Jin And Donovans Path

Jin and Donovan's Path

"Where Fate, Faith, and Forgotten Pasts Intertwine"

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Five Thousand Words and a Handful More

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By

Donald Mallord

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Copyright March 2025

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Author's Note

The inspiration for this story is a seven-hundred-fifty-word piece entitled,

'Donovan Milford's Departure.'

It seemed to resonate well with readers, so I've offered a more in-depth narrative about the two characters, Jin and Donovan. In the comments on the short version, one reader asked, "Well, Don. Another wonderful story. Are we coming to terms with one's mortality?"

The answer is, 'yes.' This story captures some of the turmoil of coming to terms with life's finality and grappling with what may or may not follow in terms of personal belief or possibly the concept that those beliefs are not real. While I am able, I'll put pen to electronic paper—a phrase coined by another writer who frequents the AH Coffee Shop—and see if I remain lucid enough to express those thoughts.

I continue to appreciate and thank Kenjisato for his diligent editing skills. His keen eye makes this a grammatically better read. Thanks for that, Kenji.

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The Story of Jin and Donovan

The scent of lavender lingered in the air, faint yet unmistakable, weaving through the dim light of Donovan Milford's home like ghostly memories. He lay still in his reclining chair, weary bones and thin breath, listening to the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock. Much like its occupant, the house spirit had settled into silence—waiting, counting down.

A man doesn't live for eighty-some years without collecting ghosts. Donovan had more than his share. He brought them back from the jungles of Vietnam, from lost comrades, from the torment of his brief captivity by the NVA, and from the sterile corridors of the hospital ship where he last saw Mieko—a nurse, and his anchor to reality, as he fought against the nightmares of losing fingers.

"Hello, Mr. Milford," Patience introduced herself, as she surveyed his home for hazards. As hospice nurses, we follow the six Cs: care, compassion, courage, communication—"

"Got it!" Milford cut her off, impatient and annoyed over so many visitors, as if it were some damned museum tour.

"I'll be your day nurse," Patience smiled, aware that his frustration was a typical response to accepting the finality of life.

"Our role, under hospice care, is to provide you with the things you'll need to provide comfort: your basic meds they gave you in the hospital and this box for later— when that time comes. Do you have a cupboard we can store these in for now?"

"What's in the damned box?"

Don huffed the words with distaste as she wheeled him into the kitchen to inspect his appliances. He pointed to a row of plentiful cabinetry in his kitchen to store

'the box.'

"Pick one," he said, already feeling the fatigue of the day set in. Four weeks earlier, he had been doing yard work. Two weeks later, he spent a week in the hospital, followed by another week via EMS. Now, he was in a wheelchair and as weak as a noodle.

There were already enough damned pills scattered across the table for issues before his second trip to the hospital. He pulled a few from 'the box' and read the labels as Patience made room in a cupboard— acetaminophen suppositories, promethazine for nausea and vomiting, atropine sulfate, and morphine sulfate. The last struck a familiar chord from his time on the floating hospital ship. The rest sounded like... conditions he wasn't ready to accept.

Just out of the hospital, hospice-care providers had taken over his bedroom. A hospital bed, a pile of neatly stacked bedding items— damned pull-ups, pads for the bed if and when he peed it. A damned bedside commode, along with a host of other things that would bring comfort. The attendant who brought the oxygen concentrator, gave him instructions on changing the distilled water. It sounded like an old iron-lung machine.

The nurses caring for him now—Patience in the morning, and Virtue in the afternoon—were competent, professional, and neither burdened with time nor an inclination for indulgence. They brought him pills, checked his blood pressure, recorded numbers in their crisp notebooks, and then left. Each carried out the hospice mantra— bringing comfort to those on the brink. Not a cure nor hope, but physical comfort and sometimes a rare smile. This was more from Virtue than Patience.

It was not their fault he felt himself slipping away.

The Watchers

Patience was thorough and unyielding in her methodology. She moved about his home like a warden, her sharp eyes missing nothing in her morning routine, checking his vitals and asking the same damned question, "When did you poop last?"

