December 2010
Jess’ speech was amazing. One of the most intricately written speeches of today. He talked about the wonderful best friend he had in dad. I mean he studied creative writing, I did not expect less. Right after him, mom talked about the wonderful man that loved and cared for her. The love of her life. The man who was a father to her children. A man whose mistakes taught him the importance of family. She went on and talked about the best memories of their marriage which include the unexpected birth of the twins. She talked about how my relationship with dad made her the happiest mother in the world. In tears she talked about how much she missed dad and how much we’ll all miss him. Then she talked about the legacy he left her, his children and the world.
I think mom covered all the bases but I don’t understand why she put me next and last to give a speech. I’m standing in front of this crowd of staring eyes and waiting ears. No words to express and a fast beating heart. Screaming and running out of the church is not an option unless I’m planning to be a YouTube laughingstock by tomorrow morning. The applause ended more than 30 seconds ago and the clock is about to hit the one-minute margin without one word from me. I’m trying my best not to make any eye contact with the people sitting on those pews. My public speech teacher always said to look at the top of people’s heads to not get distracted. But the amount of bald headed man in this crowd is definitely a distraction. I put my head down to be less distracted in hope that when I look back up my inspiration will just flow out of my mouth.
Speak, I whisper to myself.
I lift my head to face the crowd. And our eyes meet. My ‘new found friend’. The nickname Zaine, Lucille and I gave my travel and survival companion. The girl I met at the park. Most of all, today she is my inspiration. The sight of her takes me back to our conversation at the park. Her drawing, the father-son time, and the whole spiel about cherishing memories. We are now staring at each other. She lets her teeth show when she smiles at me. I smile back, look down. Then look back up.
“A friend of mine once told me that ‘At the end of a life, memories are there to remind us of the purpose of each life…to impact another for the better.” I say. Smiles spring from many faces as they realize how much truth can be found in that simple sentence. They’re probably thinking of the different ways Dad impacted their lives for the better.
“Dad impacted my life. He impacted Leola and Lila’s lives. He impacted mom’s life. He impacted your life. You are here as a testimony to that fact. Whether he impacted you through someone else or by being in direct contact with you, he impacted each person in this room for the better. To be stronger, to be more determined, to be wiser, to be a striver, to be a leader, to be a husband, to be a father, to be a loving family member, to be a loving friend, and most of all to live a life that impact others into being better.” I add.
“I celebrate every memory I have of Ilan Vanderson; the man I call ‘Dad’ because any lesser title can never suit him. No speech could exactly express the magnitude of the great impact he has had in my life. So here is along sentence that can do it. I want to be like my dad and impact lives for the better but I also want to be an even better man to leave a legacy that impacts more lives. Thank You.”
Zaine’s not wiping tears from his eyes. He is wiping them on Lucille’s blouse. The whole family, Lucille and Jess are shedding a few tears. I get off the podium trying to keep my own tears from showing and make my way back to mom’s side. Pastor Baker goes on the podium.
“Thank you son. Thank you everyone. Let’s all stand for the prayer of thanksgiving on this Memory day. Let’s pray.” Pastor Baker says. “Lord, thank you. We are thankful for your mercies that endure forever. We are thankful for our lives and the breath you breathe into us every morning.” he prays.
“On this special day, the day we remember the gift of life you gave your people through Ilan Vanderson, we thank you. We thank you for his life, for the blessing he was and will continue to be and we thank you for the legacy he has left on this earth. I pray Lord for the family and friends present here, let your peace that surpasses all understanding walk with them as they continue in the path you have laid in front of them. In all things, may you get all the glory. In Jesus name I’ve prayed and the people say, Amen!”
At the end of the prayer, people come to greet my family. About ten minutes into greeting everyone, my thoughts wonder off to my ‘newfound friend who is standing by the door of the church. She is chatting with Cindy and Cristian. I shake hands here and there and say many “thank you” but my thoughts are mostly in finding a way to talk to this girl before she leaves. I don’t know why she came to the service. Maybe to support me. Which is quite thoughtful of her. I can’t let her go without saying thank you or even asking her name.
