Seize the Day (19 page)

“Moses, come here, Moses.”

And right on cue, that little dog bounced over to me. “Good boy.”

I wasn't sure what Moses understood and what he didn't. But just in case he did understand, I talked to him. At the very least he'd understand that my tone was pleasant.

“I have the best all-natural food for you,” I said when we got back to the room. “We're going to get you all the healthy. I hope you like it.”

I poured the dog food into his bowl and some alkaline water into the other bowl. And I sat back and delighted in Moses enjoying his meal. It was as if I had saved two lives in one day: the bus driver and Moses. Eugene was right: There was power in saving someone.

A
s Moses enjoyed his meal, I pulled out my laptop and made a rental car reservation for the drive to Atlanta in the morning. Then I called Kathy. As I shopped for Moses and on the ride back, I struggled with the idea of telling her about my situation.

“How's your dog?” I sensed sarcasm, which didn't make me feel good.

“Are you really trying to be jealous about a dog?”

“Not jealous. But I don't understand.”

I learned something about myself in the weeks after learning I was going to die: I minimized the filter that sanitized my thoughts. I was sort of like the really old grandparent who just said whatever was on his/her mind. “What comes up, comes out,” my dad used to say about his mother.

“You don't have to understand, Kathy.” It came out before I could temper it. “You have a husband and a family. Before I reached out to you, found you on Facebook, I hadn't heard from you in years. So, I'm not cool with you thinking I owe you an explanation.”

“Oh, really? Well, I didn't mean anything by it. And still, you don't have to be so sensitive about it. I'm just asking to find out what's going on. I'm I wrong for that?”

I felt bad. “No, you're not. I apologize. There's a lot going on that you don't know about.”

Kathy did not respond, and I quickly recalled that was a mechanism she used all her life. To avoid saying something she would regret, she would not say anything. So I knew I just had to continue.

“Kathy, I have cancer. I—”

“What? Why didn't you tell me?” The concern in her voice was obvious. But I also noticed that Moses stopped eating and looked up at me, as if he understood, even though I had already told the dog. It freaked me out.

Can this damned dog understand what I'm saying? What the hell?

I was going to tell Kathy what I saw, but she wouldn't have believed me. But Moses looked at me with those sad eyes for several seconds. Finally, I said to him, “It's OK. Finish eating.”

“Who are you talking to? Never mind. Calvin! I'm so sorry.”

“I'm sorry for not telling you earlier. But I haven't been exactly spreading the word.”

I gave her the details of what I had, when it was discovered, etc. And then I gave her the bombshell news.

“It's terminal.”

Again, Moses raised his head from the bowl and looked at me. Kathy didn't say anything for several seconds.

“Calvin, can you hold on a second?”

I waited about a minute before she came back. “Calvin, I had to have a good cry in private. I'm so scared for you. I'm so sorry.”

Tears began to flow down my face. I had become good at talking while crying, without the person on the other end of the phone knowing. They'd say stuff like, “I'm so proud of how you're handling this” and “You're so strong.” And I'd be thinking,
If only you knew.

“Thank you for caring so much, Kathy. But it's going to be OK.”

OK? How is it going to be OK? I was lying to myself and to Kathy.

“I don't know how you can say that. I mean, I'm not trying to be selfish, but we just reconnected and now you're telling me you have terminal cancer. That's not OK for me or you.”

She was right but I had to tell myself that to move on. Or try to move on. I hadn't exactly accepted my fate. I had gotten off the floor and sought to live a semblance of a life. But how can you, when you know you're going to die? The conflict was ongoing.

Kathy wanted to know all the details, what the doctors said, how long they projected I had…

“Wish I could say it's a long time, but it's not. A few months. I feel fine right now. But every few days I get these pains that literally knock me out.”

She got quiet again when I told her I was not taking chemo.

“I can't do that to myself. I know it has worked for millions of people and saved lives. But they told me it would not save my life. They're certain about that. It would just have me laid up. I wouldn't even be here right now. I wouldn't have gotten to help save that man's life today. I wouldn't have seen you tonight. I wouldn't have found Moses. All that happened because I decided to live.

“I know chemo works for a lot of people. For me, it wouldn't work.”

I went on to tell her about the holistic treatment I was going to receive in Atlanta.

“It's not going to save my life, either. But it will—if it really works—help cleanse some of what's bad in my body and help me to feel better and have less pain. If it can do that, then I'll be all right.”

Finally, she spoke. It was surprising to me that, after all those years, what Kathy had to say meant so much to me.

“All of this is just too much. I can't right now. What can I do, Calvin? How can I help you? This is so crazy to me.

“I mean, we talk after all these years. I see you on TV. We go out to dinner and I feel like whatever we had was still there. I'm not even going to talk about my situation, my marriage. And now you tell me that the doctors say you're dying? This…this is too much.”

And I'm thinking,
No shit?

“You telling me?”

“Well, can I come over there and see you now?”

