Jason

When you have finished reading this post... please read the 6th comment. It gives the falling action for this short narrative.


“I don’t want to fall.”

Jason’s eyes aren’t usually locked onto mine, but they were yesterday.

“I don’t want to fall,” he repeated softly.

I took his hand in mine. I knelt and put my face directly in front of his.

“You won’t fall. I am going to be with you all the time. I won’t let you fall. You are going to have a good day. You won’t fall, you’ll have fun, and you are going to get a medal for bowling today.”

He smiled.

“Do you remember me? I’m your coach, Will.”

He smiled. I could tell he remembered.

“Will.”

“Jason! That’s the first time you’ve said my name! You are going to have a great day today. You are going to win a medal!”

“Will,” he said. He smiled.

They were delaying the opening ceremonies as long as possible (the Eugene/Springfield Special Olympics bowlers were running late... their bus had failed to show).

Jason had come to lane 16 very slowly. Very slowly. He kept freezing up when the pattern in the carpet would change, or the carpet gave way to linoleum, or the linoleum gave way to wood. Unsure if the change in appearance that filtered through his cataracts meant the floor had a step up or a step down, he stood, staring down, trembling.

This has been my second year coaching Special Olympics bowling, and Jason has been on both of my teams.

Last year he was ornery.

He was much quicker. He would grab his ball, an iridescent gold ball, and try to shuffle past me to an alley with all the pins awaiting in a tidy wedge... much more fun to throw at that clear target than the one or two pins he was supposed to go for to pick up his spare.

He sure got mad at me.

I pulled every trick I knew to keep him in his lane, get to the correct spot, wait his turn. I’d pretend I didn’t see him trying to get behind me as I slowly backed into his path, animatedly pointing down the correct lane and exclaiming what a great shot he can make.

He wasn’t so ornery this year.

His mumbled whispers this year were generally indecipherable. His fear of falling slowed him to frequent halts.

He began this season carrying the ball from the return rack and awkwardly throwing it down the lane. That didn’t last long. Within a couple weeks he was using the ramp for every throw.

Yesterday... it took him so long to shuffle up to the ramp I had set for him. His eyesight had dimmed and though he could tell when the floor changed from linoleum to wood, he could not tell if the transition was smooth, or a step up, or a step down. He feared he would fall.

Yesterday... when I handed him the sixteen pound ball (he pushes it so weakly he needs the heavier ball so it has the momentum to knock pins down...), he stood trembling. He trembled because the ball was now too heavy for him to hold. He trembled because (I could see it in his eyes) he feared the weight would cause him to fall.

In that moment, when he stood before the ramp, trembling with exertion and fear, I realized Jason was not going to be a resident of this world much longer.

I realized how fond I am of him.

The ornery Jason of a year ago, the one who argued he wanted to use that bowling lane, that there weren’t any pins at the end of the alley, that it was his turn now, that Jason is gone.

Yesterday, the Jason who had flashes of clarity, who looked into my face and said “Will” who smiled when I jumped up and down and shouted how he had gotten a strike, that Jason is fading fast.

I have had a high schooler working with me for the last few weeks. I’ve been showing him how to coach these athletes. Great kid. He was there.

Because it was the Special Olympics State Championship Tournament U. S. Bank had over a hundred volunteers to help. A woman from the bank was there volunteering.

There was also a representative from the group home where Jason lives to assist.

And there was the owner of the group home. All of us helping and encouraging Jason.

Encourage. Giving him the courage to move past his fear of falling. To have one more day of bowling.

The other two athletes I was to help didn’t show. There were five of us helping Jason. Just us on lane sixteen. I smiled to the people from the group home, they smiled back, took seats.

My heart was sinking.

As I watched Jason I knew this would be the last time I would work with him. He couldn't walk to and from the lane any more. His fear of falling immobilized him more than his lack of coordination.

I grabbed a chair. Sat him in front of the lane, the ramp before him, and handed him the lightest ball I could find.

I placed his hands on the ramp, showing him how to aim it.

I placed his hands on the ball.

“OK, Jason. Push! Push hard!”

Jason’s face screwed up in a determined look, he shoved as hard as he could, as fast as he could.

The ball didn’t move very fast. I didn't even watch it roll away.


Three games of ten frames. Thirty frames with Jason sitting in a chair. We brought him the ball, he shoved it, smiling softly when we cheered. He even got a couple of strikes.

When there were only two frames left I looked at the woman from U. S. Bank. I looked at the kid from the high school.

“This is probably the last game he will ever bowl,” I said softly.

The teen looked a little confused and concerned. The woman’s eyes grew moist.

I had her take a picture of Jason and I.


This athlete... the one who was so ornery last year... he won’t be around long.

I drove home, Jeremiah nodding off in the seat beside me.

Leon Russell serenaded.

Jason will be gone.

Soon.

My eyes moistened.

This past year I lost my wife.

As stupidly unimportant as it sounds, I lost my dog.

I don’t like it.

Loss.

I lost my first child.

How much of our sorrow is caused by our difficulty in handling loss?

Loss of health... loss of wealth. Loss of friendship, loss of love.

May the words of my mouth
and the meditations of my heart
be pleasing to You
pleasing to You
May the words of my mouth
and the meditations of my heart
be pleasing to You my God

You're my rock and my redeemer
You're the reason that I sing
I desire to be a blessing in Your eyes
Every hour and every moment
Lord I want to be Your servant
I desire to be a blessing in Your eyes

I do. I want to be His servant.

I feel loss more keenly when I believe things are mine. My athlete. My wife. My son.

But, truly, there is only one thing I have. Choice.

Everything else isn’t mine. Thinking they are is an illusion and leads to pride. Nothing is permanent. Not even the things that are a part of who I am are mine. Creativity. Curiosity. My health.

I feel unsettled. I have no clear idea what shape my future will take. My marriage is over, one of my sons is dead, another will move out by June, the last... well... he’s 18 and I don’t know how long he will be around.

I will miss Jason.

With each thing I think is mine, and then learn not only it isn’t mine, but the loan has been called in... I... well, I learn.

May the words of my mouth
and the meditations of my heart
be pleasing to You
pleasing to You
May the words of my mouth
and the meditations of my heart
be pleasing to You my God

You're my rock and my redeemer
You're the reason that I sing
I desire to be a blessing in Your eyes
Every hour and every moment
Lord I want to be Your servant
I desire to be a blessing in Your eyes

I am satisfied with that. I see not only do I need nothing else... I have nothing else.