Authors: Dan Kolbet

You Only Get So Much (14 page)

BOOK: You Only Get So Much

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Chapter 28

My dad's funeral is
significantly different than that of my brother and his wife. True, I did
actually make it inside for this funeral, but standing at the bumper of my
truck in the parking lot seems like a much better option. The turnout is good.
Many of the men who used to work for my father are here and quite a few people
from the GreyHawk.

The thought occurs to me
that this is the only true measure of how much impact we had on people during
our days on Earth.

Count the
number of people who bother to spend 45 minutes sitting quietly on your behalf
at your funeral. Big crowd, big impact. Little crowd, little impact. If I died
today where would I fall on that impact spectrum? I know the answer. I think
most of us do, but the difference is what you do about it, I guess. Maybe
that's why old people spend so much time volunteering—trying to build up
karma. Each hour spent is like another ticket sold to your funeral. Gotta bring
in a big crowd, right?

Of course, in the end it
doesn't matter, you're dead and not focusing on the headcount.

But how
do
we measure
impact? On the good we do or the money we make? On the number of Christmas
cards that show up in your mailbox each December? I ponder this as I get the
nod from the pastor giving the eulogy. It's my turn to mount the stage and
speak on behalf of my father.

Should I tell them my
theory? That funeral attendance is the morbid return on investment for a life
lived. Or should I lie? But funerals aren't about the dead. They are about the
living. About me and Mom and the girls.

I place both hands on
the podium and watch the audience squirm on the hard wooden benches, waiting
for me to say something profound. I scan the faces. Old ladies. Old men.
Precious few young people. No tears, even from my mother in the front row
wearing her bright yellow pants with a black stripe down the side. She's
sitting beside Michelle. Gracie and Kendall are next to her. No April, not that
I expected her to show up, but I'm a little bit sad for her that she's not
here. Even if she is a drug addict, she deserves the right to say goodbye. I
know Mom tried to find her, but had no luck.

I clear my throat and
look up to notice a man standing in the back of the room, leaning against the
wall. There are still several seats available, so his standing in the back was
obviously by choice. Plaid shirt and jeans. Hands in his pockets. For some
reason he doesn't seem to fit in and I can't explain why. He's just leaning
against the wall and it doesn't seem like he's supposed to be here. He notices
me looking at him and his eyes dart away like he doesn't want to make eye
contact. It's like I've seen him before—but I don't know where. Seeing as
this is my father's funeral, it makes sense that I would know at least some of
the people in attendance, but this guy is out of place. Normal looking in a
plaid shirt, but odd nonetheless. I try to block him out of my mind.

I clear my throat again
and begin.

*
* *

"My father was a
jerk," I say. I let that sink in for a moment. "At least that's what
one of his employees told me once. And after hearing why he felt this way, I
tend to agree with him. You see, this guy—his name was Darrell—was
18 and a very-recent high school dropout. He was the brother of one of Dad's
employees at the landscape company who got hired on as a favor. Darrell needed
a job and my dad needed laborers for his growing business. After his first week
on the job, my dad fired him.

"This was a
surprise to everyone at the business because during that first week my dad
worked directly with this kid on a big job, constructing an entirely new
landscape near a backyard pool.

He
supervised his work, discussed the business side of landscaping and generally
showed him what it meant to work manual labor full-time. Darrell was a quick
study and things seemed to be going well for this new recruit. He was excited
about his future working for my father.

"So the next Monday
my father sent him to a new job location, ironically, at his old high school.
They met at the main doorway just minutes after school began. My father told
him, 'Darrel, you're one of the smartest and possibly the dumbest people I've
ever laid eyes on. You're bright and have a good head on your shoulders. But
you're also a moron and I'm going to help you fix it.

"My father led
Darrell inside the school and straight to the vice principal's office. What he
didn't tell Darrell until years later, was that after his first day of work at
Redmond Landscape, he called the school and told them Darrell would be
returning the following Monday. He and the vice principal played pool together
on Thursday nights and they knew each other well. Dad negotiated an agreement
so Darrell could return to the school and not be penalized for his recent
absences. They called it a labor experiment.

