Ken's Last Dance

I think that he understood it, but refused to accept it. He was past getting old, but he was still full of life and love. He said to me one Sunday morning, "They took my truck". His children took his truck to stop him from driving. To Ken, driving was control; driving was freedom. To him, he was losing the control of his freedom. We all were born to be free, and I also understood, but I am certain I would be as unaccepting as was he. He turned 92 last December and passed last February. He loved his family, people, and coffee, hot and black. He loved his college football team and his pickup truck. His kids took his truck, but never his football or his coffee. From a nursing home, he watched his team win the national championship, again. I had never witnessed the beauty of family senior caring until his family. They provided safe transportation and good housekeeping. They would pick the two of them up nearly every Saturday for site seeing rides along the Northern California country sides. Ken and his also aged wife Lahoma lived in their own home almost until the end. They loved deeply and were loved deeply by others. 070621PSCtest, The Last Dance, Craig Cornish. 11P