Live fully. Love fiercely. Protest not.
Based on true events, with identities altered for privacy.
The first time I met Al, he was sitting on his porch, basking in the golden glow of a setting sun. His silver hair, thick and unruly like Irish sheep’s wool, gleamed in the soft light. His tall, thin frame leaned against a creaking rocking chair, completely unbothered by the passage of time. There was something about him, an unshaken resolve, the quiet defiance of a man who had seen life’s worst yet chosen to embrace its best.
“I hear you’re a doctor,” he said, barely looking up from his coffee. “Good. Just don’t give me any lectures about what I should or shouldn’t eat. Protest not.”
I chuckled. “Not my style.”
We burst out laughing in unison.
I was his doctor, overseeing his hospice care. I had been visiting him regularly. He loved oldies music, medieval history, and science fiction films, passions that made for captivating conversations. I enjoyed our talks.
And so began my friendship with the man who refused to bow to fate.
Al had advanced cancer, and the prognosis was poor. He had a few months, at best, to live. If fear had knocked on his door, he hadn’t answered. He carried on as always, grinning, joking, dancing in his living room to old Elvis records, a whiskey glass balanced in his palm.
His dog, Pete, a scruffy little terrier, with cute eyes that cut into any heart, was his faithful companion. Together, they listened to country music, shared meals, and welcomed each sunrise as if it were the first, not the last.
I admired the way Al lived, a quality of life we all imagine but rarely achieve. Simple, quiet, devoid of complications, despite sickness and disease. For a medical doctor, witnessing that kind of peace was refreshing.
“I don't care how many days I got left,” Al told me one evening, flipping a pancake with far more enthusiasm than skill. “What matters is how many of them I enjoy.”
There was no desperation, no sorrow. Just an unyielding will to live. Day to day, enjoying every minute of it.
The night it happened, I was half-asleep when my phone rang—a single, piercing alarm. A voice on the other end murmured words I didn’t want to hear. Paramedics. Ambulance. Gone.
I arrived at his house and found Pete curled up in the worn leather chair that had once held his master. His tail was still, his breathing shallow. No music played. No laughter echoed from the kitchen. Al was gone, leaving behind silence in a place that had always been loud with life.
That’s when I saw it.
A note, neatly folded, sitting beside an unfinished glass of whiskey. I unfolded it carefully and read the fine handwritten craft:
"Live fully. Love fiercely. Forgive and release. In the end, what remains is peace."
"Go forth, shine bright, let no light grow dim. And please, care for Pete. His love was my last hymn."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Pete lifted his head, his eyes heavy with grief, searching for Al, for understanding, for a place to belong again.
“I got you, buddy,” I whispered.
Days later, I took him home.
Pete stayed with me for weeks, his sorrow shaping the quiet rhythm of my home. But love finds a way.
I introduced him to a young family, a couple with two sweet children who instantly fell in love with him. They fed him scraps, chased him through their backyard, and held him the way he had once been held by Al.
Pete had finally found another home, a place where love surrounded him.
Time rolled by.
One day, while shopping, I spotted the family again. Pete trotted beside them, his tail wagging, his spirit renewed, a creature saved by love.
But something caught my eye. A thin bracelet on his collar glinted softly under the fluorescent lights.
I leaned in, tracing the delicately engraved words.
"Live fully. Love fiercely. Protest not."
My breath hitched.
“Where did you find that?” I asked.
The mother smiled. “In the cubby you gave us. It was tucked away, as if waiting to be found.”
I laughed, shaking my head. Of course Al had left one last message, one final jest, hidden within the folds of fate.
As I stepped out into the evening light, the warmth of the wind surrounded me. I breathed it in—the simplicity, the quiet rhythm of a life well-lived.
No protest. No regrets. Only gratitude.
"Live fully. Love fiercely. Protest not."
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