"
Your dad's a jerk
,
Darrell told me on the day he graduated high school,
but the kindest jerk I've ever met
.
Darrell returned to Redmond Landscape during the summer months to save money
for college. He'd return each summer for the next four years until he moved
with his girlfriend to Idaho. He finished college and started his own landscape
business, which is still operating today. Darrell is actually here today and
gave me permission to tell that story.

"My father could
see things that other people missed, like setting Darrell on the right path. He
was not a big talker by any means, but he had a good heart and made a lasting
impact on those he met. Was he a jerk? Yes, he had his moments. Trevor and I
didn't always see eye-to-eye with him, as I suspect is the case for most
fathers and sons. But he was fair and kind. He loved my mom from the moment he
met her. He was a good man and I loved him very much.

"If at the end of
my days I'm half the man my father was, I'll be in good company."

*
* *

I return to my seat
alongside my mother, who leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

"Thank you,
William," she says. "He was so proud of you."

I take her hand and
squeeze it, holding it for a long while. The two of us and April are the only
ones left who really knew my father—at least the way he used to be. This
makes me terribly sad that his memory resides with us alone.

You only get so much family
.

Chapter 29

The next few days are a
blur helping Mom finalize the last arrangements for Dad. He was cremated, but
not until after the funeral. He didn't want to be buried in the ground but, rather,
have his ashes scattered. He didn't specify where; so for the moment, he's
sitting above the fireplace in the living room, which is only creepy if you
think about it. And I'm thinking about it.

We decided to do a
make-up Christmas for Gracie and Kendall at Michelle's house, which is great,
but my father's passing is still weighing on all of us. Michelle has been
amazing. She enlisted the help of her mother—Tammy—to help cook
dinner and host my mother and the girls. Gracie and Kendall are definitely warming
to Michelle. In fact I think they might like her more than me, which is
perfectly fine. I think they need a female influence who isn't their grandma.

The look on Mom's face
when it's time to say grace at our make-up Christmas dinner is heartbreaking.
For as long as I can remember, when he was able to, Dad would say the blessing.
He wasn't a particularly religious person, but it was tradition at the holiday
meal and he'd usually have something prepared to say. So this year, his absence
was felt like a punch to the gut. I wanted to step up and take charge of the
moment, but the words caught in my throat and I froze.

Michelle, completely
unaware of this tradition, seems to sense my hesitation and takes over on my
behalf. "Dear Lord, thank you for this day and bringing us together to
celebrate the holiday. We have a great deal to be thankful for this year, even
as we mourn for those family members we've lost. We're thankful for new friends
and new family. We're thankful for the time we had with Grandpa Redmond, Trevor
and Jennifer. As short as it was, it was a mere blink of your eye and part of a
larger plan we can't know. Please continue to watch over Grandma Vera, Billy,
Kendall and Gracie. They need your guidance today, as we all do. Bless this
meal and these people. Amen."

There is not a dry eye
at the table when she ends her brief prayer, but each of us force
glass-half-full smiles and begin passing around dishes of holiday food. I focus
on my plate of food, which looks delicious, but I'm not hungry. I haven't been
able to eat well for a while now. I'm sick to my stomach about Dad and just in
a bit of a funk.

Tammy and Michelle do a
good job of keeping the conversation light at the table, which includes asking
the girls about school, movies and eventually boys—for Kendall, not
Gracie of course.

"I liked my English
class last semester," Kendall says. "At least I didn't hate it as
much as last year."

"Anything different
about the class this year?" Michelle asks.

"We get to write a
lot—essays and stuff. It's not all reading and doing reports on ancient
writers."

"I know an ancient
writer if you'd like to talk to one," Michelle says, elbowing me in the
ribs.

"Maybe you can
convince him to get one of his books published," Kendall says.

"He's got like a hundred sitting
in boxes."

"Yeah, how about
that, Billy?" Michelle asks. It's an honest question, but she's being
playful.

"Someday," I
say.

"Well that's a day
I'd like to see," Mom interjects. "I'd like to read another one of
your books before I'm through with this life."

