by Curtis Bunn
We can talk about it soon. I’d love to catch up with you and see what the world has in store for you. Thanks for sharing your number. I will use it.
Between now and then, I will be smiling and looking forward to talking to you.
And in those words, I was in flight—my spirits, my energy, my outlook. A man who truly loves a woman, truly loves that woman… forever. With Kathy, she was the one love that I had in my life, despite several relationships. I dated women and saw the potential of true love, but, inevitably, something happened that turned me the other way.
I was not silly enough to believe that it was all on them. Maybe it was me. I never was good at faking anything, especially my feelings. My feelings for them reached a point and leveled off or faded. I never felt like that with Kathy, even after we went our separate ways.
I actually, unintentionally, measured other women to her. Not in how they looked or even acted, but in how they made me feel. That was where they failed. I didn’t feel totally connected or in tune with them. I tried. But it just wasn’t there. Funny thing was that I couldn’t see or feel it until I was out of the relationship. When I was in it, I was in, trying to make it happen. But I was able to look back on it and realize the women, good women, just didn’t move me like Kathy had.
So now here she was, back in my life…sort of. It made me smile to myself. It made me feel good. I hadn’t had a lot of moments like that.
CHAPTER NINE
THE FUNERAL
It rained the morning of Walter’s funeral, and I thought that was appropriate. The sky was crying.
I recruited Coach Mosby, Coach Wilkerson and four students that really appreciated Walter to be pallbearers. I decided I’d rather just observe.
I pulled out as a pallbearer because I went to bed with so much on my mind. I wondered whether it was morbid for me to think so much about death. I was going to a funeral knowing my funeral was coming soon. It was too much.
Maya asked to accompany me to the service. My daughter was connected to me. She knew it would be a tough day, in more ways than one. So she picked me up and we made our way early. I wanted a quiet moment with Walter.
The funeral director was the only one outside the chapel when we arrived. Candice had not even gotten there. I asked if I could go in and see Walter, and he said, “Have your time with your friend.”
I walked into the small chapel with some apprehension. An illuminated cross hung on the off-white wall at the front of the room. Below it was a cream-colored coffin where Walter’s body rested. I walked between the two sections of pews toward him, confidently at first, but more and more feebly the closer I got.
My eyes never left Walter. More and more, his dead body started to look like me. By the time I got to the side of the coffin, I was almost breathless. I was looking at myself.
I had to shake my head to clear my vision and see Walter, which helped me catch my breath. He looked calm. He looked at peace, as if he was where he wanted to be. But all dead people look like that in their coffins.
“Walter, man, I’m so sorry I did not see this coming. I wish you had said something to me. The world is not better without you. I will always remember you. You told me once on the golf course, ‘From the errors of others, a wise man corrects his own.’ That never left me.
“Learn from other people’s mistakes. I am trying to live by that now, with whatever time I have left. I met your son and your brother. That’s all I’ll say about that. I will say I’m a little mad at you. A lot mad. You didn’t have to do this. You could have told me what you were thinking. We could have worked it out…
“You were a good man and your students loved you. That’s what I will always remember. And thank you for your generosity to me. Thank you very much. Rest in peace, my friend.”
I patted Walter on his shoulder, which was paying homage to him. That’s how he always said “goodbye” to me when we were ready to leave the golf course. I turned around, and Maya was standing there, quivering.
“What’s wrong, baby?” I said. It was surprising she was so upset about Walter’s death.
I walked her to the third pew and sat her down, my arm around her. A funeral home employee approached with a box of tissues. I grabbed some and wiped her face.
“It’s OK, Maya. It’s OK.” I held my daughter tight and firm. Finally, she jolted me.
“Daddy, I feel so bad. All I could think about was you being in that coffin.”
My heart sank. I didn’t know what to do except hold her and cry with her. At some point soon, it would be me in that coffin, and that would be a painful day for her. Seeing Walter there only reminded her of my plight.
“Sweetheart, it’s OK,” I said, even though I didn’t even know what I meant. I felt silly trying to offer comforting words because I didn’t have any. So I just held her as people started to come in and take seats around us. Surely, they thought she was upset about Walter.
After several minutes, we both composed ourselves, wiped our faces dry and sat up. We held hands.
“I love you so much, Daddy.”
“I know. And I love you so much, too, Maya.”
Somehow, those words steadied us even more, and soon the services began. It was mostly a blur. I could not keep my mind from wondering to what it would be like when my funeral came in the coming months. It was such a unique and awkward and terrible position to sit. It struck me that I could arrange my own funeral—a morbid, strange reality.
As the preacher preached and someone read a scripture and someone else performed a song, I orchestrated in my head what would happen at my services. I couldn’t turn it off. I tried to concentrate but I couldn’t control my thoughts. And it gave me anxieties.
I pictured my daughter in the front row, broken. I pictured my father totally devastated. My heart ached. It ached for Walter and it ached for my own funeral that was to come…the pain it would cause.
