a questionable life

by Luke Lively

  “Your mother was incredible. She was an artist, Jack,” Tina said.

  My focus on the quilt went to Town Hall and the Liberty Bell filling the centerpiece. I felt Tina sliding close to me.

  “Jack, do you remember what you told me your mother put on the baby quilts she made?”

  “Yeah, the baby’s name. She never put her name. It was her way of gifting her work. That was my mom,” I said, still surveying the mammoth work.

  Tina grabbed my arm and repositioned me toward the lower right-hand corner of the quilt. “Do you see anything? Look closely.”

  I stared closely at the corner of the gigantic tapestry. The scene was a neighborhood with a gaslit street light. I bent over and looked closer. There in the right-hand corner of Philadelphia’s Bicentennial Quilt were the initials JDO—my initials. Below the bold letters, written in a cursive style were the words, “With love, Mom.” I stood straight and looked at Tina. Tears were streaming down her face. My own tears poured unashamedly down. We both took a step forward and held each other tightly.

  “She loved you so much, Jack. You were her life. She was proud of you. I’m sorry I never showed you before now.”

  I kept holding Tina. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw the quilted scene. I recognized the homes. It was my old neighborhood with our small house in the middle. A boy was sitting on the porch.

  It was me.

  We walked out of the museum to our favorite downtown restaurant. It was where we’d had our first official date, but I couldn’t remember the last time we had eaten there. “It’s been a while,” I said as we walked inside. The restaurant had not changed much. As the hostess walked us through the large main dining area, I realized we were being taken to the same table where we had eaten our first meal together.

  “You didn’t . . .” I started to say, but before I could finish I could see Tina shaking her head.

  “That’s luck,” she said.

  “No, fate,” I said.

  It was a relaxed lunch. We talked without the weight of the past hanging over us. I was telling Tina about how I had learned to fish. She was telling me about her involvement with Habitat for Humanity. They were the lives we had hoped to live when we had first met.

  My cell phone began to ring. As I flipped open the phone and said “Hello” I heard Ann’s voice. I instantly knew what had happened.

  Benny had died.

  “Will you speak at his funeral?” Ann asked after giving me the terrible news. She spoke in her usual calm voice. I hoped that I could retain that same strength. I was devastated. “He asked if you would say a few words—but to keep it short.”

  I could hear her smile over the phone. I was certain that’s what he had said. “It would be my honor,” I said, still in a state of shock. I pictured Benny telling Ann—for me to “keep it brief.” I smiled. I told her I would return tomorrow afternoon and come by her home.

  “One of the last things Benny asked was how your son was doing,” Ann said. “We prayed together for him and for you and your family. We talked about Ben and the foundation. Then he laid back down and died in his sleep very peacefully.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “He was in so much pain. He’s better off now. When I saw he was gone, I knew he was at a better place.”

  “He was smiling,” I said without thinking.

  “Yes, you knew it would be like that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, he had told me.”

  I held myself together until the conversation ended. I looked across the table at Tina.

  “I’m sorry, Jack,” she said, understanding what had happened. I excused myself and walked to the bathroom. I splashed water on my face. Looking into the mirror, I saw the eyes of a person I had battled my entire life. The war had taken a toll on everyone involved. I had won the most recent battles, but life was not any easier. Benny had told me it would be that way and to never give up. I understood what he was saying.

  On the drive back to Tina’s she said, “I wish I could have met him.”

  “I wish you could have,” I said. “There will never be another Benny Price.”

  We spent a quiet evening together, Tina, Jessica, Joshua, and me. Before I went to the couch to try to find a way to sleep, I walked in and sat down on the edge of the bed beside Joshua. He was already asleep. As I looked at him, I brushed his hair from his forehead. I couldn’t remember the last time I had any physical contact with my son. Other than holding his hand briefly at the hospital, the Oliver family tradition of removing emotions and being detached had remained unchanged. And then a memory from the past exploded in my thoughts. When I was very young, I had a severe fever. I was almost delirious from the high body temperature. But I remembered my father staying up with me all night, sitting by my bed. My father cared, I thought, but he had difficulties expressing himself. “Just like me,” I said in a hushed tone. Hearing me speak, Joshua turned his head and opened his eyes, still somewhere between sleep and awake.

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” I said. “Son, I love you.”

  “I love you, Dad,” he said as he turned his head to fall back into a deep sleep. Whether it was exhaustion or a sense that I needed the rest, my demons stayed away that night.

  I slept in peace.

  The next morning Tina drove me to the airport. As she pulled up in front of the departure gates I asked her to keep an open mind about me.

  “I’m doing my best,” Tina said. “I’m sorry about your friend. Call me if you need anything.”

  I looked in her eyes and leaned over and kissed her on her forehead. “I love you, Tina,” I said. Stepping back from the car, I continued to look at her, waiting for eye contact. Without looking at me she turned and quickly drove away.

  As the plane traveled in a partial circle over Philly turning to the south, I saw the city I had called home for almost all of my life. There were many memories there, both good and bad, I thought as the powerful engines thrust the plane upward, leaving Philly behind. I was going to my new home to witness my best friend being laid to rest. Ann had asked me to eulogize Benny. How could I ever “keep it short?” I wondered as I looked out the window.

