| Sharing Moments - Page -3- |
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Gene and Shelagh November 1, 2003 |
| This writing was composed by Mary Kitchen in honour of James, "Little Jim" |
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| Recently in Hamilton, elite athletes competed in bicycle races. Whirling wheels hypnotized watchers and I thought of the circle of life. THE DINNEEN TEAM RACE - Mary Kitchen - October 28, 2003 There we all are, legs pumping furiosly, whirring along the track. Suddenly Jimmy's bicycle wobbles and he pulls out of the crowded pack. Hastily he zips ahead and we watch as mechanics tinker and tap as they try to keep his cycle roadworthy. His bicycle is not old, nor is it abused, but does concern us as it does not respond to workers efforts. Jimmy is tense and straining, struggling, he stays the course. Hope is high, we cheer him on. Serious difficulties develop and experts come forward with tools that cut and burn. We cringe and watch and pray. While we pedal on, storm clouds burst and the track inclines sharply. Darkness falls; thunder roars. We see Jimmy's face as lightning flashes. Pelting rain does not obscure the sweat, the blood, the tears. How can this go on? Now his cycle lurches, then lunges. Jim and Janet are close behind but they cannot stop the terrifying ride. They reach out with nourishment and warm hands. Their eyes are red. Their throats are dry. They pedal on! Heart and lungs on fire. We close in and hover near, but we cannot stop the pain. Through a foggy daybreak we see through our dispair, the mechanics throwing up their hands. THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING! The trail now drops and declines. Fatigue is etched on Jimmy's face, but his eyes stay clear and bright. Only through sheer force of character he holds the wheels to the road as the spokes crackle and snap, and the frame shudders. Numbing dread silences us, but does not stop us as we realize Jimmy has no brakes. Down, down the hills he flies! We can scarcely breathe for the pain in our hearts. We pedal on, Jim and Janet push on through red-hot pain and endless fatigue. Far ahead of us, Jimmy rounds a curve and HE IS OUT OF SITE! Horror grips us, we see the finish line! There at the tape, we see the once marvellous cycle that he rode thus far. Hardly recognizable, mangled and blood stained; tires in shreds with no rider in site. Unbearable sorrow slams us to our knees to the earth. WE CRY OUT TO GOD! Jim and Janet struggle to their feet. Together we all realize that just out of site, something wonderful has occurred. Even as Jimmy's bicycle is crashing and crumbling over the finish line, many pairs of strong gentle hands lift him up from the wreck. The sun shines warmly on his face and fresh cool water soothes his cracked lips. They hoist him to their shoulders for the victory laps. He feels a breeze so fresh and sweet, he throws open his arms to embrace it. Old familiar voices, raise cheers of rejoicing. In wonder and joy he feels the wind sweep away every vestige of fatigue, of sweat, of sorrow. Every painful scar of his trip is blown away. Ascending humbly to the podium, he enters a glowing spotlight. Jimmy's soul soars as he reaches out his hands and he hears, "MY SON, MY SON, YOU HAVE FOUGHT THE GOOD FIGHT --- YOU HAVE WON THE RACE!" How we strain our ears to hear, how we peer ahead to see. But for now it is not to be. We pick up our dusty bikes. Some rusty; most worn, and we return to the trail. We still have laps to finish ... some of us few, some many. We will push on for now, but like tired fighter pilots, returning home from battle there will be a gaping hole in our formation. [email protected] [email protected] |
| J. Dinneen November 3, 2003 |