievements, challenges, pain and love. He pictured her, feeling her presence, smelling the perfumed oils she always wore. The smell was very strong today, her presence felt very near, she seemed so close, so very close, almost as though he could touch her.

He moved towards her. Saw her getting closer, then he was in her arms and she in his, kissing her lips as she kissed back. He held her away from him, looking at her, seeing her as she was when they had first married, when he had so proudly walked down the aisle with her on his arm all those years ago. She was beautiful wearing her wedding dress, the one she had sewn, the one his youngest daughter had worn when she was married. He looked down at himself. The old slippers and tattered clothes were gone and he was dressed in formal jacket and trousers.

"Look at you. You haven't drunk your tea. Are you alright," asked Debra with some concern in her voice.

There was no response from the body in the chair.

"Are you OK?" she asked, shaking his shoulder, becoming increasingly desperate for a response.

Still no response.

Panicking, Debra ran to press the crash team button. They arrived in seconds but found no response. The being who had lived in the body had departed.

He hugged her to him, communicating soundlessly.

"I've missed you so much, darling. Thank you for waiting."

"I've missed you too, sweetheart. I'm so sorry for causing all the pain that you've experienced these past few years. I tried to tell you I was there, that I was waiting for you, but I don't think you really believed and trusted the thoughts I placed there.

"You're right, I didn't. Thank you so much for waiting," he repeated.

He picked up her sylph-like body in his arms and carried her towards a beautiful white palace, somehow being guided to enter a room decked out as a bridal chamber with a Roman bath in the corner, gently steaming from the warm water it contained. He slowly and carefully stripped her of her wedding gown as she removed his suit. Hand in hand they stepped into the bath, luxuriating in the warmth of the tepid water. They kissed and cuddled in the bath, exploring each other's youthful bodies as they had so long ago when they were young lovers.

After they had soaked for long enough, he again picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her on the clean white towel so she could dry. He dried her, then himself on another towel, then lay beside her, kissing and caressing her beautiful body.

"This place is like paradise," he communicated to her lovingly. "I could stay here with you forever."

"This is paradise and we have forever together, my love. Please make sweet gentle love to me forever."

They kissed again, sweetly and gently. "Hmmm, maybe forever isn't long enough," she communicated, "Could we make that forever and a day please?"