He Made the Swims

He was an old man who lived alone. Or he had until lately. His wife had died three years before, leaving him with failing health, an empty house, and a loss of zeal for living. 

His son had repeatedly asked him to move in with him. 

He appreciated the offer, but he always said, "Maybe later." 

His daughter had done the same thing, over and over. "Dad, come stay with us. You'll have your own room, you can get in the pool in the afternoon. Boo Man (her cat) will hang out with you, and you can drink all the coffee you want." 

But he always said, "Thank you, Baby Girl. Maybe later." 

His granddaughter had been staying with him and helping care for him the past couple of months while she attended a local community college. His son came by almost every morning, his daughter called at night, and a hospice nurse came in around 7:30 a.m. and was there until 5:00 pm or later. 

Since Ashley moved in, she woke him each morning around 7:15 to feed him, give him his meds, and get him cleaned up before the hospice nurse arrived at 7:30 Then she was off to class for the morning before returning mid afternoon.

"Wake up, Poppy," she gently shook him Monday morning. "Time for breakfast." She had laid a tray with oatmeal and coffee on the bed. He slowly transitioned from his dreams to reality.

"You look happy. Did you sleep well?" 

"Yeah. I was swimming."

"That's good, Poppy. It's good you were swimming. It makes you happy doesn't it?"

"Yeah. And it makes me sad."

"Sad?"

"It reminds me of how much I've lost." 

"Think positive, Poppy. Think positive."

He was quiet for a bit. 

Then he began to speak in a weak, shaky voice, "Life takes. If you live long enough, it takes everything. It takes your friends; it takes your family; it takes your job; it takes your hobbies; it takes your health; it takes your dreams; it takes and takes until everything is gone. All I have left is Jesus, some of my family, some fading memories, and a fat cat." He was talking about Sweetie, the last cat he was healthy enough to rescue. "It hurts me to remember what I used to do but can't do anymore."

She didn't know how to answer so she didn't.

By now, Robert, the nurse, was in the house and looking over the notes Ashley had taken from 5:00 pm until now. 

"Good morning, Mr. Jones," the nurse spoke, looking over his readers and smiling down on the old man. "You have a good night?"

"He slept through," Ashley added, "and was dreaming about swimming when I woke him."

"Looks like we're in for a good day, then. I've been meaning to get you to tell me about your swimming. Maybe today?"

Ashley gave the old man a kiss on the check and left for school. Then Robert had him sit up on the side of the bed and do leg extensions. Three sets of twelve reps with five pound ankle weights. After that, it was curls and presses with five pound dumbbells. Then coughing, then standing up and sitting back down. Then more coffee. 

After the exercise, he got to drink his coffee without interruption. He had about two hours before his shot. With a picc line in his chest, Ashley administered his big dose at 10 pm and Robert gave him one at 10 am. This kept him comfortable, physically. After the dose of painkillers, he often would sleep for a few hours.

"Tell me about the swimming."

"I will if you promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"That you tell my children what I want on my tombstone."

"You can't tell them yourself?"

"They won't listen. I've tried and tried. When I bring it up, my daughter cries and leaves the room. My son says, 'Not now, Dad.' Ashley says, 'Write it down.'"

"OK. Tell me and I'll see that they get it after you're gone."

"Good. I want: He made the swims and died."

"He made the swims and died," Robert repeated out loud. "That's all?"

"That's all."

"OK. I'll see that they get it. Now, they tell me about those swims you made. They say you were a heck of a swimmer back in the day."

"It was an accident, if you believe in accidents. I later came to see it as Providence. And it wasn't that long ago. I was an adult-onset swimmer. I was a runner first. Never a very good one, but I liked it, and I did a lot of it. Then I got hurt, which happens a lot with runners. I was a bit stir crazy and wanted some sort of athletic challenge, and somehow ran across this thing called "That Dam Swim" in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. I signed up for it before I had a chance to think it through."

"That Dam Swim."

