Death Is Beautiful

“Death is beautiful, learn to embrace it,” the wrinkled woman with stray strands of gray wispy hair whispered to the small child that stopped at her bedside. At that, her last breath left her, her hand falling off his youthful face as it settled next to her. He didn’t comprehend her words, the words of a complete stranger, the words of the bum that always lay on the ground in the arch to a closed off house across from the playground. Her arms and pointy elbows pinned the thin blanket laying on her across her chest despite the chilly October weather.1

“Joey!” a twenty something year old woman called to her son, who had wandered off when he wasn’t supposed to. The brown curly haired lad looked over at his mother from across the street, gave a confused face, and watched the woman again, waiting for her to wake up. Running through the screeching cars, one coming from each direction, the mother with long, straight oak hair swept him up into her arms, carrying him away back to the “safety” of the playground. Bobbing up and down, his eyes watched the dead woman resting peacefully in the arch.2

Seventy years prior, a thin pale girl rested her bony elbows on the counter of the truck stop. Her family was sleeping out beside the road in the sweltering heat of the Oklahoma afternoon. She stayed there, pale aqua eyes following the woman serving the truckers until her small head finally caught the older woman’s attention. “Ma’am, could I have a glass of water and a piece of licorice. My mouth is so dry my lips are cracked, and I haven’t had a piece of licorice since I was a baby. I would oh so appreciate it,” the lass asked in her politest of tones, knowing it had to be obvious that she, in her faded dirty overalls and thin red plaid shirt, had no money for such pleasures.3

Curly red hair tucked behind her head, the woman could not resist the lass. She felt guilty enough that her husband entered quarters into the slots until it hit jackpot anytime one of the machines was close. It kept them in business, she knew, yet helping this one little girl wouldn’t do any harm. Besides, it was clear that the twelve year old would not be staying here very long, less than a day. Bringing the requested items to the squirming little girl, she leaned down and spoke quietly, “Now lassy, you drink you’ water and have you’ licorice. Just keep it our little secret alright. Don’t go tellin’ nobody ‘bout this.” The lass left the shop, fading into the dust.4

Twenty years later, a bustling lady with three little ones trailing her was ironing and cleaning and cooking dinner when her fine husband got home. He had been a soldier in the war over in Europe and now owned his own little candy shoppe. It was a fine and splendid little place, yet her man was home early, which surprised the mature woman. Finishing her ironing, the cleaning things were put away, and the food brought off the stove, while the little ones gathered about their father. Wiping her white apron off in case any unwanted substances had landed on it, the bright azure eyed woman asked her husband if something was the matter. “Nothing, my darling, but the shop was slow so I’ve closed early,” he told her shrugging.5

Knowing it was nearly time schoolchildren were let out, the woman gave him a kiss on the cheek and went to reopen the shop, for she would not want teary eyed hildren watching the doors full of unanswered hopes. Inside the shoppe, she cleaned and rearranged a few of the glass jars of peppermints and caramels and licorice sticks until the door jingled as it opened. A small pale lass from a ghetto came in asking for a piece of licorice. She wasn’t able to get licorice since her father died in the War. The woman smiled kindly and repaid the favor she was given as a young girl, telling the child, “Now lassy, you have your licorice. Just keep it our little secret alright. Don’t go telling anyone about this.” The woman smiled enchantedly as the lass left the shop, fading into the street.6

Twenty years later, a slightly graying woman cared at her dying husband’s quilted bedside. His body was worn out and thin; he would be leaving her soon. Pouring him a cup of herbal tea, hands shaking nervously, she told him to drink it, for it would help soothe his throat. The man obliged her, knowing she cared for him so much. Their children were busy making rock and roll, doing drugs, and having free sex. None of them had been able to be reached with the news of their father’s illness.7

Both knew he was dying, and the woman set down her tray and held her husband, weeping into his arms. He pat her hair gently, soothing her so that she would hear his words. They would be his last ones; his bones could feel it. “Ssh, my darling, listen to me my sweet. Life is painful, people take things from you. Death is beautiful, learn to embrace it,” he whispered to her in a voice that was going out, leaving his body. His head fell against the top of hers as his breath left him. The blue eyed woman wept, her body heaving until, a moment later, she withdrew herself from him, settled his arms across his chest, took the tray with her, and left the room, his soul fading into the next world.8

Twenty years later, the old woman wrapped her few belongings around her as auctioneers set up in her house, preparing to sell her every other possession, including the house that held her for fifty years. An old suitcase held some pairs of clothes, a few bits of food, no candy as that was being sold to pay her debts, debts she knew not better how to pay, as her dear husband had always taken care of everything. A thirty something man brushed past her as he rushed in as he heard the auctioneer’s voice start the auction, not even bothering to say “excuse me.” Her blue eyes turned sadly toward the room where her possessions were tagged up, waiting to be sold by their lot numbers.9

A middle aged woman entered the house, pressing herself to the side to get out of the way of the slow moving elderly woman. “My pardon ma’am, I always loved your licorice. Is it, by chance, getting auctioned off as well?” she asked in a pleasant tone. The blue eyed woman looked into the less worn face, giving a half smile as she answered her question, “Yes, they are. But, remember, life is painful, people take things from you.” Giving the compassionate look a true smile, the woman pulled her coat around her and left, fading into the early autumn weather.10

At the playground, the twenty something woman released her son, telling him to go play with the other children. He smiled at her, running off after saying, “Mama, death is beautiful, learn to embrace it.”11