Leola and Lila come by my side. I take them both in my arms. They’re getting heavier day by day but it’s not a good enough reason for me not to take them in my arms once in a while. I place a kiss on each of their cheeks. When I turn my head to spot if the girl is still in the church, our eyes meet, she smiles and walks out with Cindy. She’s leaving and I won’t get to talk to her. Another missed opportunity. There’s got to be a time when I finally meet her and get to speak with her. I have to make time and make it happen no matter what.
“I wish I had told my father all those great things when he was still alive. Why do we always wait until it’s too late to tell the people we love how much we appreciate them?” I ask him.
“Because we get lost in living every day, instead of appreciating every moment with the ones will love. Don’t worry I have been guilty of it too.”Dieudonné explains.
I run my hand through Miradel’s hair. “I love you, daddy.” Miradel expresses to me while placing puzzle pieces on the right spot. I kiss her forehead and continue the story.
After the service everyone joins us for the party. Even my ‘new found friend’. She’s sitting with aunty Defie and it seems aunty is very fond of her. They seem very close. Like close friends.
I haven’t spoken to her yet. I’ve been busy making sure that everything’s going smoothly. From time to time I catch her smile when I look her way and sometimes lose track of my work. Daydreaming of our first encounter. Our first conversation.
“I heard you were in Virginia a few weeks ago. How was it?” Uncle Mike springs behind me. I’m happy to know that he doesn’t know the real reason behind my visit. And I prefer to keep it that way.
“Oh, it was good, kind of chilly though. It seems like the farther north you go, the colder it gets. I don’t know how you guys do it.”
“It wasn’t that cold. Have you ever been to Pennsylvania during the fall or the winter? Yeah that’s cold.” he jokes.
The doorbell rings. “I got it” mom says as she reaches for the doorknob.
Mom opens the door and in walks Eli Chambers, his girlfriend about half his age and his daughter Ruth. Eli is Dad’s old friend and teammate. But to me Eli Chambers is the main person I blame for destroying Dad’s life by introducing him to the crazy world of drugs, alcohol, and mischievous behaviors. I also blame him for not only introducing Dad to all his mistakes and bad doing, but for letting dad introduce me to their crazy world. He made foolish promises to get Dad into bigger circles of powerful people but got him to lose seven years of a powerful bond with the most important people in his life.
“What is he doing here?” I say in anger.
“Cool down. He was invited.” Uncle Mike orders.
You didn’t pay attention to the list, did you?” Uncle Mike whispers. He’s right, I did read the list mom gave me but did not pay much attention to it. If I had I would have erased his name. “He doesn’t deserve to be here. He didn’t even come to the funeral.” I exclaim.
“Let it go. It’s neither the time nor the place,” Uncle Mike orders holding my chest, halting me from making any steps for the door.
“Maisha, can you come please?” he tells my ‘new found friend’. Processing. My head processes Uncle Mike’s word
s while she finishes her conversation with Leola and Lila and walks towards us. Her name cannot be Maisha because Maisha is the girl in my dreams. But Uncle Mike said the name exactly the way people say it in my dreams.
“What did you call her?” I whisper to Uncle Mike.
“Maisha is my name” Maisha says as she extends her hand.
“Lod,” I say. We shake hands.
“We are finally meeting. I have heard a lot about you.” she says in the most beautiful African accent with the most beautiful smile on her face.
“Oh really?” I say unsure of what she means.
“Don’t worry, with me she only spoke of meeting at the park the boy who survived the accident. And I told her she had nothing to worry about. He’s not a creep. At least that’s what I…think” Uncle Mike jokes, grins and walks to the kitchen. Now everything makes sense, Maisha’s shrink is Uncle Mike. What a devious man! He was trying to get me to spill my secret without saying that he knew all along. He always seems to know when something is up.
“What else have you heard?” I ask.