It became part of his daily mantra. Along with chronic high blood pressure, the hospital tests revealed he had NARC, Non-Alcoholic-Related Cirrhosis, and kidney issues, leaving him weak, fatigued, and forgetful. The forgetfulness was the most aggravating.

"When did you poop?"

she asked, pen in hand to check the box off.

"You know you have to take the lactulose. Doctor's orders— twice a day. If not, remember Mr. Milford... what happens? The ammonia toxins build up, cloud your mind, and... you end up back in the hospital or... well, when was it?"

"You didn't take your pills last night," she observed, flipping through his records.

Donovan smirked, his voice rasping. "Figured I'd see if I could make it to morning without 'em. Surprise—I did."

Her lips tightened. "Not a game, Mr. Milford."

"Life is a game, Nurse. The trick is figuring out if it's rigged."

She exhaled, adjusting his blanket with the precise care of someone who refused to let irritation show.

Virtue, his afternoon nurse, had a more easygoing disposition. She tolerated his sharp humor, occasionally matching it while fulfilling her role. She encouraged compliance and softened the edges left by Patience's strict routine. Still, they were two sides of the same coin—orderly, structured, and predictable.

"What's her name... said you practiced some nursing crap. "Cs," he groused as she tucked him into bed and placed the fall-alert device around his neck.

"Yep." she quipped, sensing his fatigue and forgetfulness. "

Patience

... likes to quote them— care, compassion, courage, communication—"

"Yeah, well, I have a 'C' word that aptly describes... Patience; one that is not on her list!"

"Don, be nice! You only say that because she's... cute, curvy, and cuddly." She giggled, adding some 'C' words of her own.

Her jocular voice teased, "Besides, you'd do her in a heartbeat if you could pull her panties down."

"Back in the day, I might have," he grinned, at her lighthearted teasing.

Donovan's crooked smile spread as if imagining that scene. They both laughed over that ribald comment.

"Don't forget to put this fall-alert monitor on its charger in the morning." With that last admonishment, she stroked his withered hand and said, "Goodnight. Sweet dreams."

Little did she realize those dreams were not so sweet; they were restless and haunting, filled with events that still caused his night sweats. Especially one about the knife-wielding commander slicing off his fingers. Those had returned with a vengeance.

That Turning Point

Donovan had begun counting the days—the comings and goings of Patience and Virtue's visits, watching the light shift across the floor, measuring his dwindling strength in the slow encroachment of the inevitable. Destiny seemed to be written in stone upon his doorway. He could see it in their eyes, read their past experiences chiseled into their resolute faces, having dealt with others they had cared for before him.

"He's reached that point," Patience remarked to Virtue weeks into their routine, as she handed off the daily watch. "He can't handle this alone anymore."

"Agreed," Virtue nodded. "Time for live-in help. You know how he feels about us here. Imagine having someone here full-time." She shook her head with that knowing look.

"Well, it's that or... the nursing home. That's never going to fly." Patience shook her head negatively, which was met with a nod of agreement from Virtue. On that note, they both agreed.

Virtue added, "That nursing home will never be the same after he arrives!"

Both nodded in agreement, with a mixture of mirth and a touch of sorrow simultaneously.

"So, which of us will shoulder the brunt of telling him?" Patience hinted.

Virtue's eyebrows raised over that disagreement of which kind of care would be on the horizon.

"He likes you best."

"My ass," Patience retorted.

"He likes that, too," Virtue answered smartly, "and wants in your panties, but won't let on that he likes you. Besides, you're the lead nurse..."

"Screw you!" Patience pouted, having lost some... patience.

Jin's Arrival

It was late, and Virtue had tucked Donovan into bed and left for the night an hour earlier, when the front doorbell chimed, announcing that someone was at the door.

"Damn it, pharmacy!" he grumbled, managing to unhook the oxygen and swing his legs over the edge of the hospital bed rail.

Don swung the door open, expecting to see David, the pharmacy guy.

"Why so late, Bubba..." he started and lost his words, his mouth agape and brows raised.

It was too late for any expected visitor, and yet, when he opened the door, she stood there as though she had always belonged.

Her presence was an oddity—she neither belonged nor seemed out of place, yet she was like a memory from his past—Mieko, a nurse aboard the USS Sanctuary.

