Ted Moss died unpeacefully at home on April 7, 2010, after a cowardly battle with old age, cancer, heart disease and a barely adequate marriage.
His daughter decided that April 7, 2011 would be a day that held no meaning at all. It was a "death day" - not a birthday. Death deserved no recognition, would be granted no pause or note. His birthday would be the day to remember instead - The day on which gifts almost arrived, sometimes wrapped. The day on which she called to say "happy birthday" and "I love you," and to hear him answer "muddling through" to the question - how are you. and "I love you, too" when prompted.
She went to work this death day, just like she did last year. And there was an old lawyer down the hall that she noticed especially on this day, because of his pallor and fragility - because he seemed like a character. And before she went to grab a coffee, she took a hard look at him wobbling down the hall and resolved to introduce herself because - she hadn't been on his hall for long. She resolved to learn his name.
It was Earl. She found out when she came back with her latte, when the EMT told her he needed to lean against her office window so that his walkie talkie would work. So that he could say, "The patient is on floor 6, north side." He fainted. Maybe moments after she turned away, and smacked his head against the wall and fell unconscious.
April 7, 2011. Ted Moss' daughter sat at her desk and cried. Finally. She cried and cried and cried. She remembered his "Hello, dear" she remembered his "Nifty" - nifty house, nifty gadget. She remembered his hug, his smell, and the day she called his office to ask him a question for the Bar Exam. "He's not available now, may I take a message?" Later, her mother called back. "You called your father at the office - what did you want?"
She started to answer - something about a case... and stopped. "How do you know I called his office?"
"Well... he was having a stroke when you called. I knew something was wrong so I called Tom [an elderly opthomologist] and he said to call an ambulance, and when you called the ambulance was there..."
Earl's son came over from another firm, and people started to gather at the end of her hall. Someone put an oxygen mask over Earl's face. She retreated to her office to cry for the first time since her father died. She cried until she was thirsty and tired and no longer shaking.
Earl is going to be okay. And already it's April 12.
As I write this, A shouts down the stairs, "Mommy... write this down! 'life is a gift. it's all about how you write the thank you note.' I just wrote that - isn't it great?"