  I left the Roanoke airport and drove to Benny and Ann’s home. Several of Ann’s friends were there. She introduced me to each of them. I had met two of them when I attended church with Benny and Ann on occasion. One of her friends looked out of place. She was much younger, probably my age I guessed. Her name was Rebecca.

  After talking with Ann for a few minutes about Joshua, I was ready to leave, so I wouldn’t intrude on her time with her friends. But she asked me to stay. She said she wanted to talk to me for a few minutes alone.

  Thirty minutes later her friends were leaving. Rebecca was the last to go. She seemed somewhat distant but clearly saddened and in pain. After they left, Ann and I sat down in the living room of their modest home.

  “Benny wanted me to ask you if you would help me with Ben’s foundation,” she said. “Everything we own will be finding its way into the foundation after I’m gone.”

  The foundation was the Benjamin Franklin Price Jr. Foundation. Benny had started it and had raised over two million dollars over the years to help fund a trauma center for head injuries at Roanoke Memorial Hospital. A large portion of the money had come directly from Benny and Ann. The foundation sponsored one of the Roanoke Valley’s largest golf tournaments to raise awareness for the cause and to gather more contributions. It was hard to count how many lives had been saved by the special trauma center. I told Ann it would be my honor to help.

  “There’s one more item, Jack. Benny wanted me to give you this letter. He wrote it hours before he died.” Ann handed me the two-page folded letter. I opened it and read:

  Dear Jack,

  I write this with a smile on my face. My time here is coming to a close.

  I am thinking of you and your family. My one last hope and prayer is that Joshua recover
s fully and your family can find common ground to begin a new life together.

  We have shared many things over the past year. I have told you many times that my life was very similar to yours. I know you thought I was just saying that to help you overcome the guilt you had locked inside of you. But it was not a deception. It is the truth.

  I lived a greedy, selfish life. I hurt my family. I spent too much time at work. I ignored the friends and people in my life who mattered most just to gain power and feed my ego. My life was much more despicable than you can imagine.

  You would have thought years in a bamboo cell had taught me to appreciate life. But it took the loss of my son and a war inside me to change me. Finally, I let go. I began to be honest with the man in the mirror. I began to question my life.

  I learned from experience, experiences I tried my best to share with you. No one is perfect in this world, but we can learn from and help everyone we meet in our life’s journey. That is one of the lessons I pass on to you.

  You have changed. I am so proud of you. I am sure your family is proud of you. The journey we shared was brief but held tremendous value for me. I hope it has for you.

  I wish you a long, happy life. I will pray in my final moments of consciousness here on this Earth that you and your family will be together again. Never give up hope, Jack.

  Do not be sad. This is not an end, but a beginning. I am the happiest man alive in my final hours. I am getting ready to see my son. I’ll see you again someday, Jack. Bank on it!

  Your friend,

  Benny

  The tears had been pouring down my cheeks from the first words. Ann had moved beside me on the couch and had her arm over my shoulder.

  “He loved you, Jack, like a son,” Ann said. “So do I. Benny worried that you had put him on a pedestal; he wanted to make sure you understand that he was no different than you—just older and more experienced,” Ann said. “People can forgive. When we lost Ben, we both lost touch with our lives. Benny blamed himself for Ben’s death. It brought back all of the pain he had from Vietnam and the loss of his parents, especially his father. Earlier you met a person who shared much of the turmoil and pain from that time, Rebecca.”

  After a pause she said, “Rebecca was Benny’s mistress. Benny thought he was in love with her. Benny was lost. I was lost. We lost each other. But we never gave up.”

  I couldn’t imagine having the strength to have Rebecca in her life right now. How could she be so forgiving at a time like this?

  “Rebecca had not seen Benny for twenty years, but she still loved him. I couldn’t change that. She called and asked to see me. She apologized. I had already forgiven her but had never told her. She left when the affair was exposed.”

  “That’s incredible—the way you’re handling something like that from the past,” I said.

  “The past is the past. We both made mistakes. But love finds a way. Love is unquestionable.”

  I thanked Ann and told her to call me if she needed anything. The memorial service was tomorrow evening, and the funeral would follow the next morning.

  “Life may not work out exactly like you think, but it has a way of rewarding us when we are doing our best,” she said, pausing and reaching out to grip my hands. “Jack, never give up hope.”

  “I won’t,” I said, clutching the letter Benny had written. “I promise I won’t.”

  There is nothing to attain in life—our purpose is to be ourselves.

  —BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PRICE

  43. How Are You Doing?

  “HOW ARE YOU DOING?” Hearing the voice of my old friend John, I turned away from the open coffin at the end of the long line of waiting mourners. I had been expecting him and his wife earlier, but their flight from Arkansas had been a crossword puzzle of takeoffs and landings. We shook hands and in the same motion leaned forward and hugged each other. We’d been through a lot together. “You’re getting too thin, Jack ole boy,” he said as he looked at me with a sadness I had never seen in his eyes before. Despite failed marriages and many career challenges John had been a beacon of light for me. His humor couldn’t hide the pain. He was struggling just like me.