“Well, I met your aunt Cindy, your uncle Cristian. I also met your grandparents, a few of your cousins, your sisters and your mom about two months ago.”
That’s exactly a month after the accident. They all probably didn’t tell me about her because they judged that I wasn’t ready to cross that ocean of memories. They often underestimate me. Well this time I will prove them wrong. I am strong and I don’t need anyone’s help to start up this friendship and keep it going despite the dreadful remembrances Maisha and I share.
“You pretty much met all of them and I would prefer not to know what they said about me,” I joke. “But I’m sorry that I scared you that day at the park.”
“Oh no, it’s okay. I was not scared,” she answers.
“I just wanted to meet you and get to know the person with whom I share survival memories.” I express.
“It’s not a good memory even if we do share It,” she says.
“But it is the first puzzle piece of the memories that connect us.” Hearing myself talk resonates differently in my mind.
“Lod, your presence is requested,” mom shouts from the living room. “Come!”
“Sorry,” I excuse myself.
“No problem, go ahead.” she tells me.
When I enter the living room, it seems like the whole crowd lingered there the entire time listening to mom’s stories of dad. “Someone has requested that you tell of your most memorable memory of your father.” she smiles. I can see Uncle Mike’s hand wave from afar with a grin on his face, which tells me he requested my story.
“My favorite memory of dad. Um…Actually my favorite memory of Dad is two memories that are connected.” I say as I sit on the arm of the chair mom is sitting on. I go on and tell the story of my 200-piece puzzle. When I was four, dad took a picture of me playing soccer and went with it to a puzzle maker who designed a puzzle of my picture. The day he brought it home, we put the puzzle together but missed one piece. That day we looked around the house to find the missing piece but never found it. Dad confirmed that he brought 200 pieces because he saw each piece be placed one by one in the box. For the next months we looked everywhere but didn’t find it.
We decided to keep the unsolved puzzle intact until we find that missing piece. Nine years later, after a sweaty soccer game with friends, Dad and I got home to find Leola and Lila playing with puzzle pieces. Then we realized that those were my puzzle pieces that mom put back in the box during one of our moves. Dad took Lila in his arms and I took Leola in my arms and we sat for the rest of the day putting the puzzle together. At the end we did not expected to have the last piece, but there it was in the box. Dad and I gave out a short laugh at the sight of the piece, then I picked it up and placed it with the rest of the puzzle. I remember telling dad that the piece was a little bit messed up and I remember him saying “The piece might be bent, scratched, disheveled and scarred but it’s still part of the puzzle. You need to find it and rejoice while doing the puzzle because the last piece has been found. We’re done. We finished the puzzle.” After that Dad stood and started to dance. I didn’t even think twice of how foolish we looked and joined him. We busted some pretty cool moves that day. We kept dancing even when mom came in the room to take the girls. On her way out of the living room, she turned and said that nine years ago she had found the piece and placed it under the board on which we did the puzzle. But we did not look hard enough to find it even though we had looked everywhere. Her comment stopped us for a second but we resumed to our dancing as she went up the stairs with the girls in her arms.
At the end of the story, they ask me to show off a few of the moves Dad and I did. And as soon as my hands and feet start moving, I hear laughs bark up from every corner of the room. And when I look on my right, there is Maisha laughing hysterically.
“Great memories. And the beginning of another crazy adventure.” I say.
“Life with Maisha is always the beginning of an adventure. The journey was really just beginning.” Dieudonné affirms.
“Oh yes!” I agree. Miradel rests her head on my chest. I look outside and see the sun go down.“ You know what; we should have something to eat.”
“Yes, I’m hungry.” Miradel says. “What about having dinner at my place. You have both welcomed me in your home and I would like to return the favor.” Dieudonné suggests.
“Miradel and I would love too.” I say. “And we can continue the story, here, same time tomorrow.”
“That would be great. I’m excited to hear more.” Dieudonné approves.
END OF THE FIRST DAY OF PUZZLE SOLVING
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