A New Dawn in Deer Isle

A New Dawn in Deer Isle Part 1

For thirty-five months my life had been a living hell. Every morning, noon, and night relentless flames ravaged my mind, my spirit, and my soul. You see, in 2011 my wife and I moved to that blazing-hot inferno they call Florida. And by the time we'd made it just halfway through the first nine-month summer in that overdeveloped, sub-tropical jungle, we absolutely hated the place. Then in September of the same year, with our hearts broken because we had made the move and couldn't afford to go back to Long Island, my Lorna began to weaken.

It had come on suddenly, and I told her to see a doctor. But Lorna insisted it was only because she was a little tired. She was wrong. And she'd only been feeling that way for three days when, on the way home from shopping at Wal-Mart late one morning, she suddenly felt a vice-like pressure and tremendous pain in her left shoulder and arm. Groceries in the back of the van or no groceries I rushed her straight to Martin Memorial Hospital. But by the time we pulled up to the emergency entrance, Lorna's breathing was labored. Three days later the woman I'd loved for more than forty years was gone.

I'm afraid I can't tell you where I am as I write this story because that would give away the ending and it's far too good a story to let that happen. I can't tell you if I'm in heaven, hell or anywhere in between. I may still be alive in Podunk, Alaska or living in a chalet atop the world's most scenic mountain. My mind could still be knotted in the same dark state of irreversible sadness it was three years ago, or it could have finally found its way to that most joyous of all destinations they call "nirvana." No, I can't give away any of that right now. But what I can do is start at the very beginning of my amazing journey. And if you want to come along you'd better buckle up. It's going to be one heck of a ride.

By the time Lorna had been gone two years, I'd had it with my aimless life. Ever since her death, not giving a damn about anything anymore, I'd lived the life of a miserable recluse. Day after day I woke up in my aging aluminum prison, dreading to get out of bed. I no longer bothered with any of the other senior citizens in the retirement trailer park where I lived. I didn't attend any more of their potluck dinners, go to the bingo games at the clubhouse, or take part in their community garage sales. It had nothing to do with most of the other residents at The Pink Hibiscus Mobile Home Park being considerably older than I was. That hadn't bothered me before. And it didn't have anything to do with the way the Schatz's who lived in the trailer behind mine sometimes aggravated me. Irv and Frieda Schatz were both nice enough octogenarians, but twice a week they would have a whole mob of other oldsters over for drinks and there'd be a lot of hooting and hollering going on. Sitting in their back porch every time, all of them lubed up pretty well with cocktails, they'd raise hell out there till about 10 PM. Since I went to bed at eight every night and my bedroom in the back of my trailer was only about ten feet from their porch, whenever they partied I had to pull a pillow over my head and toss and turn a while before drifting off. No, the Schatz's were okay people and so were most of the residents that went to the park's events. It was just that I wanted to be left alone.

I was no longer interested in anything. All I did to pass time was read for much of the day and watch Jeopardy reruns on TV at night. The only time I left the trailer was when I absolutely had to. I did continue to exercise at the local gym three times a week and go to the library every Monday, but that was about it. I even cut back on my trips to the supermarket by buying enough food for two weeks rather than one. It may seem funny now that I took early afternoon naps only to break the monotony but it wasn't at the time. Neither was the slight squeezing feeling I had started feeling inside my chest. And that was happening more and more often as time went on. The whole ordeal was a soul-crushing, spirit-sucking experience. Finally, after two years of incarcerating myself, I decided to do something about it.