Elderly couple donates their land for a public park on Earth Day.
Earth Day had a different meaning for Fern and Frank. Married for more than sixty years and in poor health for the last ten years, they made a pact. A man on a mission for all that Fern had done for him throughout their lives together, the cooking, the cleaning, the caring, and the loving support she gave him, Frank would do for Fern what she was now too frail and too feeble to do for herself. Donating their land on Earth Day for a public park was their first step in the process and a final tribute to one another, as well as a lasting memory to their beloved neighborhood.
Before they had grown old and lost their health, their life wasn't always as sedentary for Fern and Frank. On a good day, Frank was still mobile enough to go out and do the grocery shopping and he'd take Fern with him in her wheelchair, whenever she was feeling up to getting some air. Before they had become ill, they were always out and about and proactive in their community. Now, they seldom venture out for fear of falling, a death sentence at their age, if breaking a hip bone, more so for Frank because, then, who'd care for Fern?
Nearing the end of their lives, waiting for the inevitableness of death, the light of their sunrise dimming with blurry darkness, before turning to the black of midnight, they had not much more to live for and to look forward to, other than more aches and pains, and more sadness from reading in the obituaries about an old, dear friend or a close relative dying. It had been a long and wonderful life, but if being a shut-in, unable to go out, and bedridden with illnesses, is all they had to look forward to, then there wasn't much sense with living more of life. Tired, weak, and weary, expecting it, almost looking forward to it, they were ready to die.
When they were younger, they always hoped to live to a ripe, old age, but now that they were at that ripe, old age, it was painful to watch their friends and family die, many of whom were younger than they were. It hit them harder when someone younger died, before them, and the death of a celebrity always surprised them, especially when they were older than they were, when they died. Their deaths punctuated the soon to be inevitable, such as Ed McMahon, Bea Arthur, and Ted Kennedy, dying recently, just to name a few. The celebrities younger, at the time, than they were, still expecting Publisher's Clearing House with Ed McMahon to show up at their door, while holding a check for ten million dollars to give them for winning the contest, his demise hit them hard. It more bothered them that they were too old and too frail to drive across town to pay their final respects to a good friend or a close family member that had suddenly departed or succumbed, after a long illness.
Now, hiding in their home, watching the world pass by their small house from behind Fern's dusty, lace curtains, her mother's curtains, that Fern always took pride in washing, starching, and ironing, she could no longer maintain their care. Their infirmities and maladies denied them the simple pleasure of even taking a walk on a sunny day and reconnecting with their old friends, who still lived in their neighborhood. Being able to take a walk was the one thing, more than anything else, that they missed the most.
When they walked, they always walked holding hands, while talking. Their favorite pastime, walking and talking, they've had more than sixty years of handholding and going through life together. A simple pleasure, they never tired of feeling the connection they had for one another, when holding hands. Besides, holding hands was something they loved doing and always did, even while sitting on the sofa together and watching television. Now, too old to safely walk unescorted they were relegated to watch their neighbors from their kitchen window.
Holding hands was a big deal back then that too many of the younger people wouldn't understand today. Unfortunately, now, should they fall, every surface in their neighborhood was hard concrete and fatal. Unless they drove somewhere else to walk, a better neighborhood, perhaps, there was no safe place to walk that had soft grass. They used to have a small neighborhood park to walk to but, after the park had been taken over by homeless people, prostitutes, drug dealers, used as a trash dump and infested with rats, the city sold the land to a developer to put up another absentee landlord slum apartment.
Sometimes feeling like prisoners in their own home, especially on those pleasant days, when they weren't able to go out for a walk, wanting to go out but sitting at home bored, made them feel, as if they were just waiting to die. In the meantime, as a diversion, on those sunny days, when they tired of being home alone, they struggled to think of what they could do to leave something everlasting and self-sustaining behind upon their demise. Only, much like everyone else in their small community and those communities that surrounded their community, they were poor.
All they had was their small house, an old car, some antique furniture pieces that were passed down from their mothers and grandmothers, and the land they had out back behind their house. Certainly, the antique furniture was worth some money at auction, but Fern could never imagine parting with furniture that had always been in her family or in his family. Mentioned in their will, they always figured they'd leave it to a family member, but too many of their family, those who they thought about leaving the furniture to, were dying before them.