Seize the Day (12 page)

Kathy was like Candice in this sense: She gave off positive energy. And with that spirit and my love for her, she was ideal for me. I became determined to reconnect with her.

On the way home, I stopped by Whole Foods and purchased a variety of fresh juices and some Alkaline water. I observed the people there and wondered if anything of them had cancer. I couldn't tell, just as they were right there with me and did not know of my condition.

My friend, Petey, called the all-natural fanatics the “nuts and berries” crew. If they ate everything from this place, they were bound to be healthier than most. But they looked malnourished to me, unhealthy, like they were thin and hungry.

“Everything in moderation,” my mother used to say. “You can't eat too much or drink too much or anything too much. Find a balance.”

I needed a balance. I needed something or someone to level off my fear of dying and disappointment in my friend's suicide and frustration of dealing with Walter's son and brother. I needed Kathy.

Just saying that, though, was scary. I had told myself all my adult life that I didn't need a woman. I dealt with women and enjoyed women…but I didn't
need
a woman to round out my life. Well, this was a different time in my life and the only woman I knew who had the right mix of fun, spiritual strength, calm and intellect to give me balance was Kathy.

And she was married.

I felt funny about being in contact with her, even though I did not have intentions on anything but being uplifted by her voice and spirit. When I got home, I ate some oatmeal with the juice (kale, spinach, lemons, pineapples, apples) and I felt OK. I believed what I had eaten triggered that major stomach issue I had the previous week—spicy pasta with garlic and scallops. So I toned down my food choices.

No more spicy anything. Everything would be mild and easy to digest. I was scared into this eating profile. It was mid-July, and I had not told the school my condition. I was afraid to face the fact that I likely would not be able to return to school in September—if the doctors were right. I'd be too weak or…dead.

Those sad thoughts were about to consume me when my phone made a chime I had not heard before. I checked it and realized it was an indication I had a message in my Facebook inbox.

It had to be Kathy. And suddenly had a spring in my step, as if I was injected with a dose of adrenaline. I clicked on the message and my smile got wider as I read:

Calvin, you ought to know without me saying that you could never leave my mind. I'm almost mad at you (smile). Really, we were young and not the people we are now. But that doesn't mean I don't care about you. Honestly, I still care for you. Of course, my life is different from yours. I have a family.

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.

I
t 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,
any
thing
, 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.

T
he 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.