Tears flowed. It was not until the preacher asked for volunteers to speak about Walter that I regrouped. I waited for someone to step up, waited for his son or his brother to share something, anything, that would shed a light on him that was favorable. I looked around and found Candice, and she nodded her head for me to go first. And so I did.
Maya patted me on my leg as I gathered myself and headed to the front of the church. The thirty or so people were hushed, making what I said in my mind that much more important.
“That man, Walter, was my friend. We shared two common passions: golf and students. We played golf together a lot, and on the golf course he was at peace. He loved the game, the competition, the camaraderie that came with it. We did most of our talking on the golf course, and a lot of laughing. It wasn’t until the last few days when I realized that I hardly ever saw Walter smile as much or talk as much than when he was on the golf course.
“The only other place where he seemed to feel like he belonged was in school in general and in the classroom in particular. It was there, among the students, that he felt accomplished and excited and appreciated. He was frustrated and disappointed when he felt he did not get enough out of a student and he was delighted to see the growth in the young people he taught and mentored.
“You probably didn’t know this: Walter Williamson was a rich man. He invested early in life and made significant money. Millions. Instead of retiring and moving to an island and playing golf all day, he stayed here, in Southeast D.C., at Ballou High, to teach students and help them get their life on the right track.
“That says everything about who he was, about his heart. I was at the reading of his will yesterday. He donated hundreds of thousands of dollars to Ballou High School to set up a college scholarship fund for seniors.”
Those gathered clapped loudly as I looked at Walter’s son and brother.
“That’s commitment. That’s caring. And that’s who Walter was. Remember that about him. Remember that he cared.”
And I was done. Wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to say, but the thoughts just came to me. I did
want to send a message to Donovan and Walter Jr. Candice and students, one-by-one, came up and gave moving accounts of how Walter impacted their lives.
I glanced over at Donovan and Walter Jr. and they wore expressions that seemed like shame. That made me feel good.
Maya and I let go of the horrifying thoughts of my funeral. Well, at least we weren’t crying all over each other anymore. My mind did fade though: What would people say about me at my funeral?
That thought dogged me for days beyond Walter’s funeral. What had I done with my life? Before all this, I had not contemplated my legacy. I made sure I was a good father to my daughter and a loyal son to my mom and dad. Otherwise, I just kind of went about my day-to-day. I had a purpose, but not an overall ambition. That changed. I had only a few months to live…but they were going to be worthwhile.
CHAPTER TEN
FAMILY
The repast was supposed to bring relief. You’re sad, but the dearly departed had been buried and you could finally begin the process of healing. It didn’t begin until then, when we celebrated life informally with food and light conversation and fond remembrances.
Wasn’t that way for Maya and me. Seemed like at the same time we started thinking about what the repast would be like after my death, and she started crying again and I was overcome with emotions that were hard to articulate.
Part of me was so scared that I was virtually numb. It was inconceivable that something was growing inside me that would kill me. The only thing that kept me from collapsing and rolling up into a corner was that Maya was there. I didn’t want her to see me that way.
Part of me was angry; I was only forty-five and I had plans. They weren’t big, grandiose plans, but they were my plans nonetheless. And I wanted to live them out. See my daughter marry. Play with my grandkids. See the Redskins win another Super Bowl. Observe President Obama years later, after all the mess he endured from racist whites and overly demanding blacks. I wanted to play more golf at Pebble Beach and TPC Sawgrass.
What’s up with God that he would allow me to be taken in the prime of my life, with a daughter who loves me and who I have loved and helped to raise? I never had any problems with God before, not even when he allowed my mother to die so suddenly, without warning.
Part of me was sad. I wasn’t ready to die and I certainly was pained by how broken my daughter was. It…it killed me—to use a poor expression—to see her like that. Alzheimer’s wrecked my grandmother’s life early, and it was devastating to see her lose who she was. I was concerned about how my daughter would live in my absence. I never really knew, but they said my grandmother lost her mind when my young cousin who was in her care died. It crippled me to think that Maya would be similarly affected.
So while others smiled and told stories about Walter, I walked my weeping daughter outside under the mean D.C. sun and comforted her at a time when I needed comforting.
“Baby, I remember a prayer Pastor Henson told me to recite when I was feeling like I do now,” I told her.
She wiped her face and pulled her head up. “You do? What is it?”
I hugged my daughter with both arms and pressed her up against my chest.
“Father God, I know you have called me home. My time is coming. Give me strength and courage to walk in Your path in these final days. Thank you for the blessing of life. And thank you for the blessing of death, for I know the greatest gift is coming home to You.”
I was leery of reciting it because I thought Maya would break down. But Pastor Henson was right. The prayer placed the burden of death off of me and placed my faith in the Lord. I never had been a particularly religious man, but my mom embedded into us to pray before bed and to say grace before meals and to understand that God governs all things. And that He makes no mistakes.
