COWBOY

 “John”, eighty-two, lives out in the country on a five-acre ranch.  The ranch has several horses along with a few cows.  John resided in a small town forty-five minutes from the hospice office. It was not a straight route to his home.  I turned on many country roads which each getting narrower.  The white line was difficult to see many times.  The road looked like many tractors and trucks had driven this way. 

The last turn was onto a dirt road.  The home was still about two miles away.  Making that turn gave me a thought of, “This looks familiar,” but then, I would think that it was a typical county road.  As I approached the entrance to his home, I again had thoughts that I had been here before.  The thoughts were not strong, so I easily dismissed them. 

When I drove around the back of the house to park, I parked next to a stable.  I once more had  those same thoughts that it looked familiar, but again not paying much attention to my thinking. 

John was in a hospital bed in the family room.  He was a bit confused and his daughter, “Patty” thought it best that we talk about hospice support in the kitchen.  Toward the end of the visit, Patty mentioned that her mother was on our hospice six years ago.  She pointed to the bedroom off the kitchen and said, “My mom was in there.”  At that moment, my memories all came rushing back.  I had been the hospice admission social worker for her mother.  

Strong wonderful memories came to me about her dad talking with me out by the stable.  He had such a love for working with animals.  It was his calling and he so dearly embraced it.  What a blessing for him to find his calling.  He gave me great memories.  Thank you, Cowboy John.

COWBOY

 

We knew he lived out in the country,

but driving to his home was an adventure.

Each county road I turned onto

became narrower with repeated potholes.

 

The last turn on a dirt road, seemed familiar,

with signs saying, “Dead end; with no turn around.”

I passed acres of farmland with few houses,

but then turning onto his property brought a thought,

               “Have I been here before?”

 

I drove around to the back, parking next to a stable.

It all felt so familiar, but then it was a typical farm.

He said he was a cowboy, working 35 years

               on a nearby Cattle Ranch.

 

His daughter said her mother too was on our hospice.

She died six years earlier after a short illness.

Pointing to her bedroom, it all came back.

I was here then, admitting her to our hospice.        

 

I so strongly remember this cowboy,

walking me to my car near the stable.

He spoke of his love for horses; for cattle,

while wearing this huge cowboy hat.

 

He is a father, a grandfather, a great-grandfather.

He was a husband for over fifty years,

but so deep in his heart, he has always been,

and forevermore will always be,

                A Cowboy!