The Will to Die

by Joe Pulizzi

  While he’s never said it, I think his master plan is for someone like me to take over the business someday. Mr. Frisch has no kids, and he has to be at least sixty-five or seventy years old. He already has me signed up to take some night classes at Cleveland Mortuary School, almost like he’s in a hurry for me to get my embalmer’s license.

  I can’t say it was ever my dream to be in the funeral business, but it’s not a heck of a lot different than the other sales jobs I’ve had. You’re always selling in this business, even when you’re not selling. This morning, I watched Mr. Frisch talk to a grieving widow, telling her that her husband is in a better place now and she will be okay. To take it one day at a time. Great sales job he worked, especially when she purchased the custom wood casket over the basic steel.

  Well, that’s all I have for today. Hopefully I’ll write some more tomorrow.

  I closed the book and pressed it against my chest. I’m not sure what I was currently feeling, but it was something akin to winning the lottery or pulling a Mickey Mantle from an old pack of baseball cards. Before I became too excited, I selected one of the notebooks in the middle to see if they were continuations of my dad’s diary.

  Bingo. The first entry was March 2003. I returned that one to its spot and grabbed the last one on the top shelf, then flipped to the last page with words on it: December 2017. Okay, good. Taking what information I had at my disposal, I’d say there were two or three journals after December missing. Maybe he had them at his house.

  Now that he was gone, I was desperate to know everything about my father. How did he start? How did he let the business go like this? What was his relationship like with Mom? Did he talk about me at all? Did he write about my gambling and debt problems? And the obvious question: why wasn’t I this curious about my father before he died?

  AS I WAS DRIVING TO meet Jess and Sam at the Cameo, a small pizza joint on the west side that Denise and I used to frequent as kids, it hit me that it was Wednesday. Since just after the divorce, I’d never missed my Wednesday Gamblers Anonymous meeting. I parked near the intersection of Monroe and Fulton streets where the Cameo was located and pulled out my phone. After a bit of Google magic, I found one GA meeting at eight p.m. at the St. Mary’s Church Hall down the street.

  My chest tightened as I closed the car door and headed to meet Jess and Sam. It’d been over two years since the three of us ate together. I wasn’t sure if this was going to be good or bad, but I made a promise to myself not to act like a jerk.

  I opened the door to a bar area, then zigzagged my way to the restaurant seating. As I approached a lectern with a Please Wait to Be Seated sign on the front, there were two women standing near it. Their backs were turned.

  I put my arm around the taller one. “Hey, there,” I said. “How was your afternoon? I forgot which friends you met with.”

  “It was great,” Jess said. “It was Tracy and Zoe. They actually took the afternoon off to meet with me. They are super sweet. We’re going to meet up tonight.”

  The hostess came over and led us to a four-top table in the corner. Jessica snuck into the back corner, while I sat underneath the Blatz sign and Sam sat under the vintage Pepsi-Cola clock.

  “The waitress will be right back to take your order,” the hostess said. “But I’ll get you set up with waters.” The hostess left, and we all sat in awkward silence.

  “Well,” Sam said. “Jessica tells me you put her to work this afternoon.”

  “Word travels fast,” I said. “Actually, it was more for me than for her. I needed reinforcement. That was my first family meeting in what, like twenty years.” I looked at Jess. “So, how did your dad do?"

  “I was impressed,” Jess said. “You put her at ease right away, and by the end of the meeting she was talking your ear off about the insurance thing. I think you have a future in the funeral business,” she said, smirking.

  “The most impressive part was you hugging her at the end,” I said. “You and I make quite a team you know.”

  “Don’t go recruiting her just yet,” Sam said. “I’m not sure we’d want the entire family in the funeral business, especially since she’s found her passion in media. By the way, Will, I’ve done plenty of family planning meetings. I could have done it, or you could have called me to help.”

  There was a lot I wanted to say to this offer, but I simply said, “Thanks, Sam. I should have known that.”

  “Will there be a next time, Dad?” Jess asked.

  “Your mother already knows this, but your grandfather left the funeral home to me in the will.” I paused. “This is a decision I’m not taking lightly, and it affects many people, including your mother, and of course, Robby, with our marketing business.”

  “Is there a timetable for a decision?” Jess asked.

  “I think sooner than later would be better for everyone involved. I spent a good chunk of the day going through the financials. I also talked to Janet for a bit today. But your mother and I still need to talk about it.”

  “Oh,” Jess said. “Would you like me to leave so you can?”

  “No!” both Sam and I said simultaneously. She looked away and I smiled at Jess. “No, we can talk later about it. I think right now we’d like to spend some time with you.”

  We spent the next forty-five minutes peppering Jess with questions. No boyfriend, but she had been seeing a few people. Grades were okay but could probably be better. She liked all her teachers, except for statistics, because she hated the entire concept of math. She liked the campus, but it was too big and a few of her classes were twenty-five minutes away by foot. She had picked up a part-time job working the night desk at the campus Catholic church two nights a week. Sam and I were both concerned with the “night” aspect of the job, but Jess convinced us that it was all pretty safe.