"Yeah. A twelve-mile open water race in the dammed up Tennessee River. I had never done anything like it before. I had to have a pilot. That's somebody who boats along with you to protect you and feed you. I asked my wife and she said no. I asked my dad, and he said no. So I approached my son with cash in hand. He said yes."

"When was this?"

"This was in 2007, September."

"So you weren't a young man."

"I told ya, I was an adult-onset swimmer. I was late fifties. Do the math, I was born in '56. I didn't know anything about open water swims, how to train, or anything. We made the trip with an aluminum fishing boat, a trolling motor, and two marine batteries. Everybody else was out there in slick kayaks. The relay teams had fancy powerboats. We looked like the Beverly Hillbillies on water. But we did it, and when I finished it was the biggest thrill of my life. The sense of satisfaction, of accomplishment was overwhelming. I wanted more."

"So you started doing open water swims?"

"Not for a few more years. There just aren't any around here. People in Mississippi aren't into that sort of thing."

"So what was the next step?"

"I found out about an event called 'Swim the Suck.' That was 2011. I did it four years in a row. That was ten miles in the Tennessee River near Chattanooga. Beautiful. It was a very small race at first, but quickly it became a destination event. People come from all over the country, the world, to swim there. I met Penny Palfrey, Martin Strel, and Lexie Kelly, just to name a few."

By this time, Robert had administered his 10 o'clock dose and the old man grew groggy, stopped talking, and was soon asleep.


"Wake up, Poppy." 

His eyes opened but it was several seconds before they focused on anything.

"What day is it?" he asked seemingly confused.

"Tuesday. You need to go to the bathroom?"

"Yeah. I can get up myself."

"I'll help you." 

He tried to push her hand away but she would have none of it and helped him rise so he could shuffle to the bathroom and few feet away. 

"Use your walker, Poppy." 

He acted like he didn't hear.

An hour later, he and Robert were in the front yard trying to make their way to the street. On Tuesday and Thursday they walked across the yard, and to a side street and back. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday they worked out on the side of the bed. Saturday and Sunday were rest days.

As a car approached, the old man tipped his walker over and waved.

"I saw that."

"Saw what? Me wave at people?"

"No. You tipped your walker over," Robert said, a little miffed. "On purpose."

"Everybody makes mistakes."

"You did it on purpose," Robert repeated as he picked the walker up for the old man. "You're pride is liable to get you a broken hip. I wish you would take instruction a little better. We are only trying to help you. It's no shame to be an old man."

"Easy for you to say.This is the first time I've been an old man and I ain't used to it yet. Wanna know something?"

"What?"

"I ain't trying to get used to it. I used to swim all day. Run all day. Bicycle all day. Lift weights. Beat young people at races." His voice trailed off and a big tear made its way down the caverns on his face.

"I know, I know," Robert said patting the old man on the shoulder, trying to give comfort. "Getting old is not easy, but it's better than dying."

"Is it?"

Robert didn't answer the question. They painstakingly made their way from the side of the street, to the stoop, up the steps, and back into the house.

The walk always wore out the old man. He talked a little after they got back into the house. He told Robert of the charity swim he started. How he swam longer and longer until his body finally couldn't do anymore, until it broke down. But the walk had its effect  and he was already asleep by the time Ashley came home. He was still sleeping when she gave him his drugs at 10:00 p.m., and never woke until the next morning.


"Wake up, Poppy. It's Hump Day." She waited while his eyes opened and he slowly regained consciousness. "Did you swim?"

"No. I was dreaming about the back of some dilapidated buildings. I have that dream over and over. I don't know why. I see some old, run-down buildings, and there are gas meters all over the side, and I just look. What does it mean?"

"Maybe it means you are old, run-down, and pass a lot of gas."

That made the old man chuckle, something that rarely happened these days.

She had cooked him an egg and he tried to eat it after he stumbled to the bathroom and back. He got about half of it down and took two bites of toast, whole wheat with grape jelly. A few years back he would have wolfed this down in seconds. Now he tried to eat out of gratitude, gratitude that he had a granddaughter who cared enough to cook it.