"You're not one of them,"

Donovan said, his voice carrying more certainty than question.

An upward curl on her lips appeared, as Jin tilted her head. "One of whom?"

"The angels of death in scrubs," he muttered, in reply.

"I'm Jin. In my language,

jin

means benevolence. A kindness meant to ease burdens, not just of the body, but of the spirit."

She smiled. It was the first genuine warmth he had seen in too long.

"No. Not one of

those angels.

I'm here to care for you."

He studied her, weighing the impulse to close the door, but something in her stance—calm, confident—held his hand. A woman of indeterminate age, with dark eyes reflecting the porch light like polished stones. She wore a deep blue kimono-style robe, not exactly traditional but more functional. Still, it was embroidered with silver cranes that seemed to shimmer as she moved. The air around her carried the faintest hint of sandalwood and night-blooming jasmine.

Taking a moment to absorb all those distinctions from those of the angels of death, Don wryly asked, "You a nurse or some kind of sorceress?"

"It depends on who you ask," Jin said with a coy smile. "I'm also the caregiver you requested."

Don sputtered, "I didn't ask for help..."

However, he stepped aside to let her enter, maybe because she resembled Mieko from long ago, or perhaps because it seemed Jin had always belonged in his home, just like the fragrant scent of jasmine lingering in the air.

Like Patience, she moved quietly, her presence barely disturbing the air. Her fingertips traced the worn leather of his favorite chair, sensing the years of solitude pressed into its creases. At his desk, she let her hand rest briefly on the diary's cover—then pulled away, startled. A faint tremor ran through her fingers, the weight of unspoken words pressing back against her touch.

Donovan's Searing Words of Pain

"I had lost all sense of direction since my capture, and in intense pain, I stumbled onward. My wrists chafed raw from the jerks on the ropes that bound them, and every step felt like another step away from freedom. I moved sluggishly, prodded by my captors' rifles and their guttural commands—words that held no meaning to me. The bullet in my shoulder was torturous, causing pain with each jarring step."

"My right hand throbbed, the missing fingers a searing reminder of my captors' ruthlessness. The crude amputation, done for the commander's amusement, had been carried out with the cold efficiency of a man accustomed to instilling terror. Each time I collapsed from exhaustion or pain, he severed another one—his way of keeping me motivated to move."

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"You're definitely out of balance," she whispered, as though she felt every hurt the diary contained. "I can see why you need so much help."

She set down a small cloth pouch and untied it with practiced ease. The scent of yomogi—earthy and slightly sweet mugwort—drifted upward, filling the entire home in seconds.

Donovan was intrigued by her demeanor, something alluring yet so innocent. He trudged behind her as she explored his home, noting the various rooms and sparse decorations. A long silk robe, a deep-dyed indigo, draped over her slender frame, embroidered with white cranes caught in eternal flight.

"Damn," he huffed shaking his head. He swore they moved, necks craning, wings shifting, as though observing his home with the same quiet scrutiny as their wearer. He blinked hard. If it was one, the illusion faded, but unease prickled at the back of his mind.

"You seem to like simplicity, Donovan," she noted. "Although you could do better studying your feng shui, I see the effect you are going for."

"Yeah, well, I took a stab at it back in the day when I built the place, thinking of a girl I once met."

"Well, Mieko must have been a very special girl," she smiled wryly, "but, at least you've placed the lake perfectly. Together, we can tackle the rest."

Donovan Milford smiled, wondering when he had spoken Mieko's name. Was it the damned NARC affecting him—that he didn't recall? He appreciated her humor, which was similar to his own.

'Placed the damned lake...'

He had to smile at her dry wit. He owed her one in return.

"Well, you could stay at least until you've balanced the feng shui, I suppose."

That was Jin's first evening with Donovan by the lake under the full moon. Invigorated by lavender, he suggested she roll his wheelchair further to check out the mallard's nest in the reeds.

Patience was at his bedside when he woke up in the morning. "How did you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well for a change. I didn't pee the bed. Did you meet Jin? Did she let you in?"

"Mr. Milford, we have the door code, remember? I let myself in. And who is this Jin again?"

"The housekeeper," he sighed, struggling to sit up for their daily routine.

