Fishing The Past
The sky was lightening in the east as the old man cranked up the outboard motor and eased the small boat through the narrow channel out to the bay. The wind was practically non-existent; and the air felt soft and warm. It was still dark enough to see the phosphorescence in the water caused by the movement of the boat. Today would be a fine day for fishing...
This was to be his last fishing trip, for his illness had progressed to the point where the doctor wanted him to enter a hospice the following week. It had also become very painful to move around.
Yes, this would be his last fishing trip; but what the doctors didn't know, what nobody knew except for the old man, himself, was that he had no intention on going into any hospice, nursing home, or whatever they wanted to call it. He had long had other plans. He had known for many years that the 'Big C' was going to get him one day. That was why he had remained near the sea, even at the cost of lucrative job offers and giving up his other favorite outdoor activity, small game hunting.
No, he was going to fulfill his own last request; and at the same time leave his wife and family a bit better off than they would be if they were stuck with a mountain of medical bills and the agony of watching him go so slowly and painfully. This way, they could remember him pretty much as they had always known him-the man who had loved the outdoors and salt water fishing; and who frequently sought solitude to commune with the spirits of his American Indian ancestors.
He had always wanted to be buried at sea; because he felt that that way, his spirit would always be near, his molecules always wash upon the salty, sandy beaches that he had loved since childhood. It was his intention to grant this last wish to himself.
As the sun began to peek over the horizon, he shut off his motor and eased the anchor over the side. He might as well do a little fishing on the way...
He rigged the little 'piggy pole' that he had carried for decades, removing the gizzard from a frozen mullet and hooking a very small slice onto the piggy hook. He had done this since he was a boy, catching the pinback perch that speckled trout, redfish, and drum loved so much.
Thirty minutes later, he had two dozen piggy perch swimming in his bait well; and pulling up the anchor, he started the motor and continued toward the sea channel. He was definitely going to have some fun on this, his last trip!