The Axe
| by Randy Dittmar It was last summer and I was getting ready for my annual garage sale. I had all my tables set up and everything priced for the next days opening. I have always been a bit of a pack rat so I was not at a loss for things to sell. Whatever didn’t sell at my last garage sale I would pack it up and save it for my next one. As I was looking for any new items that I might put into the sale, I came across my axe. There it was sitting in a dark little corner of the garage. With a rush of warm sentimental feelings I pulled it out and dusted it off. It had a long orange handle and the steel cutting piece was sharp and heavy. It had a hinged splinter piece that helped to split open the piece of wood that was being chopped. Do I, or don’t I, put it in my garage sale. Six years ago I found out that I had Parkinson’s Disease. With the use of some top quality medications I was doing pretty good. But my life had changed. I found that the axe seemed to be heavier than it used to be. When I tried to swing it above my head I realized that my chopping days were over. This progressive disease had taken over my ability to be the person that I once was. As I stood there axe in hand, tears started to well up in my eyes as a flood of pleasant memories came upon me. My then wife Judith had given me this axe as a gift one year. I remembered spending many a hour chopping and splitting wood in preparation for use in our fireplace during the winter. I would chop it and then stack it very neatly in a pile against the side of the garage. It always gave me a great sense of accomplishment to split that last piece of wood and place it on the top of the stack. I would bring in the wood an armful at a time and put it next to the fireplace. Judith and I would often just sit and watch the flames as we discussed our day. We shared many bowls of popcorn as we watched a movie while the fireplace crackled and burned. There were even times when we would throw a blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace and cuddle, and have a little hanky panky. And here was this axe reminding me of some good times that I had in my life. But the reality of having Parkinson’s Disease meant that I could not use the axe again. It was just too much for me now. As I stood there holding the axe remembering the joy it had given me, I cursed Parkinson’s for taking away my ability to use the axe ever again, but I knew that Parkinson’s could never take away my memories of the good times that I had. I sold the axe at the sale for $7.00. ►Back to Story Corner |
