and hold onto the handrail for support, and there’s my wife. This woman, so full of love, so full of kindness, that’s cared for me since we were children. Her soft cheeks, the deep smile lines showing anyone and everyone how she had spent her life, always laughing, always thankful for what’s in front of her.
Rose turns her head, those blue eyes piercing through me as I make my way down the stairs. That look melts my heart. Tears are sliding down my cheeks, in and out of my wrinkles. I have to explain to her before she goes that she’s made life worth living.
Each silver hair on her head sways back and forth. They’re soft and fine like a baby’s. I want to caress them and assure her that everything is going to be okay. I’m not going to let her go. I’m going to keep her here with me forever.
The world starts to tilt. I’m falling, my foot catching on the step, my weight tumbling forward. I try to bring my other leg underneath me to catch myself, but it’s too late.
Rose screams this melodious roar as my right wrist snaps against the floor, the crackling echoing in my ears. I can’t look away from her as the rest of my body seems to hover in mid-air. Rose pushes off the chair, her long-sleeves barely rippling. My hip crunches into a thousand shards of terrific pain. Waves of agony wash through me when my head cracks off the carpeted concrete. My fragile skin splits, a warmth slowly spreading along my face as Rose falls back onto the chair.
My fingers crawl along the fibers, trying to push myself off the ground, but my hip feels like slivers of glass digging into my flesh. I can only raise my head an inch, warm blood dripping down my lips. Rose clutches her chest. Her screams soften with the song as the sun slowly dips beneath the horizon. The last streams of light slide down her body, leaving her once-bright blue eyes forever sparkling in the darkness.
A Note to the Reader
“Every Precious Second” sat in my drawer for four years because I was uncomfortable with the ending. For some reason, I felt compelled to send the story to Don Theye, a new friend who I knew would give an honest opinion. He told me it had to be published, and insisted that I wasn’t allowed to change the ending. I’m honored to have him recording the audio version, and I wish him and his wife Dort all the best.
Writing about death to understand life is something I’ve reserved for my fiction. While I was polishing “Every Precious Second,” a close friend’s mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. This woman has been a second mother to me, and she has touched my life in a profound way. I spent time with her recently, and she gave me a great gift when she shared her story with me. I hope you’ll take a minute to read it.
The Greatest Gift
A few months ago I was talking with Dan, one of my best friends since high school. I told him I’d been meaning to bring my baby boy by his mom’s. He said that’d be great, maybe the visit would cheer her up. She wasn’t feeling very good, had lost a lot of weight.
The next morning I dressed Jake and packed the diaper bag, headed over to Cathy’s, thinking back a few years to all the playdates we went on. Before the girls were in school, I’d take my daughter, Olivia, over to play with Dan’s daughter, Annabelle. Cathy and I would laugh at how odd we must look at the park, but we didn’t care, both of us enjoying each other’s company and loving watching the girls play together, becoming braver, inching out of their shells.
Jake slept most of the ride and wasn’t his usual bubbly self, but I was confident he’d brighten Cathy’s day. She wasn’t feeling well though and stayed in her recliner, unable to soothe Jake. I asked if the doctors knew what was going on. They had no idea and were just throwing out guesses, not overly concerned with such a drastic, unexplainable weight drop.
I went back to my busy life, traveling to gyms, watching my kids, writing at night. Dan calls one day, but we’re eating dinner and I don’t pick up. I know it’s bad news.
He calls again the next day. This time I answer. Pancreatic cancer. Three to six months.
Shit.
Most of my friends still have their parents. I don’t know what to say. I consider Dan a brother, Cathy a second mom. For the first time in her life, Olivia is watching me cry, unable to speak.
I get off the phone and my wife helps me explain what’s going on. “Grandma Cathy is sick. She’s going to die.”
Olivia’s five, she gets what it means. You don’t see that person anymore. She stays positive and says, “At least she’ll have Chloe,” our cat that died two weeks before.
There’s school the next day so Olivia won’t be able to go with me to see Cathy. I ask, “Would you like to make her a nice card or something?”
Olivia gets excited and says she has an idea. She’s going to give Cathy a crystal from her prized collection. I ask if she knows which one she wants to give. She feels her way around the rocks and pulls out a heart-shaped labradorite.
“You sure, isn’t that one of your favorites?”
Olivia nods. “It is my favorite.” She clasps the stone in her hands and holds it to her forehead for fifteen seconds of silence. She hands it to me. “When Grandma Cathy holds it she’ll feel my love.”
The next morning we work on the card before school. She tells me what art supplies she needs, lets me cut out the heart she drew. I get to lay down some glue, but everything else is her, even the words, which are difficult to read. “I hope we can see each other.” I need to get going but Olivia has one last thing to write. “Grandma Cathy you are the best.”
I tell Olivia how nice a card it is and what it means to me, but I say she doesn’t need to give the crystal, especially her favorite one. I don’t want her giving up something to please me. Then she looks at me like I just don’t get it. “She’s like another Grandma.”
I hadn’t been sure whether or not I should bring Jake, but I figure he’d be a cute distraction, a shield, something for me to hold on to. So I don’t chicken out on the drive, I turn up the radio, think of Olivia’s statement, how it was just like me claiming Cathy as a second mom.
It’s strange not having Cathy greet us at the front door. She’s in the bedroom packed with people circling her bed, sitting on it, giving her hugs. I don’t want to interrupt, but she lights up when see me and Jake. She even introduces me as one of her sons, which always makes me feel special. She tells everyone that I’m an author, how proud she is of me. She says I should write down her story and I say I’d be glad to.
