“For in that sleep of death what dreams may come”
― William Shakespeare, Hamlet
It was a day like any other, we decided to have our daily walk in the late afternoon.
Our little dog Zebby barked loudly in excitement, as we headed up the hill.
A young man with dark curly hair and harlequin *pants was coming down, we greeted him.
His attire seemed unusual and yet he was quite mesmerizing, I thought nothing of it at the time…
As we carried on walking towards the mouth of the lagoon, a jogger whom we were not acquainted with, came running past, he waived cordially to us. I remember thinking how lithe he was for a man of his age. He was in his sixties, I imagined.
As we approached the car park there was an animated crowd in the distance and we wondered what was going on. It seemed that the jogger had collapsed. He was surrounded by a small group of people trying to help him. They called us over, they were about to put him in the car and take him to the hospital, and they needed our help because he was literally a dead weight. I assumed at the time that these people knew this man.
As I stared at him in horror, I observed how he had begun to turn a bluish-grey and his eyelids flickered. It was as if he had relinquished all the strength in his body and just flopped down onto the dusty earth. I had a feeling at the time that this man was taking his last breath. It was quite disturbing to me because I wasn’t with my son Stevie when he died. I have seen enough episodes of CSI to imagine what the final stages of death look like, but I don’t dwell on that image.
It had probably been just another day for our jogger, and then the unexpected happened.
The amazing thing about it all was that the young man in the harlequin pants who was going down the hill in the opposite direction just a few minutes earlier was there in the crowd. We hadn’t seen him run past us. He had to have sprinted a good 1,5km to have been there to catch the jogger in his final moments. In the commotion, I hadn’t thought about it but his harlequin pants seemed to have made him stand-out in this small gathering of people.
After they sped off in the car, we wandered home in a state of shock, it all happened so quickly.
The investigator in me couldn’t leave it alone, I wanted to know what happened to our jogger. The next day I looked up on our local’s Facebook page and found that he had in fact died. It turned out that our jogger was with a group of people who hadn’t known him.
The question remained, who was the young man in harlequin pants?
I searched around and found some of the other local Samaritans called to duty by something greater than themselves, but not him.
I still look for him on our walks, I still ponder that event. It seems to me that a plan had been put in place to make sure our jogger friend was not alone at his moment of death. Oft times we have been to the very same location at the mouth and there has not been a soul present…
The mystical side of me likes to think that the young man in harlequin pants was an Angel, because he definitely had a kind of beautiful charismatic quality about him.
I just know one thing; he was somewhat unusual for a man of his age. Perhaps he had momentary lost direction when we first saw him, or was he the sign I needed to remind me that love is all around, every minute of every day?
It led me to the conclusion that we are never alone when we die, despite appearances. We are surrounded by multitudes of light beings…