  “It’s all of this Southern cookin’,” I said in my deep drawl, trying to force a smile. “There ain’t no Philly cheesesteak sandwiches ’round here.”

  He smiled and said, “See, I knew you could turn into a redneck with a little work.” We both laughed. After pausing he said, “I’m sorry, Jack. I know how close he was to you. He was my friend too, and I don’t know how to deal with all of this.”

  “He thought the world of you. You helped me leave Philly and put the two of us together here. You’ve helped me so much, John,” I said. We both sidestepped to allow a couple to pass. “I don’t know how I can ever express how much I appreciate you putting up with the old Jack Oliver—he was an ugly, despicable guy.”

  “Well, Jack Oliver is still ugly,” he said trying to laugh. “It wasn’t easy, but I have great patience. Speaking of patience, there’s someone you haven’t met I want to introduce you to.” He turned sideways giving way to allow a beautiful brunette room to step forward in the cramped space. “This is Vivian.” While I had spoken to her on the phone, I had never met her.

  “It’s my pleasure to finally meet you,” I said. “I wish it was under different circumstances.”

  “I know Benny was special to both of you,” she said.

  “Vivian is everything I told you about and more,” John said, proudly putting his arm around her waist and pulling her close. “She’s the person who keeps your boy in tow.”

  “And that’s a tough job,” I said.

  “Yes, it is,” she said, “but I can’t complain. He’s the best.”

  Looking toward the open casket ahead John said, “Thanks sweetie, but the best man I’ve ever met is right up there.”

  We slowly made our way forward in the line.

  As we stepped closer to the casket, my anxiety grew. I had avoided looking at him earlier, even though I had escorted Ann and Benny’s sister and several other family members to the funeral home well before the doors opened to the public. Sensing my dread, Vivian stepped between John and me and held both of our hands.

  Looking down at the remains of my best friend, I experienced a different emotion than I expected. While the pain of his passing was very real, seeing him at peace after the pain of the disease made me feel some comfort. That’s why Ann is so strong, I thought. She had said to me, “He’s at a better place—he’s with Ben.”

  I believed it now.

  The next morning I was standing at Benny’s grave site. All of the memories of the life I had lived and how Benny had helped me were flowing through my mind.

  The minister had finished. The music director for Benny and Ann’s church had finished singing.

  It was my turn to speak.

  “Standing here today we mourn the passing of a great man. While we all struggle with the loss of a fellow traveler on life’s journey, one who gave so much of himself to all of us here, I now understand something he said to me and perhaps many of you. ‘Death is not an end but a beginning.’ I mourn my loss and our loss but cherish his life of giving.

  “I find myself in this moment, now, searching for the proper words to celebrate Benny’s life. I want to take a moment and speak for what he did for me.

  “Benny saved my life. His kindness and generosity were as real as if he had dove into a river and fought a raging current to rescue me. In many ways, that is what happened. He gave of himself and shared his life to teach me how to learn from experience, both good and bad. He taught me to honor the life of every other person and to respect their place in the world as much as my own. For Benny, this was our responsibility as humans. As he said to me, ‘We’re in this world both alone and together—it’s up to each of us to share our lives to make the world a better place.’ I know he did his part.

  “He told me, ‘Life is for living—enjoy every moment.’ Benny’s enthusiasm for life,
living every moment like it was his last, was an inspiration to all of us. I know we can all say that spending even a few moments with Benny was time well spent. I will cherish all of my moments with him.

  “One of the last things Benny said to his wife Ann was for me to ‘keep it short.’ So in closing, I will do my best to say what is in my heart.

  “Somewhere right now, Benny is smiling, the reward for a life of giving. He is with Ben, probably planning on a jog or a hike through the woods and then some fishing.

  “He said, ‘Death can be our greatest teacher.’ I now realize he was so right. When the sum total of what we have given in this life is examined, a life lived to its fullest never dies. What Benny gave to us will never die.

  “He promised me I would see him again. I believe him. Until that day, I will do my best to give to others and to live the best life I possibly can, every moment of every day. I know you can hear these words, Benny. While life should be lived by questions, there is an answer evidenced here today. Why are we here? We’re here to thank you. We thank you for the life you shared. We miss you Benjamin Franklin Price. We all take comfort knowing that you will greet us when we begin again. I look forward to seeing you in that new beginning, my friend.”

  As I turned to step back, the vocalist began singing “Amazing Grace” accompanied by a single violin. Ann hugged me and held me for a moment.

  She whispered, “This is a new beginning, Jack. Your family is here.”

  I looked up and saw Tina standing behind Joshua’s wheelchair. They were wiping away tears. Jessica was looking at me and as we made eye contact I could read her lips as she said, “I love you, Daddy.”

  That night my family visited my condo for the first time. Tina told me why she had decided to come to Virginia. She handed me a folded piece of paper. It was a letter Benny had sent to Tina. It was dated the day he died.

  Dear Tina,

  I apologize for never having the pleasure of meeting you. Jack has talked about you, Jessica, and Joshua so much I truly feel like I know all of you.