During the visit there are so many people that stop by, stories of other people that already did. I’d forgotten how loved Cathy is. No wonder she’s in such good spirits. Jake senses it and goes to Cathy, climbs on her, studies her mouth as she talks to him.
I tell her what she means to me and that I love her and she tells me the same. I try not to cry when I give her Olivia’s card and crystal. She holds the crystal to her heart and says without a doubt she feels the love.
The next day I call Dan, ask him if his mom was serious, if she’d really like me to write something about her. I don’t feel like I could do it justice, but I’m happy to try. Last thing I want to do is take up her time.
Dan says, “That’s all she has right now.”
“Yeah, but it’s limited. I didn’t want her wasting it on me.” And I honestly don’t know if I can handle it, but Cathy’s like a mom so anything she wants.
It’s our first day and I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t bring Jake as my shield, my happy little distraction. It’s just me, my notepad and pen. I’m not even thoughtful enough to bring a gift, something she probably won’t be able to eat. I don’t want to go inside the house.
Again there are visitors, but they give us privacy. Cathy looks great, she’s smiling, she points at the tray beside her, Olivia’s heart within reach. She picks it up and says, “I tell everyone about this heart, about this wonderful little girl that gave it to me.” She makes me promise I’ll tell Olivia what it means to her.
I promise, appreciate how thoughtful Cathy is. I take note how important it is for her to make others feel special.
Cathy becomes serious, tells me, “I want you to write my story and do the eulogy.”
Dan had already told me, but I can’t talk. I keep nodding when she tells me I don’t have to do it if I don’t want to. I go through some tissues and tell her I’d be honored.
I haven’t figured out the best way to do the interview so I ask Cathy if there’s anything particular she wants to talk about. She tells me I’m the writer. I treat her like a fighter interview and start at the beginning. Where were you born and raised? How many siblings? What were those early years like? Was she always this happy, loving person that people were pulled to?
There were some happy memories, but also some bad. Any time she’d go over a rough one, I’d share one of my own. There were a lot of tears from both of us, happy and sad.
I love how her face lights up as she relives adventures with her children, trips across the country. We laugh at old memories, teaching me, a white-knuckled fifteen-year-old, to drive in Death Valley. That one’s always good for a laugh.
We talk about each of her children, what they mean to her, how wonderful they are. We talk about religion, and I’m overjoyed to see her faith, the way she sees God in everything. The serenity, calmness, the absolute happiness on her face, how much love and joy she feels. There’s no fear of death, she’s going to Heaven.
There are fears, but those are all for her family, how they’ll react to her passing. The grandchildren are the biggest concern, what about little Annabelle. I tell her that’s nonsense, that we don’t need the physical body to feel the spirit. Even though there was a stretch of years where I didn’t see Cathy, one simple memory would bring her right back. Annabelle and the other kids will always remember her and feel her presence. She will always be a part of them, that love does not die.
We take a break after a few hours, more people stop by to visit. I talk with Kathleen, Cathy’s youngest daughter’s friend from high school. She visits at least three times a week, tells me of others who stop by. Neighborhood boys who lie in bed with Cathy and call her Grandma, messages from others who’ve only met Cathy a couple times but still feel so drawn to her.
I head back in the room and we talk about all the people she’s affected, how incredible it is to see all the love people have for her. You expect that from family members, but this is ridiculous. I say, “That is what life is all about. Think of everyone whose life you made a difference in.” I tell her what she did for me, in what a bad place I’d been and there’s no telling what might have happened without someone like her.
Cathy becomes serious. “Why is that? Is it because I’m too nice and let them get away with things?” She really wants to know.
I can’t deny that Dan and I got away with some stuff at their house, but that’s not the reason I love and respect her. I guarantee her that’s not why these other people do either. I’d always figured it had something to do with how happy Cathy always was, but it’s now obvious it’s so much more than that.
I see it when I watch others come in, how Cathy always makes it about them. How beautiful they look, how nice they are, how much their visit means. Cathy is incredible at getting people to see their own worth. Not only does she let them know they are worthy of love, she tells them why. And she’s not afraid to hug, the huge kind that envelops you, makes you feel great all day.
After three hours we decide to call it quits. Neither of us can believe the stories we told, both of us so grateful to get them off our chest. She’s more beautiful at that moment than I’ve ever seen her, and it’s because I’m looking at who she really is. This woman is love.
By sharing her story with me, by opening her life, Cathy has reminded me that we must cherish every precious second. The greatest gift is our time. Use it wisely. Appreciate it when someone shares theirs with you. Spend each day like our last and focus on the moment to make our life so much richer.
Whether it’s your kid, your parent, someone you’re thinking about, when was the last time you told them not only that you loved them, but why you love them? What’s so special about them? Point out something that they can’t see, and don’t wait until tomorrow.
And when you’re done with that, I would love it if you could send Cathy a quick note of encouragement. I know it would really make her day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I’m a father and a husband, a brother and a son. I’m an Ivy League grad who worked in a warehouse, an MMA fighter with too many defeats. I’m the bouncer and bodyguard, the drunk guy in the fight. The jailer and the jailed, the guilty and innocent.
I’m a writer shaped by influences, too many to count. I grew up on King and Koontz while force-fed the Bible. I narrate Dr. Seuss and Disney nearly every night. Like you, I've seen things I wished I hadn’t, heard some truths I won’t forget.
Writing is my heavy bag, the sparring partner that doesn’t punch back. It’s where I shed my armor and cast off the blindfold, take a look at myself and the world around me. The writing takes me wherever it wants. Dark alley or dinner table, classroom or morgue. I go along for the ride and try to capture the moment, show life like it is.
COMING SOON