His son came by like he did many mornings, checked on him, and left him with a hug, an "I love you," and a bag of Snickers bars, the Fun Size.

"This is the only advantage I can think of to being old," he told his boy. "You can eat candy all day and all nightlong, and nobody gives a dang."

"Eat away, Pops. See you later," the boy said on his way out the door and to his job.

After everyone was gone, the old man told Robert about how he trained for his swims. About his benchmarks in the water and in the weight room. "I wish I could have trained a younger swimmer to take my place. But it never happened. I had so much knowledge to give, but nobody wanted it."

He ate lots of candy that day and drank lots of coffee while his main cat, Sweetie, napped with him constantly. He was still up when Ashley came in, but he grew silent a couple of hours before he went to sleep.


"Poppy. Got you some coffee," Ashely said handing him his tumbler and setting down the trey of oatmeal and cantaloupe she prepared for his breakfast. 

He was confused for several minutes.

"Mom called last night, but you were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you. You didn't pee in the bed did you?"

"No. I used to be proud when I peed in a lake while I was swimming. It's not easy to do, you know. Now I pee in the bed and it's easy. But I have to go. Bad. I don't need help," he said as he slowly tried to rise and get his feet on the floor. She tried to hand him the walker, but he pushed it out of the way. He shuffled to the bathroom while she followed, ready to catch him if he fell. He was thin and light enough now that she probably could have caught him and held him up if he had stumbled.

After Ashley left, he told Robert of all the swims he used to do. Of his pool training and the catfish pond swims he did in preparation for his charity swim. He talked and talked and told him of the year he did two ten milers, and eight miler, a seven, and four five milers in training for the big charity swim, all alone at the pond. How he changed his lifting routine as his events drew near. How he sometimes spent a whole day at a time on the fish farm swimming and running and even doing some light weightlifting. How he fed on ice-cream for his long swims. Robert took it all in but said little in return.

"Wake up, Poppy." 

He seemed more confused than usual after his eyes opened and it took more than a few seconds for him to focus on anything. He didn't speak and he didn't get up to use the bathroom. Ashly was a little concerned that he would not eat. She had him Raisin Bran, his favorite cereal. He needed changing, but she decided to let Robert take care of that.

His son came by and also failed to get him to say anything or to eat. When he did not take his coffee, the boy became concerned. When Robert arrived, they told him how he wasn't talking or eating or drinking coffee. But they each had to leave his son for his job and his granddaughter for school. The old man was silent all day. Robert tried to get him to talk more about swimming, but he never did. 

By late afternoon, his eyes began to have that far away look to them. He didn't even seem to notice when Sweetie jumped up on the bed with him. She curled up on his lap like she always did but if he took note, he didn't show it.


"Wake up, Poppy."

This time he talked. He asked a single question. "What time does the football game come on?" 

"It's not football season, Poppy. But it is Saturday. Is that why you asked?" But he didn't respond. 

He said nothing else all day. She tried to get him to talk, but he would not respond. By night time, that strange grayness of his eyes had drawn Ashley's attention. Robert told her he would be in early the next morning. She thought that was odd because he didn't ordinarily work on Sunday. She kept asking if this was something to be concerned about, but the nurse never answered.

She was concerned enough to call her mom and her uncle. She handed the old man the phone when she had them on the line, but he never spoke to either of them.


"Wake up, Poppy." Ashley set the trey down with his oatmeal and toast and turned the TV on. "You want some preaching? It's Sunday."

The old man didn't stir.

"Poppy, wake up," she shook him slightly.

His son came in and tried to rouse the old man but got no movement.

Then Robert showed up.

"We can't get him to wake up," the son told the nurse.

Robert stepped to the side of the bed. He shook the old man's shoulder with no response. Then he checked for a pulse, first at the wrist, then at the neck.

"Is everything OK?" the son asked Robert several times.

Robert just stood there a moment before speaking. "He made the swims?"

"Excuse me?" the son asked.

"He made the swims."

"What do you mean?" Ashley pleaded.

"He made the swims," was all Robert said.