“We’ve got to place it in God’s hands and have faith in Him,” I said to Maya. “He doesn’t make mistakes. We’re going to be OK, both of us. We’re going to pull ourselves together, right now, and walk in His path for us. And I’m sure His path does not include us being this upset.”
“I will try, Daddy.” She blew her nose. “But it’s not easy. I mean, you’re my dad. I never thought about life without you. All I’ve ever thought about was you walking me down the aisle when I got married and playing with my children and us going to the Redskins games…forever. It was never going to end. I just can’t believe that’s not going to happen. It’s hard for me to accept it.”
I shook my head as much to distract myself from crying as to express my frustration with it all.
“Let’s go back in, Maya. Let’s have some food. Let’s talk to some people and even laugh. Let’s go live our lives.”
Maya looked at me and, after a few seconds, she smiled. And in that moment—amid all the pain and drama—I saw strength in my daughter. She gathered herself and was willing to push forward. I was proud of her.
“Calvin, I was looking for you,” Candice said as Maya and I re-entered the room. Most people had gone. Not Candice. She was in charge and did a strong job.
“I was trying to get your attention,” Candice said. “Those two got into it.”
“Who?” I asked, but I already knew.
I was embarrassed for them. Chairs were strewn about. A table had all its contents knocked onto the floor. Candice looked on with confusion and disappointment.
After some persuading, I got Donovan and Walter Jr. to come over and listen to me.
“You guys,” I started, “if we weren’t in a chapel right now, I’d bust you upside your heads. This is stupid.”
“You ain’t busting me upside my head,” Walter Jr. said.
“Can you just be quiet for a minute?” I asked. I looked at Maya and Candice and they took my cue for them to leave us alone. When they exited the door, I turned back to the men, who were sitting across from each other.
“I want you both to do me a favor. Look at each other. Don’t say anything. Just look at each other.”
They both frowned, but did as I asked. After a few seconds I asked, “Now, what do you see? Take your anger out of it. What do you see? Who do you see?”
Neither of them said anything.
“What do you see?”
“I see my dad,” Walter Jr. said, finally.
“Ah, huh,” I said. “Donovan?
“I see my brother,” he answered.
“Exactly. Family,” I said. “You look like you could be Donovan’s son and he looks like he could be your father. My point is…you all are blood. Family. And I tell you this: There should be nothing more important than family.”
The men glanced at each other again.
“Family gets on your nerves,” I went on. “Family takes advantage of your niceness. Family disappoints you. But, in the end, no matter what, it’s still your family. You two are connected by Walter and by blood. Nothing should come between that.”
I could tell I had gotten to them but they didn’t know what to say or do. So I took it to another level.
“It’s not too late for you,” I said. “You have to take advantage of today. Not tomorrow, because we know tomorrow might not come. Look at me. I’m dying right here in front of you.”
“What? What do you mean?” Donovan asked.
“I have terminal cancer. Probably have a few more months on this earth. I found out about a month ago and I’ve been struggling with it, as you might imagine. Walter knew. I told him. He told me to live my life. That’s about all he said: Live my life. I think he might have known then he was going to take his life.
“But my point is, you’re still here. You have your health. You have each other and there’s no reason—no reasonable reason—to be at odds. You’re family. I know you wanted Walter’s money. But I also know that you feel bad that he’s gone, that he’s gone and you didn’t do anything to stop him. That’s a guilt you will carry with you the rest of your life.
“At the same time, you can lessen it by coming together. Walter wanted you to be family. You’re his blood, b
oth of you. You want to feel better about letting him down? Don’t let him down now.”
I felt like I had just given a short sermon. But it just flowed out of me. I had a responsibility to Walter. Bringing his son and brother together would be a nice tribute, I figured.
Donovan stood up and extended his hand to his nephew, who looked at it for several seconds before standing up, too. He ignored his uncle’s hand. He moved around the table and went in for an embrace. They hugged each other and cried together, as much for their loss as the feelings they shared about their bond.
I left them there, hugging and crying…and coming together.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PICKING UP THE PIECES
I had another episode that knocked me to my knees. My stomach was so knotted up and throbbing that I buckled to the ground as I went for my walk at Anacostia Park. No one was around, and so I lay there scared that the pain would never let up.
I didn’t pass out this time, which was worse because I had no break from the excruciating pain. I knew then I had to get to Atlanta to get the holistic treatments started. I needed something to fend off these attacks.
It took about thirty minutes of laying on the grass and dirt in the fetal position, praying while looking up at the blue sky painted with picturesque white clouds before the pain subsided. Like the last time, I was scared to stand up for fear it would cause more pain.
Also like the last time, the pain exhausted me. I went home and virtually collapsed on the couch. This time, though, I was even more scared. I was dying. It wasn’t normal pain. It was death pain.
I called Maya.
“I think I’m going to Atlanta this weekend. Catching the bus tomorrow.”
“Dad, what’s wrong? I thought we were going next week.”
“After Walter’s funeral, I’m just ready to get it started, the treatments.”
