Born March 4, 1942 --- Died November 4, 2022
* * *
It was just another average day when it passed. There were no farewells,
the world remained in its orbit and not even a ho hum was heard. Such is the
fate of an over-used knee.
It knew its time was up. It had run its course. It took the departure like a man, like the 80-year-old it was. We had many discussions on the timing. It pretty much came down to what the orthopedists always say: “When it’s time, you’ll know.” It was time.
The Doctor comes by the preop room where it lies quietly, sedated and ready for its transition.
“Doc, will it be a painful passing?” I ask.
“No pain, I promise. We have elixirs to insure against it. All euthanasia is efficient and painless.”
I ask the knee again. Are you ready? Its response was a silent but peaceful acquiescence. I felt it quiver in its socket.
A little later I wake up, wondering if I had been dreaming. A haze of anesthesia lingers like a last-night hangover from being over smoked in an opium den. I vaguely remember why I’m here. It slowly dawns on me that I’m missing an integral body part, its space filled by some alien creature of titanium and plastic.
The doctor comes by. “Was its passing painless?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s gone. Say hello to your new knee.” I’m left alone to ponder the loss.
What is the proper way to say goodbye to such a loyal friend as the knee? Is a lengthy obituary needed? Or perhaps compose a requiem to mourn its demise? I lie there trying to capture the vagrant thoughts that keep circling in my mind like a pack of curious buzzards.
A requiem, yes, that’s the way. But on second thought, requiems are like dirges, filled with ponderously weighty minor notes, somber notes played on organs and bagpipes following a solemn, slow-moving cortege.
Oh, no, that’s not appropriate for this knee. It was no average knee; it was a bigger-than-life knee, one that despised ease and chewed on challenges. It was a knee hell-bent to push life to its extremities, a knee living on the edge, every day a new adventure.
Its music needs major notes, notes of C and G, notes of screaming guitar strings, pounding piano keys, drums and cymbals with a heartbeat to match a life lived to its limits. That’s the music of this knee.
It ran with Mick, Billy, Berry, Jerry, Willie and Waylon. Notes like itself, notes that ran with it across the years and miles of streets, ultra-marathons, mountain trails of America, Alaskan tundra and sandy beaches. It tested Death Valley, the White Sands, the Athens coliseum, The Great Wall of China. It thrived on a running tempo that matched its soul, its purpose and its life.
But now it’s gone, its purpose fulfilled. Just another joint heading to the bone pile to be unceremoniously incinerated for fertilizer. No honor, no cheering crowd, no laurel wreaths, no trophies. Such a vainglorious departure for such an over-achieving and faithful appendage.
Like all the aged, it grew tired of the pills, the shots, the braces, the ice and the pain. It was weary of the temporary palliatives, the promised cures, the worthless panaceas. It is in a better place now.
The doctor comes by again. I ask, “Hey, doc, will I suffer a sort of post-partum, separation anxiety now?”
“Not likely, but you will miss it for some time. You’ll remember the good old days. You will likely have many painful days and nights ahead, and the process of separation will sometimes bring you to tears. But be of good cheer…the old knee is happy now. And you’ll get used to its replacement.”
This all sounds somewhat metaphoric, but I’m in no mood currently to think metaphorically. It’s hard enough to lose a good friend, but it’s a good time to celebrate the good years we had, the exhilarating moments and the achievements of fifty-plus years of running.
In times like this we might wonder, “Will the new be superior to the old?” Is it ever? In the end, this is a question you’ll have to ask your own Lazarus.
Were there final last words? I think I heard it whisper on the way out, “Keep running."
Bud Hearn
November 16, 2022
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