Patience paused for a moment. "Virtue and I were planning to discuss that with you. So, you've already found someone?" She let out a sigh of relief at avoiding a confrontation with Don over that issue.

"I thought she was on your team," he yawned, stretching his legs over the rails and sliding into a new pull-up Patience offered.

"No, but maybe Virtue had a hand in it?"

The evening handoff to Virtue was equally puzzling—she didn't arrange for it, nor had she seen anyone visit, let alone take care of Donald Milford. However, the refrigerator was stocked with new vegan-lifestyle foods labeled by one of those culinary home-delivery services.

Days stretched into weeks, and neither Patience nor Virtue had seen this mysterious Jin come or go. In the end, they passed it off as one of those less-than-lucid moments in Don's waning days, the result of NARC, quite possibly, as he conveniently forgot to take the lactulose.

A Different Kind of Medicine

During the hours between the care of those professional angels, Don occupied his time with conversations and treatments from Jin. Discussions and treatments he felt inclined to keep from the prying eyes of those hospice professionals. It didn't seem in keeping with their thoughts on providing comfort beyond medicines for pain.

Jin's care was unlike anything in the nurses' regimen. She worked silently, placing warm stones along his spine and guiding him through slow, deep breaths. Her hands brushed lightly over his temples, as she murmured in a language he didn't recognize but somehow understood. The scent of lavender emerged and thickened in the room, enveloping his senses like a gentle tide.

"Lie on your tummy," she said as she gently helped him roll over in bed.

Don watched as she placed smooth, black genbu stones along his spine, their heat sinking deep into his skin.

"I thought you were here to ease my pain, not cook me."

"Pain is a stubborn guest. Sometimes, warmth is the only thing that invites it to leave."

"Speaking of leaving, they've already scheduled my burial," he muttered. "I just don't know the date yet."

She met his gaze. "It doesn't have to be as soon as they predict, Donovan."

The words hit like a blow to the ribs, sharp, breathtaking. Something about her gaze, her calm assurance, rekindled a spark of hope.

The scent of yomogi, mugwort, thickened in the air. "This will strengthen your blood," she said. "And keep restless spirits at bay."

As days went by, Jin incorporated new treatments into his regimen, bringing calm and some restoration of strength to his weakened form. Still, he had become a shadow of the once-robust, wounded warrior.

She burned moxa over acupressure points, the scent mingling with lavender, both grounding and surreal. She pressed her fingers gently over his pulse points, whispering about chi—the energy within, trapped and tangled. She prepared teas infused with ginseng and reishi mushrooms, quietly explaining that the body didn't merely fail; it responded to how it had been treated.

"Yeah, well, they treat me with lactulose," he said, musing about the effects. "There's nothing worse than that except maybe death."

Jin paused, and took a deep breath before cryptically replying, "Perhaps left to wander the world for all eternity, not knowing the pleasure of death... or transcending one's present existence..."

"You've been too deep into that meditation weed again, Jin," he laughed at her cryptic words.

"Meditation might help you, Don," she replied as they sat by the lake.

"At the orphanage, we prayed a lot... gave that up after Vietnam."

"Perhaps we start with shinrin-yoku," she smiled. You can translate that as forest bathing. It's a meditative practice of absorbing nature's essence, akin to cleansing."

"I think skinny-dipping in the lake would be more meditative," he chuckled.

"We could start with a dip in the lake... and come back for a forest bath to dry off, if you like."

Her remark raised his eyebrows. "It's been months since I've been in the water. Years since accompanied by a woman."

"I assure you, Donovan, I will act like a lady... or not."

The playfulness in her voice broke some of the trepidation of drowning due to a lack of strength and the effects of his meds down there. Lately, it hadn't risen any longer.

She draped his robe over his shoulders, unfastened the belt, and tore the seams of the pull-ups. Jin lifted him effortlessly from his wheelchair, carried him, and stepped into the water. Its warmth enveloped them, surrounded them, and buoyed Don's body as he floated in her arms. The silky fabric of her dress clung to her. The tension in his body eased slightly... until she kissed him. It had been a long time since Don had made love to a woman under the moonlight. And to think he had worried about the effects of some doctor's prescriptions draining his libido.