The Lament for Persephone

As I walked into the Sagebrush Home for the Elderly, the arid stench wafted up my nose and I immediately knew where I was again. It was the first day of the last week of my manditory commnity service for my schooling. I will admit it: I, like almost all of my other classmates who did their community service at Sagebrush, hated it. As far as I had been concerned, these were four weeks of my life which I would never get back. As I went to the main office to start the clock perpetually counting down toward my eventual freedom, I saw Tony and Maria, making out at the elderly home because they couldn't let their parents know about them.

After the manager signed off and marked down my starting time, I started my day, silently cheering as I regarded the calendar on the inside of my locker door. After changing, I went to the first floor nurse station and asked what there was to be done. This monday was to start off with my assisting an elderly man cut up his food at lunch. I marveled at the exciting quality of my life as I walked over to the table where he was seated.

Sitting down next to him at the table, I asked him 'how he was feeling today' and he told me that he was far older than I so I shouldn't patronize him in such a disrespectful manner. This took me aback. His noticing my true animosity for the community service at Sagebrush made me realize just how plainly I had been displaying it to people who already saw enough bad attitudes on a regular basis to kill a small child.

By the time Friday rolled around, I was clearly in a better mood, and the old man who I'd first attempted to help on Monday was feeling more comfortable with me. When I entered his room to see if there was anything I could do for him, he requested that I sit down. So, I obliged.

"I wanna tell you a story," he said to me. "It's a story about a girl named Persephone."

He went on to impart to me this story:

In the summer of 1966, a young couple in the grips of deep love were wed. George and Wanda wanted a larger family than some, and wanted to provide a great life for each of their children. They wanted each of their children to know that they were always loved and were free to pursue their happiness. Unfortunately for them, George and Wanda were only given one child, to whom they gave the name 'Persephone,' in the hopes that she would always be followed by beauty and life.

From the first day when Persephone was born, she was given al the benefits her parents could afford her. And although she didn't always get just the toys she wanted or a car to go along with her driver's lisense, she also did not live a bad life. From when she was very small, she loved to be around other people, and detested being left alone. Her parents wanted their daughter to be happy, so they often let her have friends over and did the least possible controlling of her social life as she grew up. This was, perhaps, somewhat misguided, for as she came into her adulthood in the early eighties, she developed a poor taste in men. By the time she turned twenty-five, became involved with the man who would become her husband.

At first, he seemed to be a genuinely good guy, kind, caring, and not hard on the eyes either. This relationship followed a path down which she had traveled a number of times; and yet, she still did not recognize the progression. The first major sign which she might have seen was his asking her to move with him. He told her that he loved her very much, and wanted to keep their relationship alive, but that to do so, she would need to relocate with him to the town of Hell, Michigan. She was in love with him, so it was no real surprise to anyone, not even her parents, when she said that she would.

Because he knew her family was very near and dear to her, he agreed to get married in a small ceremony before leaving for Hell. As Wanda watch the tin cans tied to the back of their car sail off into the distance after th ceremony, she wept, for, while she knew that she would see her daughter return one day, she was sad to let her one child go too far away to be easily reached. As a metal worker in the new town, Persephone's husband often had a hard day while at work. To take off the stress of a long day, he could often be found at one local bar or another drinking away the day's sorrows.

The clicheed turn of events which followed his homecoming from the bars on these nights seemed to follow a predestined path, and yet, Persephone did not grow to hate him. The seemingly endless stream of blood, bruises, and shameful nights did not change the love she had for him. At the same time, she knew that her situation was one which she was undeserving of. She knew she needed to escape her torment. Moreover, she wanted to escape it. She wanted so much to reclaim the joyful, carefree life she had once had, and yet, she never did.

It can be said with truth that there were times when she did leave her husband, masking her love for him with her own self-preservation. However, in the end, when he came to her, morose and teary-eyed, begging her to return, she did. It was her love for him which killed her in the end, and her husband's hand had caused her demise.

* * * * *

After he finished telling me the story, he asked me,

"Do you understand what I am trying to tell you about life?"

I thought about this question for a few moments, rolling it around in my head, trying to create a response which simply was not going to come to me. Finally, I told him that I did not. He sighed and said to me,

"The moral of the story which I have just told you is that we must hold what we have and what we want on a high pedestal in life. When we lose our dreams and posessions, it is often very difficult, and sometimes, even impossible, to get them back. And among the valuable possessions which you still have is youth, so appreciate it while it lasts."

As he spoke to me, I realized that he was correct. Of all of my worldly possessions, the one which recieved the least though and praise was my youth. And so, I allowed the old man to talk to me for the rest of the last shift I was required to fullfill at the Sagebrush Home for the Elderly. He taught me many great secrets about life that day, and of them, this was the most meaningful. So, as I exited the home for the final required time, I decided that the motto which continually runs through my inner monologue during life must be 'carpe dium.' Sieze the day, and never let it go to waste, for our time is something which no amount of money can ever buy back.