  After finishing off a large thin-crust, Jess received multiple texts from her friends. Apparently, there was going to be a large gathering at Daley’s, the historic Irish pub downtown, and she asked to leave. “Are you two going to be okay without me?” Jess asked.

  “I think we can handle it,” I said. “Have a great time.”

  “If you are going to be later than twelve, please text me,” Sam said.

  “Mom, I’m twenty-one now.”

  “I don’t care if you’re a hundred and one, I’m your mother, and I need to know that you’re safe,” Sam said.

  At that, Jess hugged us both and left. I looked at my watch. 6:15.

  “I think I’ve had enough of the soda. Would you like a beer?” I asked Sam.

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Sam said.

  I felt more nervous being here with Sam than on our first date. I really wanted to spend some time with her and wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed.

  I took a deep breath. “Look, Sam, you have been put in a very difficult situation. Not only do you have to deal with the death of your mentor, but you have to deal with me who’s let you down so many times. And then you find out today that I could take over your place of work.” I paused. She was listening. “I’m not sure how to handle all this, and the only thing I’m asking from you is that, at least for this week, you give me the benefit of the doubt. After all Dad’s funeral stuff is over and we figure out the workplace thing, I promise I’ll leave you alone, well, except for issues with Jess.”

  She looked at me, trying to see if I was telling the truth. Pretty much her normal look since the second time she found out I was gambling. She let out a long, deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do my best, but I make no promises. I still don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. But yes, I’ll have a beer.”

  I waved the waitress over and ordered a pitcher of the local brew.

  “I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the business, if you’re okay talking about it,” I said.

  “I think I can,” Sam said. “I’m not a fan of you running the business, but it’s my fault I’m in this position.”

  “Why do you say that?”<
br />
  “I’m the one that went to work with your father. I could have hunted around for someone else to work for, but he gave me a shot to embalm right away. Do you know how many licensed female embalmers there are in the US?”

  “No, but I bet you do.”

  “Fewer than ten thousand, about a third of the number of men. Although it’s getting better—the majority of my class at mortuary school were women—it’s still an uphill battle.”

  “You know, I haven’t had a chance to really talk to you about this, but I’m proud of you. After all the shit I put you through, you finished your schooling and became the best embalmer in the state.”

  “Well,” she said, “You don’t know how good I am, but thanks for the compliment. You’re just trying to get on my good side.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Jury’s still out.”

  “I do know, by the way. I didn’t talk to Dad all that often, but I always asked about you when I did and he was very honest in his assessment. Would you like to hear it?”

  “Only if it’s good.”

  “He said your understanding of the human body, from an embalming standpoint, was the best he’d ever seen. And you know he taught night classes at Cleveland Mortuary for some time, so he should know. He also said you could probably do all the makeup for the funeral home as well.”

  She smiled. “Did he say anything constructive?”

  “He said you were great in planning meetings but hated to upsell, specifically caskets. He said you always sold the cheapest one.”

  “I never saw the point of an extravagant casket. I did sell a custom wood casket one time, but I felt awful afterward and had to go take a shower.”

  “Regardless, he thought a lot of you. More than he thought of me, that’s for sure.”

  “Now you know that’s not true. He just didn’t know how to talk with you once you started to go through your addiction issues.”

  I wasn’t sure how much he knew, but he obviously knew enough to share it with Sam.

  I quickly changed the subject. “I’ve been going through the annual numbers, and something’s not right.” I filled Sam in on the same information I’d relayed to Robby and Janet.

  “Did anything strange happen around the beginning of last year, or any time last year?” I asked.

  Sam started playing with a crumpled straw wrapper on the table. “Well, there’s the death of your mother. But there were other things after that. I can’t remember exactly when it started. Maybe right around Easter of last year. Or even before that.”

  “You noticed less business?” I asked.

  “Not at the time. That came later, and it was very noticeable. I was doing fewer embalmings every month.” She paused. “No, I noticed a change in your father. He was often irritable. Sometimes I’d see him sitting and staring sadly into space. And you know your father, he rarely sat, and he definitely never acted sad, even when he was. Remember when your mom passed away and how sad your father was, but he never showed it? It’s almost like he’d been keeping all these emotions inside for years and they were starting to break free.”

  “What happened around Easter?”

  “A few months after, maybe around this time last year, I asked him about it. He shrugged it off entirely. Said he was just getting old. Of course, that was a lie. I just couldn’t figure it out.”

  “I found his collection of diaries today. With your timetable, I’ll go back in and see if there are any clues as to what was going on. Did you know he wrote a diary?”

  “He was writing all the time, and he loved his little black notebooks, but I didn’t know it was a diary.”

  “You won’t believe it. He has black notebooks going back to when he was a funeral apprentice for Frisch, all the way back to ’74.”

  “Let me know if you’d like any help. I loved your father and I want to know if something was going on.” Sam looked at her watch. “I’m sorry, Will, I need to be somewhere else.”

