{"id":32195,"date":"2026-06-10T09:06:51","date_gmt":"2026-06-10T13:06:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/?p=32195"},"modified":"2026-06-10T17:02:17","modified_gmt":"2026-06-10T21:02:17","slug":"youre-not-an-elephant","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/youre-not-an-elephant\/","title":{"rendered":"You’re Not An Elephant"},"content":{"rendered":"

You’re Not An Elephant<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

I married Emma 61 years ago. She was a beautiful young lady, and I was a rambunctious young cad.<\/span><\/p>\n

We had no plans to grow old together. We were young and full of hope, brimming with untethered youthful vigor and never-ending fairytale dreams.<\/span><\/p>\n

I’m not sure anyone can plan on growing old together any more than anyone can plan on how they’re going to handle the challenges and hurdles that growing old often brings. I guess neither of us had time to give the blessings of youth much thought, yet I am quite sure we took advantage of them.<\/span><\/p>\n

We had two beautiful, healthy boys, the family that Emma dreamed of since she was a little girl, playing mom with her dolls.<\/span><\/p>\n

Emma was an extraordinary and dedicated mother, and our boys were lucky to have her. They both know how special and amazing she is.<\/span><\/p>\n

And me? I was a kid with kids, so riding bikes, playing ball, taking hikes, and all the things boys love to do came naturally to me. Maybe because at that time, I hadn’t grown up either. But it also meant that I spent a great deal of time with them, something my grandfather did with me because my dad was always too busy for me.<\/span><\/p>\n

But in all of the typical grueling challenges of earning a living, having a family, and making time to spend with the kids, something else was happening…the clock was racing ahead faster than it ever had.<\/span><\/p>\n

Little did I know that was just a small sample of how the speed of the ticking clock of life hides from the young…and lies in wait for the aging. An inhumane trap from which there is only one way to escape.<\/span><\/p>\n

Our boys grew up as children tend to do. They married and had families, and both are extraordinary fathers.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

It’s funny, at first being an “empty-nester” comes as quite a shock. Somehow, the air of life rushes out of the home, and everything seems dark and dead for a while until you finally adjust to the quiet.<\/span><\/p>\n

In the quiet and the lessening of responsibilities, I tended to spend more time with Emma and more time alone. But the clock, that hidden ghost that controls our lives, went racing on – faster and faster.<\/span><\/p>\n

My health was not great, but I am an imagineer. I imagine things are okay – until they’re not. All I do is make it more difficult for doctors to fix the ailments I denied.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Emma liked to get it over with. After discovering what they thought was breast cancer, she started predicting her own demise.<\/span><\/p>\n

“You’re not an elephant”,\u00a0 I always told her and would then regale her with the elephant graveyard story, which goes as follows…<\/span><\/p>\n

According to the lore, a dying elephant will quietly separate itself from the herd to embark on a final, solitary pilgrimage. Guided by a primal instinct, the animal travels to a secret, communal burial ground hidden deep within the wilderness. This legendary graveyard is envisioned as a vast, remote valley filled with the bleached bones and towering tusks of countless generations. Upon arrival, the elephant simply lies down among its ancestors to draw its final breath.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

She would roll her eyes as I was telling her the story. She loved animals, and I believe she watched every animal documentary ever made. David Attenborough’s documentaries were her favorites.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Her breast cancer turned out to be a benign mass, which was removed without incident.<\/span><\/p>\n

Other serious illnesses followed, and life became challenging. She would always try to prepare me for her death by estimating how long she had to live, based on her doctor’s best guesses.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And every time she tried to prepare me for her death, I would tell her:\u00a0 “You’re not an elephant”,\u00a0 and regale her again with the elephant graveyard story.<\/span><\/p>\n

Every health challenge that came her way, she faced with courage that I cannot even imagine.<\/span><\/p>\n

I dodged bullet after bullet, imagining everything going wrong with me would miraculously get better, then went to the doctor when it was almost too late. While Emma would try to prepare me for the day, she was no longer with me, but I think she was creating a diversion for me. I think she knew I was the one dying, not her. Dying from self-neglect, the obituary should say.<\/span><\/p>\n

Last night I was limping around the house with my cane, in excruciating pain from end-stage osteoarthritis. I sat down next to her and told her, “Emma, I don’t think I’m going to be with you much longer — too many things are going wrong.”<\/span><\/p>\n

Emma looked at me with a bemused glance and said, “You’re not an elephant.”<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

You’re Not An Elephant I married Emma 61 years ago. She was a beautiful young lady, and I was a rambunctious young cad. We had no plans to grow old together. We were young and full of hope, brimming with untethered youthful vigor and never-ending fairytale dreams. I’m not sure anyone can plan on growing old together any\u2026 Read More »<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":26737,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[228,10],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32195"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=32195"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32195\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":32207,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32195\/revisions\/32207"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/26737"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=32195"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=32195"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=32195"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}