This is the second of three parts. You can find part one here.
The idea of a “Death Wish” took on a whole new meaning the day I met Jim. His death was imminent. He had no dominion over that. But how he spent and envisioned his last moments offered some control in his world – one that had been deconstructed by pancreatic cancer. I only hoped I could corral this ultimate fantasy and get him that last ride on a horse.
Making sure that he was safely seated in his wheelchair on his back lanai as he tended to his baby cannabis plants, I lied and excused myself to the bathroom. My hands were shaking with excitement as I dialed Karen, the horse lady. She answered but could not quite understand my whispered shouts of glee.
“I said I found you your first patient. You are never going to believe what this guy’s last freaking death wish is! The doula patient I left your magical horse place to visit!”
Clear articulation was not my forte when I was filled with total joy and bursting with fragmented sentences but, somehow, I finally managed to express to her what Jim had just told me. She was in awe to be sure. She had heard of my crazy manifesting abilities from others, but this sealed the deal.
She was even more gleeful than I was – at first anyway. And then, she allowed her brain to start thinking. The worst-case scenarios and liabilities started creeping into her consciousness. Maybe the horses would be too skittish given the new move. And what if Jim died before we could make it happen? What would hospice say? Was he even strong enough to make the trip? Or would he have the strength to get on a horse in his condition? They were all valid concerns that totally deflated me.
I found my feet being pulled back down to earth and so I let my rational brain back in as well.
“Yeah, maybe you are right. It may be just too much to try and organize safely. And besides, I’m sure you know someone in his area with horses… someone who might be willing to just let him touch their horse,” I sadly compromised.
Karen replied with a sound of relief that she was off the hook from the dream she had just shared with me. “Of course. I know so many people with horses near him who would be happy to do that!”
“But if you know of anyone with a white horse, that would be the best. He’s asking for a white horse specifically,” I replied.
At first, I thought we had been disconnected but soon the silence was broken with her sobs.
“Did you say a white horse?”
“Yes, I did. Jim wants to ride a white horse before he dies, so I’m sure he would settle for just being in one’s presence. I guess the dying can’t be too picky.”
“Charlotte, didn’t I send you pictures of my horse? (She had not.) The one that I know is meant to be the leader of the healing pack is a white horse named Angel. Well actually, his name is Hell’s Angel.”
I could not think of a better fit or name for Jim’s white horse, especially since it embodied someone who had just rode a thousand miles on the back of a Harley – both physically and in attitude.
Two days later, all was arranged, even the blessing from hospice. My husband had mastered the new drone that would capture the moment, my daughter had created a beautiful Hawaiian lei to present to Jim, and Karen was ready and waiting on the farm with her horse crew. It was a village brought together to help make a dying man’s wish come true. All was a go.
And then, the night before the journey was to commence, the call came from his sister. Jim had spiked a fever and was very weak. He couldn’t stand or make it to the bathroom on his own anymore. His body was shaking uncontrollably and all he could do was cry out in pain that he wanted to see Angel. We all agreed to be optimistic yet realistic that the wish may not happen. A terminal patient’s life can take a drastic turn in an instant. So, we all just prayed and agreed to re-evaluate in the morning.
Somehow Jim made it through the night with enough strength to attempt the long, two-hour journey to the old farm where the stallions were still located. Karen believed that if she moved them to her new ranch, which was much closer in distance, they would simply be too agitated and dangerous for Jim to possibly mount. At this point, Jim seemed resigned to find joy in only touching the horses. After such a long drive down old Hawaiian dirt roads, he wasn’t sure that he would have enough energy to stand, let alone scale a mighty steed. Once Jim’s sister arrived at our designated meeting point with her precious cargo, we followed the winding seaside highway. At last, the landmarks caused us to turn the rest of the way into the lush jungle forest, over creek beds, and bumps, all requiring 4-wheel navigation. We had loaded Jim into the back flatbed of our truck at this point, since his sister’s vehicle would never have made it through the terrain.
When the two majestic creatures met for the first time, I saw a tear stream down Jim’s gaunt face. As the white stallion looked him directly in the eyes, he sat mesmerized in his wheelchair, touching Angel’s nose reverently. After spending only moments together, Jim surprisingly announced he felt strong enough to mount and ride the beast. Although Jim managed to stand without help, the cancer had disintegrated most of the muscles of his upper body, leaving him too worn to pull up. My husband swiftly picked up this skeletal yet towering man and planted him gingerly in the saddle.
With Karen controlling Angel by his lead, Jim slowly walked the white horse out of the covered stall into the open field, breathing in the pikake-scented air, overlooking the waters of the Pacific. After only a few laps around the pen, Karen could sense Jim was a true Paniolo at heart and understood horses. He was no squid, so she let him go. Jim was free to ride his Hell’s Angel. And this rebel decided he wouldn’t just ride, he would roust us all and the dirt started flying from the hooves during take off. The horse began to gallop and then buck. As I watched Jim’s wasted body get thrown forward, then backward as if riding a mechanical bull in slow motion, two thoughts shot through my mind.
“How the hell am I going to explain the horse-trampled, dead patient to hospice?” Followed by, “OMG, if this man dies at least it was doing exactly what he had wished for before death.”
Luckily, Jim really did know horses and, I dare say, Hell’s Angel knew Jim and sensed what he needed. That beautiful white stallion gave a dying man the ride of his life, and we caught it all on film, just like he had wished.
After Jim dismounted into his sister’s arms and sat back down in his wheelchair, while enjoying the high-fives and accolades of being such a bad-ass rider, he looked directly into his sister’s eyes much like he had done when he first met Angel. Tears fell between them both. He cried out, “That was the last ride of my life. I will not live to ever do that again.” I thought he was traumatized by this revelation and maybe he was a bit saddened, but then, I heard him say, “And that’s okay that it’s my last ride,” as the broad, gracious smile formed across his face.
Bearing witness to this experience has been one of my greatest gifts in life. Gratitude fills my soul for Jim and for us all as we each take our last ride.
