Looking Back Over The Years - An Intro
#1 of In The Days Of My Youth
Looking back now, over the precious few years that were my more youthful days, I have come to understand many truths that I had not realized then. I left many things that deserved an ending or an answer but never received one. There was so much I was told by my parents and little of it did I understand. Oh how I wish I had been more receptive of their words and more open to their speeches and lectures. Often times they bored me until I wanted to drift off into a slumber. Yes, that was back when I had a cub's purity and went about everything with an ignorant grin -- the same grin I see on others now and wish I could smack off of them. Those few, fleeting years, which now do nothing more than dance in the very far reaches of my mind, taunt me with a few dim recollections of my childhood. How I wish I could thank my mother and father now for their patience with me back then when I still didn't understand what troubles the world held. Like so many other things though, that chance has long faded away.
I still remember how my father passed away one afternoon. He went peacefully in his sleep while napping on the porch. We had just had lunch and he said he was feeling rather tired, so he went and rocked as he always did. Eventually he drifted off to sleep in that old wooden chair, which was as aged with lines and cracks as him. Looking out at the sun setting in the afternoon sky with one paw resting on the chair arm and the other hanging down by his side, that was how we found him. He looked like he had gone in peace though, so although deeply hurt by our loss, we knew it was okay. There was a certain carefree look to his face with a few unkempt blades of fur hanging down in front of his eyes. The sun was just starting to shine on his chin too as it set lower in the sky.
He was a strong wolf, standing a commanding seven feet tall. He was strong and well built, taking care to work out regularly. I remember how he always pestered me and my brother to go to the gym with him. His eyes a deep and vibrant green as pure as an emerald -- something I have inherited from him. Add that with his perfect fangs and sleek, grey fur, that charming personality, and his overwhelming strength, and he could have easily been mistaken by some as a demigod. He was not without flaws...something that my ignorance covered my eyes to for many years, but he was none the less a good father to me.
Arthritis got the best of him in his older days though and he began to hunch, taking away much of that God like quality he held with it. He became weaker and his fur thinned, and in his last few years his mind started to slowly slip as well. He couldn't remember things as well as he could and was confused much easier. As mighty of a wolf as he may have been, with enough time, even he weakened from the ever turning hands' of time.
Then there was my mother, who passed the very next evening. She had been sick for most of my life. I remember when we first found out about it. The doctors didn't think she would make it but a few more years back then. Yet years passed, and then decades. She never got well, but she refused to die. It was almost as if my father has been tying her to the world and gave her reason to keep going. Without him, perhaps she was overcome with grief and finally gave into her sickness. Knowing my mother though, it was more likely that she just wanted to stay with my father, and so she knew it was time for her to go as well. It was the family doctor that had found her. He had come by to check on us and see if he could do anything to help after our loss. When he went into her room to see her, he first thought she was sleeping, but soon realized that her bosom was not rising with steady breath as it should. So after trying to wake her and then finding she had no pulse, he had to admit she was dead. He couldn't help but smile through his tears though, as a soft smile was still painted on her face. We all knew she was happy now. Her pain was finally gone and she could be with my father again.
What a beautiful woman she had been. She had the bluest of eyes, a smooth, pure white coat of fur, and a smile that lifted the spirits of everyone around her. Her body was always rather frail from sickness, but she held herself with a demeanor that even my father failed to. She spent her entire life working to give others around her happiness and make their lives better. She was one that could have even dimmed Mother Theresa in her righteousness. Ah, truly an amazing woman and a wonderful mother.
Those times have passed though and I am an old, old wolf myself now; far older than even my father lived to be. I believe it has been 82 years since my birth, but it is so hard to remember, so many years since a formal party has been held. I am left to only think back over it all now. It is history, set in stone. My childhood, my passage into those teenage years, and my life as a young adult...those were the things that formed who I am I now realize. From then on life just seemed to become repetitive, a cycle that I could not, or rather, would not, break. With the passing of my parents so many years later my life hit s stumble in that cycle, but even with such a hard blow to my heart and mind, I fell back into that cycle again. It is a shame is has taken me this long to look back and realize how much time I have lost. I grew up and left those years of my youth behind when I actually lived; a mistake that can't be undone. But I still have my memories from then, at least for the moment. It would seem I have started to lose my mind slowly over the past few years just as my father did before me; it is harder to recall things from back then now, and much of my childhood as faded into the dark, no longer within my reach.
I still have the memories from when I was a teenager though, when I started my journey to become a young man. Ah, those days were quite a time in my life. So much happened and so much was discovered and so much changed. No other time will I ever remember as well as then, nor have I learned so much from. That is why I am writing this now. I feel I must get it down on paper before it fades away like so many other things. These are my early years when that ignorance of childhood started to fade from me and I began to learn about the world. But before that, I believe I need to rest. The days seem to be longer now and I tire far easier than I did. Time is a cruel and unceasing force in my life now as I feel its effects weigh on me every minute of every day.
A wolf slowly rises from a desk in the corner of an old room. The curtains were drawn and only a few rays of sunlight managed to fight through the tattered edges. The floor was wooden, as were the walls. The room was basic and simple: there was a desk with a small wooden chair on the far wall, a bed with an end table next to the window, a large, cushioned chair beside a book shelf in one of the corners, and a dresser near the door. Dust has gently settled over the place, long ago claiming it as a home. Nothing stood out other than the wolf, now standing by the desk in a rich purple robe. Thinning grey fur and a frail frame marks his features. The wolf grabs his cane with a frail paw, shaking slightly, and then he reaches down to turn off the lamp that sits upon the desk. Foot paws shuffle and echo through the old house as he makes it to his bed. After a bit of work, he lays down with a sigh, drifting off to dreams of a better time. Dreams of the very same years he was going to write about just moments ago.