“I need to get some rest, read a little—”

“Just say you don't want to see me, Calvin. You don't have to make excuses with me.”

“Don't want to see you? That's a joke, right. Really, I'm just tired I gave you my room number in a text. Can you come in the morning, before we leave?”

“We're both up now, but OK.” I could tell she wasn't happy. But I couldn't tell if it was because I rejected her or because she really wanted to see me.

“Do you understand the day I have had?” I asked. I felt compelled—another word for guilty, in this case—to make it clear to Kathy. “Got up early after no sleep to catch a bus. You know all the stuff that has happened since then. That might not be a full day for you, but for me, it's more than enough.”

“OK, Calvin, I get it. I'm not trying to pressure you or add drama to your day. I just wanted to hug you. That's all.”

I didn't say anything because a hug from Kathy always led to sex, something I actually had not even thought about for weeks. I didn't have a lot going on, but I always had someone to fulfill that part of my life, whether she was serious to me or not. Learning I was going to die took away my sex drive, something I actually thought could never happen.

“OK, well, get some rest, Calvin. I will call you,” she said.

I
put a little food out for Moses, set up a comfortable place for him to sleep and took a hot shower and got into bed. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The dog lay in his place, looking at me. I went over to him and rubbed along his back.

“Crazy day, Moses. Crazy day. But I'm glad it all happened. All that had to happen for me to be at that hotel at the time you came up. So, it was meant to be that we meet, buddy. You're a good dog. I'm sorry what happened to you but I'm glad we met. Now, you get some rest. But let me know if you need to go outside.”

I rubbed his head and made my way into the bed. I wanted to read, but needed to say my prayers first. I had gotten back into the routine of praying after the funeral. I had my problems with God, I was not ashamed to say. But that was my pain taking over. I grew up understanding God made no mistakes, and that there was no place better than heaven. I wasn't ready to see it, but it was out of my hands.

Just as I was about to begin, there was a faint knock at the door. It was not loud, but I knew what I heard. Plus, Moses rose, too, from his pile. He heard it. Immediately, I thought someone had followed me and was there to get Moses. In the time it took to conjure that thought, I got sad. I had grown attached to the dog that quickly and was not ready to let him go.

I started not to answer, to act as if we were not there, but Moses barked. So, I yelled in a deep, I'm-not-taking-any-bull voice: “Who is it?”

“Calvin, it's Kathy.”

I had a mix of relief and frustration at once: It was not someone looking to claim Moses; but it was someone who violated my wishes.

“What? Kathy?”

“Please, let me see you for five minutes, Calvin.”

If it were anyone else, she would have remained outside that door. But it was Kathy. I was weak to her. And I was, even though sort of angry, excited that she was there.

“I can't believe this.”

Kathy had changed her clothes. She was now in shorts, a button-up white blouse with wedge heels. And she smelled like love.

“Can I please just hug you?” she asked as she walked into the room. Her eyes were filled with tears. She walked into my arms and held me tightly as she cried on my shoulder.

“I'm so scared. Aren't you scared?”

“Petrified.”

After a minute or so, we let go of each other. But holding her in my arms felt so right, the best feeling I had since the diagnosis. I told her that.

“You don't even look sick, Calvin. You look wonderful. Did you get a second opinion?”

“And third and fourth. It is what it is.”

“Can I stay for a while? I'm struggling with this.”

“I was about to say my prayers and read. I don't sleep that much anymore. Can't sleep.”

“I can't even imagine. And here you are…brave, living your life. I'm really proud of how brave you are. I…I think I'd just be sitting in the dark crying.”

“No, you wouldn't. And you know why? Because you love life. I feel like I've had a good life, but there was so much more I could do. Could have done.”

“Then do it. Why not? You can do whatever you want.”

“I'd like someone to do some of it with.”

“I wish I could spend some time with you, experience some things with you. Right now, I have to get my finances together before I can do anything.”

“Well, I was going to just send it to you as a surprise,” I said.

“Send me what?”

“A check.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I have some money. One of my co-workers, my friend Walter, died recently. Actually, he committed suicide. Hanged himself in his garage. Before he did, he asked me to come over. I got there and found him hanging by his neck in his garage.”

“Calvin, get the
frick
outta here.”

“Seriously. A good man, too. He wanted me to find him. Anyway, I said I have money because Walter left me some. I had no idea he had money like that. He was a teacher at my school, but he invested well and had a small fortune. So, I have some money. Some money to help you.”

“Calvin, I can't let you do that.”

“What? You can't let a friend help you? That doesn't sound right.”

“I just mean that there are more people out there worse-off than me. They need it more.”

“Well, obviously I don't have enough to help everybody. But I will definitely try to help as many people as I can—starting with you.”

“I don't know what I did to deserve this from you.”

“You've always been special to me. Even when we were apart, doing our own thing, you always stayed special. Still are. So, I'm excited about helping someone who means so much to me. It gives me pleasure, and I need to do that as much as possible now.”