Broken

I never planned on it happening like this. The end, I mean. The end of my life on this sometimes good, often horrifying earthly plane. I guess we all want to die peacefully in our sleep but in reality, how often does that happen? Anyway, I digress. Let's start at the beginning of the end rather than at the end of the end.

Maggie was in one of her moods, one of her 'fix it now' moods. I'd begun to notice she moves in cycles: love me, love me not, fix it now, and then she'll be right back to love me again. I was fine with that, really I was. At least I knew where I stood.

So there I was, just a few minutes ago, standing at the top of the splintery old ladder that we'd taken from her Grandad's garage after he passed, along with his beaten-up saw with a few missing teeth and his wonky hand drill, both manufactured sometime around World War 2. Her Mom told us to go on in and 'get something to remember him by'. I don't think we thought too much about, we just grabbed the few things that were closest, but I do remember that I was happy to get my hands on that ladder. I needed a new ladder and the True Value aluminum jobbies with their splindly legs and wobbly steps just didn't do it for a man nudging 295.

Yeah, I'm a big guy. I could blame it on genetics or big bones but really, I just like to eat. Burgers and fries, waffles and chicken, donuts groaning beneath several inches of chocolate frosting and caramel sauce - oh yeah, bring them on. I won't say no to a meal, not ever. Maggie seems to like me that way and I can't say I've ever tried to hide my love of food from her. Most times, I think she enjoys the fact she's married to a family-pack magnitude of a man. I've seen her at cook-outs and picnics, giggling with her girlfriends about the size of my feet and I'll admit it, I never once felt bad about being the center of attention in that way.

So, I climbed up that ladder, enjoying the solid feel of the rounded rungs and the way the the wood bounced and flexed under my weight, intent on reaching the top and clearing out the spouting. We'd had a spring storm the day before, torrents of rain that flooded the gutters and got itself bunged up on old fall leaves and winter flotsam, and Maggie wasn't happy about the way the overflow streamed over the top and poured down the outside of the windows. She wanted me to fix it and of course I said yes. Truth be told, I quite liked doing those types of handyman jobs around the house. Made me feel as if I was taking care of the family. Protecting our cave and doing good, manly work.

It's hard to say what happened first - me over-reaching for a sticky clump of decaying leaves or Max, our ginger Tom, deciding he wanted to join in the fun. Maybe I'll find out if I ever get to sit down to watch a replay of my life and all of my glorious mistakes, or maybe I won't. Anyway, long story short, I overbalanced, the ladder slipped and slid, and next thing I know I'm plummeting toward the unforgiving concrete below.

It's a funny thing, the way time seems to slow down to nothing when you're about to die. From the time I grabbed for the falling ladder until now feels like about 20 minutes or more, although I'm positive it's closer to half a second. Falling is amazingly freeing, too. I can't remember feeling this lightweight since I was 9 or 10, splashing about down at Mooney's Pond with my mates and floating about on the water pretending I was an astronaut spiraling through space.

I know I'm about to hit the ground and I know I'm about to move on to whatever it is that awaits me next, but strangely enough I don't tense up. I'm ready, I know I'm ready.

This is it, this is me, and this is the definitive end of this wonderful, crazy, perplexing life that I've lived.

The End