This comment stops the
conversation cold and we all stop chewing and look at my mother.

"What? I'm old.
This is news to all of you?" She smiles, trying to lighten the mood.
"Anything to encourage my boy."

"Thanks, Mom, I'll
get right on that," I lie.

After dinner we exchange
presents. Kendall is especially impressed with the new laptop. So much so that
I actually get a hug and a kiss on the cheek, which was definitely worth every
penny of the $1,200 I paid for it. Michelle and I agreed to a $50 gift limit. I
got her a pack of accessories for a cross-stitch project she's working on,
while she gives me a set of three leather-bound journals for writing. They each
came with a different shade of blue cover.

"Just in case you
want to write anything down," she says. "Besides, you need to upgrade
from those ratty old notebooks you carry around. An accomplished author should
look the part."

"Thank you,
honey," I say.

When we're alone in the
kitchen later I ask Michelle about Mom's comment about dying.

"She's obviously
thinking about it and I think that's fair and perfectly normal," Michelle
says. "She lost her son and daughter-in-law just a few months ago. Now her
husband goes. Time's not on her side."

"Well, it's not
really on the side of any of us," I say.

"Yes, but she's on
the downhill side of life. We're not. We're supposed to be thinking about the
future—what we can do in this life. She's looking at what she's already
done. Accomplished. It's a different perspective."

"And you think
that's OK?"

She leans in and kisses
me, pushing me up against the kitchen counter.

"Yes, it's OK. In
fact I'd be surprised if she wasn't thinking about those things."

"I just don't want
to lose her too," I admit.

"I know. That's why
we build families."

"Build
families?"

"By having a
baby," she says.

My eyes go wide and I
lean back to inspect her face, smacking the back of my head against the kitchen
cabinet in the process. We're having a baby? Really? Diapers and wipes? Smiles.
Guiding a life. Seeing a piece of me and a piece of her become something unique
and special. A baby!?

She laughs and takes a
step back.

"Gotcha," she
says, and walks out of the kitchen as if that wasn't a big deal at all.

My heart is racing, but
not because I'm scared. It's because what she said didn't scare me at all.

Chapter 30

When you look back on
your life, there are probably one or two moments that really changed
everything. Maybe it was the day you decided to go on that blind date and met
the person of your dreams. Or it could have been the day you found out you had
cancer and found the strength to fight it. It all started somewhere. A
conversation with a friend. A routine doctor's appointment. Things so innocuous
you wouldn't have given them a second thought until one day you look back and
say
that was
the day that everything changed
.

That's today for me.

*
* *

It's just a week after
the funeral and I'm sound asleep. Unaware of how groggy my head is and how my
eyes feel like sandpaper scratching the underside of my eyelids with every
blink. I say unaware because no reasonable person would decide to crawl out of
bed and answer their cell phone in this condition. But for some reason I do
after two rounds of ringing. I am responsible for more than just myself now.
Maybe that's why. Gracie, Kendall, Mom—heck, even Michelle. Just because
I stayed awake until 3:45 in the morning writing in my new leather-bound
journals, doesn't give me the excuse to not answer the phone on this cold
January morning.

So, I drag myself out of
bed and answer.

"Hello?" I
mumble after slapping the phone to my cheek.

"Is this Billy
Redmond?" The voice on the other end of the line says. He's nervous. The
voice of someone trying to sell you a warranty for a product that should never
need one.

"Yes," I answer,
hoping to end the call with a simple
no thanks, I'm not buying
line.

"I've got something
to tell you, but are you OK? You sound like hell warmed over," the man
says.

"It's just
early," I say.

"It's 11:30 a.m.,
Billy."

"Oh."

I rub the sandpaper out
of my eyes and glance outside. It's snowing, but sure enough, it's nearly
mid-day.

"Did I wake
you?"

"Yes, as a matter
of fact, you did," I say. "And I'm not buying what you're
selling."

"I'm not selling
anything, Billy. I just need to talk to you."

"About what?"
I ask.

"That's the thing.
It's not real easy to talk about," he says.

"Well, then I think
we're done here. Have a good—"