Letting Go

Holden drove to the hospital, he had his doubts about his assignment. He was not sure that he could do volunteer work in the oncology ward. Oncology was just a fancy word for cancer treatment.

  Jim’s high school advisor had suggested community service to Jim. She told him that it would look good on his college applications. She suggested the oncology floor of the hospital, because she thought Jim was right for the assignment.

  Jim was sixteen and was a junior at Washington High School in Phoenix. He and his mother had moved to Arizona twelve years earlier, leaving their home in central Texas where Jim was born.

  As he drove his old beat up blue pick-up truck into the hospital parking lot, Jim started feeling apprehensive. He walked into the hospital and rode the elevator up to the fifth floor, where the oncology patients stayed.

  When he arrived at the nurse’s station, he met with the floor supervisor. Jim’s assignments for the first couple of days would be to do simple tasks, such as filling patient’s water pitchers, and passing out books and magazines to the patients. Once he felt more comfortable, he would start interacting with the patients more one on one.

  As Jim put on his red volunteer smock, he felt good about himself, knowing that he would be helping people. He was giving up his Saturdays to help people in need.

  Jim filled water pitchers and tried to be as friendly and polite as possible. He introduced himself to the patients and smiled a lot.

  As he went from room to room, some of the patients were sleeping and others looked worn out after returning from a session of chemotherapy or radiation treatment that day.

  Later in the day, Jim pushed a cart full of reading materials throughout the halls, going into each room and offering a book or magazine to the patients.

  When Jim entered the room of Bill Crawford, he was faced with his first challenge of the day. Bill Crawford was fifty-two years old and had Leukemia. When Bill offered him something to read, Bill told him to close the door… on his way out.

  Jim would not give up that easily, however. “What kind of books do you like?” he asked Mr. Crawford.

  “I like Western Novels” growled Mr. Crawford, “and I’ve already read every one in this darn hospital. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a nap.”

  Jim continued on his rounds with the book cart, but he could not get Mr. Crawford off his mind. Jim was never one to back down from a challenge. He knew that he must find a way to reach the man.

  That afternoon, before Jim left, he asked his supervisor for more information on Mr. Crawford. Jim found out that Mr. Crawford was divorced and had no contact with his ex-wife or his daughter. He had a grouchy disposition (which Jim had already discovered) and he never had any visitors.

  Jim’s supervisor advised him not to get too involved with any one patient, because it could cause him to get burned out easily, if he was unable to get through to the patient.

  That evening at home, Jim could not seem to get his mind off Mr. Crawford. He felt like they had connected in some way. Jim was determined to help the man, despite his crabby demeanor.

  Jim thought about picking up a western novel from the used bookstore near his house, but he figured Mr. Crawford would say he had already read it, even if he had not. As Jim was thinking about the problem, his eyes darted around the room. He glanced at his bookshelf and suddenly came up with an idea.

  On his shelves, Jim had written several short stories throughout the years.

  As Jim flipped through the stories, he realized that most of them were science fiction or adventure stories and not a cowboy story in the bunch.

  Jim liked reading western novels and had read several over the years. He decided to try and write a story about the old west. He figured that a week should be long enough time to write a story for Mr. Crawford.

  Jim sat down and started writing down several ideas for a story. As he looked at his list, he was not too thrilled about any of them. After he had been working for a couple of hours, he glanced at the clock and noticed that it was already ten thirty pm. He decided to put his notebook away and start fresh in the morning.

  Jim headed towards his mother’s bedroom to say goodnight. He was about to turn the doorknob when he heard his mother crying in her room. Jim quietly opened the bedroom door and peered inside. Jim watched, as his mother leafed through her wedding album. Through her tears, she spoke to her husband’s picture, telling him how much she missed him.

  Jim quietly closed the door before his mother saw him, and returned to his own room. Jim was so angry that he wanted to scream, but instead he hit the wall. His mother still blamed herself for his father leaving them.

  It was times like this, when Jim hated his father the most. He had abandoned them when Jim was just four years old, twelve years earlier. He left no note, nothing. At first, Jim’s mother thought that her husband had been in an accident and that he was lying somewhere hurt and all alone.

  A few days later, she discovered that the checking and savings accounts were both empty. The signatures on the withdraw slips were those of her husband.

  For the last twelve years, Mrs. Holden thought that she must have done something wrong, to make her husband leave, even though her family and friends told her that it was not her fault.

  Over the years, Jim tried to convince his mother to forget about his father and get on with her life, but she refused to take his advice. His mother did not date and rarely left the house at night, and insisted on wearing her wedding ring. She was convinced her husband would return one day.

  When Jim was younger, he would feel so bad when his mother cried out for his father, that he often cried himself to sleep. As he got older, his tears turned to rage.

  As Jim sat as his desk, shaking with anger, he suddenly got an idea for a story. He started typing on his computer keyboard as fast as he could, while the idea was fresh in his mind. His thoughts flowed down to his fingers as he typed out the story.

  The next time that Jim looked at the clock, it was six o’clock in the morning and he had typed over seventy pages. Jim finished the final chapter by seven o’clock and then he put his head down on his desk, just to rest for a moment, but he fell asleep.

  A half hour later, his mother woke him up to go to church. When she started reading his story, Jim quickly saved the story and closed the file on the computer. Jim told his mother that the story was something for school. He could not tell her the truth, because he knew that she would not understand.

  Mrs. Holden could see that her son had not slept, so she told him to go to bed and she would make lunch for him when he woke up.

  Each evening, that week, Jim revised his story. By Friday evening, it was completed. He printed the final draft; which was one hundred fifty pages long.

  On Saturday morning, Jim put his story in his backpack and drove to the hospital for his shift. Jim began to feel more comfortable around the patients than he had the week before.

  Jim was well liked by the staff and by the patients. They could tell that he really enjoyed working there. He brought happiness to the lives of the patients, even if was only for a short time. He even made some of them forget about their cancer for a little while.

  Mr. Crawford was as crabby as he had been the previous week, but when Jim tried to leave his room after bringing him more water, Mr. Crawford would keep making excuses for him to stay. Jim knew that he the guy was beginning to soften, but he let him keep pretending to be crabby.

  When his shift was over, at three o’clock that afternoon, Jim asked if he could visit with Mr. Crawford for a while.

  The supervisor smiled at Jim and told him that he was a very thoughtful and caring you
ng man. She told him that he could visit with him, but not to get his hopes up that he would change the man’s disposition. “Some people are just not happy people.” She said.

  As Jim walked into Mr. Crawford’s room, he thought he saw a spark in the old man’s eyes and a slight smile.

  “What are you doing her again?” asked Mr. Crawford. “Isn’t your shift over?”

  “I brought you a new western novel,” said Jim.

  “I’ve probably already read it” replied Mr. Crawford, trying to sound irritated.

  “I don’t think so. It has not even been published yet. It’s a manuscript from my English teacher.” Jim did not want Mr. Crawford to know that he wrote it himself.

  “I’ll probably hate it,” he told Jim. “Besides, I don’t have my reading glasses”

  “I could read it to you,” said Jim.

  Mr. Crawford sighed and said “Okay, but only if you promise to leave me alone after that.”

  Jim sensed that Mr. Crawford was just putting on an act, but he agreed to leave after he was done reading the novel. As Mr. Crawford made himself comfortable in his bed, Jim began to read the novel”

  “The book is called ‘Frontier Justice,’” said Jim, and then he began to read the manuscript.

  “In the untamed western lands of America, in the 1800’s, there were many settlements and towns that had nobody to enforce the law. In such places, a six-shooter or a rope