  Does she have a date? It’s been two years; she probably has a date ... I need to let it go.

  I pulled myself together. “That’s okay. This was great. Honestly, I wasn’t sure this was going to be a good idea, but it’s been nice talking again. Thank you.”

  “There were a hundred possible outcomes for this night, and that this one ended with me not killing you is probably for the best,” Sam said smiling.

  I waved the waitress over for the check.

  Sam and I walked outside together. Her car was right in front, while mine was three cars down. We stood in front of each other for a while. Do I shake her hand? Do I kiss her on the cheek? No, don’t kiss her.

  I went with the awkward wave. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Be careful driving.”

  Sam closed her car door and drove away.

  Chapter 9 – Twelve Steps

  The GA meeting was next to the old church I attended as a child. Apparently, some woman passed away a decade ago and left millions to the church, and in her honor, they built an attached hall. Now it’s used for donuts and coffee after mass, feeding the homeless on Monday nights, and AA and GA meetings.

  I walked into a circle of chairs. In each one sat the standard yellow book with Gamblers Anonymous printed on the cover. I threw my jacket over one and went to the coffee station. A little after eight p.m., a man, looking to be in his late fifties, tall and thin with a salt-and-pepper goatee, asked everyone to find a chair in the circle. I walked over to him and introduced myself before the meeting began. His name was Pete S. He thanked me for coming and said there was plenty of room.

  The last of the smokers came in from outside and the meeting began. There were eleven of us in total, just two women. Men drastically outnumbered women at most meetings I attended.

  Then Pete asked, “Do we have anyone here that’s never been to a Gamblers Anonymous meeting before?” No one said anything. “That makes it easy then.” Pete opened his booklet, turned the page and said, “My name is Pete S., and I’m the facilitator of this group. As you all know, gambling for the compulsive gambler is defined as follows: Any betting or wagering, for self or others, whether for money or not, no matter how slight or insignificant, where the outcome is uncertain or depends upon chance or ‘skill’ constitutes gambling.”

  Pete went on to read portions of the next three or four pages of the book. Unnecessary, but mandatory for all GA meetings. I’ve heard this so much I can almost recite it by heart. Stuff about the founders of GA, commentary on the twelve-step program, description of the nature of gambling addiction. I don’t buy into everything, and I’m not a big fan of twelve-step programs, but for the last two years these meetings have helped. Then Pete said, “We’ll go around and do short, and I mean short, introductions and then Roger P. will speak. He’s been nice enough to volunteer as this week’s speaker.”

  I was third up. I stood and said, “Hi. My name is Will P., and I’m a compulsive gambler.”

  “Hi, Will,” the group said in unison.

  “Two years ago, I ruined my marriage trading online, realized too late that I had a problem, and have been coming to GA meetings since then. I’m from Cleveland and go to my usual GA meetings on Wednesday, but today I’m here in Sandusky. So here I am. Thanks for being so welcoming.”

  It took about twenty minutes to go around the room. There’s always someone who takes too long, and Brenda B. took about ten minutes with her introduction, which would have been longer, but Pete finally insisted she stop.

  Then Roger P. gave his personal testimony. Roger was about my age, married, now divorced, with three kids. Within his driving territory for his job, he liked to hit all the casinos. He loved table games, but craps was the big problem. He liked playing the come line and needed to have all the points going at the same time. When someone was on a roll, life was good. But Roger was playing these multiple points with maximum odds behind each point and did this at every casino he visited. He started out losing one or two thousand a trip. With each visit, he bet more an
d more. A few times he went home a winner, but the losses added up to over a hundred thousand dollars in just one year. Then the story ended like most usually do. He lied to the wife, borrowed money he didn’t have, got himself into a bigger hole, and finally sought help when he lost his credit rating, wife, and kids, and had a loan shark or two trying to kill him. Ah, the life of a compulsive gambler. The good news? Roger hadn’t gambled for over a year. He just started seeing a woman and luckily still has his insurance job.

  Roger ended with a speech about living in the present, something he was adamant on improving. With gambling, he was always looking forward to the next bet or the next roll of the dice. It was almost impossible for him to live in the present. To be happy with his wife and his kids without thinking about what would be next.

  After Roger was finished, a few others gave a short testimony. Brenda wanted to talk more but Pete told her she’d be able to go next time. At the end, we all stood and held hands and read the Serenity Prayer out loud. Before we were excused, Pete told us the collection plate was over by the coffee, and since the group supported itself, donations were gladly accepted.

  I walked over and refilled my coffee cup, throwing a five-dollar bill on the collection plate. I thanked Pete and walked out the glass doors. Roger was outside smoking. I approached him.

  “Roger,” I said, putting out my hand. “I’m Will. I wanted to thank you for your testimony. When you were talking about living in the present, it was like you were peering into my soul. Everything for me is ... was ... always about the next trade.”

  “Yep. Thanks. Welcome to Sandusky, Will,” Roger said, taking out another cigarette.