Ode To A Stranger

“What would you say with your last breath?” I whisper, standing in front of the town’s old, brick church, mentally preparing myself to enter, soaking up the warmth from the sun’s rays. I made sure to get here early so I could have a moment of serenity before the funeral services begin. This feels like one of the most important things I have ever done.

Stepping into the church, I slowly make way to the pulpit. The church is dim, cool, and eerily silent. Trying to imagine pews filled with people, I practice my eulogy. I must get this moment perfect. James, my lost angel, deserves nothing less.

As I step down and find a seat in one of the front pews, the organ music begins, and the priest emerges. Seated across the aisle and one row in front of me, is a woman, thin, dressed in white, with wavy, auburn hair. She is staring straight ahead, almost as though in a trance. She is the only other mourner here.

As the priest finishes the service, he asks if anyone would like to say a few words. Part of me wants to decline, and leave without saying a word, but I owe James so much more than that. I approach the pulpit, take a deep breath, and look out into the pews, imagining the church filled with all the people who had been touched by James’ kindness. Surely there were more than just me and this one other woman, who’s head is bowed.

“My name is Allison Rose Jacobs.” I could feel my voice shaking. Everything was shaking. I grabbed the pulpit to stabilize myself and continued. “I’d like to tell you the story of how my path crossed with James just three days ago, and my how my life will forever be changed because of him.

Three days ago, I woke up to my parrot, Robin squawking ‘Carpe diem!’ I named my parrot after my favorite actor because he seemed he really knew how to carpe the diem and I wanted to remember that and feel inspired every morning. I am not a morning person, and most days I wake up angry. I trained Robin to squawk louder and louder and not to stop until I say the words “Thank you, captain”. I did all of this in an effort to remind myself every morning that each day is a gift, and that one never knows when it could change, for better or worse. We are guaranteed nothing in this life, nothing I guess, except for death. We are all guaranteed that at some point. Maybe it is too big a message to fit into a morning alarm, but I sure tried. I recognize this for what it is. I believe it. I reminded myself of it, but I never succeeded in living in it, no matter how hard I tried.

Sorry for the little digress. So on this day, Robin wakes me up and I look at the time, and I am so late already, but I’m feeling kind of lucky because I have been taking cold showers for two weeks at this point, a daily reminder of how poor I am. At least this morning would be warmer, right? This right here is the best part of my morning.”

I look around the church, still only one mourner, still with her head down. My heart hurts for her. I continue, hoping she is listening.

“I ran around the house, grabbed everything I needed, and ran out of the door. Just as I was running away from the door, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a bright yellow sheet of paper. My door is a dark brown color, so it was easy to notice. I grab the note and scan it really quick. It’s an eviction notice. I have five days to pay or get out. All I can think about for the rest of the day is how am I going to pay this rent, and where will I go if I can’t. I’m just a waitress. I am fairly new to this town. I don’t anyone well enough to crash at their place. Despair was starting to set in, but there was more in store for me.

I arrived at the bus stop just in time to catch the late bus. That is the bus that all the local teens use to get to school. It is always packed, and always loud, and it is incredibly obnoxious for those of us who are not morning people. I squeezed my way to the back of the bus and low and behold, there was one empty seat. I don’t question these kinds of things. You will always get what you need if you appreciate what you have. Now that is something I really try to live by. Anyway, I sat down. I really did need this seat. I hadn’t even been awake for two hours and I was already defeated.

No sooner did I sit down, the woman in front of me stood up. She was wearing a hoodie, and all I could see were her eyes. She had the kind of eyes that you could just get lost in, the kind that command trust. She handed be a book and told me that it was meant for me, and then she took off. I barely had a moment to say, ‘thank you.’

It was a beautiful journal. It had a black cover, rounded edges, and an elastic band to hold it closed. I could see the ribbon that holds your place sticking out of the bottom. I love journals. I got so lost in the aesthetic of the journal, I almost missed my stop. I threw the book in my backpack and made my way off of the bus.

Work was so slow that day. I knew it would be when I arrived and not one of our regular customers was there waiting. I worked 12 hours that day and only made $83.00. I left in tears, but still, there was more in store for me.”

I again looked up and around the church, a lump in my throat, and tears in my eyes. How could no one show up for this man? I tried to regain my composure before I continued.

“As luck would have it, I missed the last bus heading toward my part of town and had to walk home. I sat on a random stoop and let it all out. I pulled the journal out of my bag and opened it up. Inside, on the first, crisp page, was a poem:

What would you say with your last breath?

You know, if you were given the choice?

Would you hold on to your pride,

Or say what’s inside,

How would you use your last voice?

What would you do on your last day?

You know, if you were given the pleasure?

Would you hide in your bed,

Or catch up with loved ones instead?

How would you spend your last leisure?

What would you think with your last thoughts?

You know, if you were given the chance?

Would you fight the depart?

Or bow out with a grateful heart?

Tell me, how would you dance your last dance?

I can’t tell you how long I sat on that stoop, opening, and closing the book, reading, and rereading that poem. I must have been there awhile though because I noticed an old woman peeking out of her window. By the look on her face, I gathered she didn’t want me there. I scrolled through the book one more time as I prepared to leave. There was a nifty pocket in the back. Inside, I found a short obituary with a handwritten note requesting me to provide a eulogy today and check for $20,000. Both were signed by the same man, James A. Smith.

My first thoughts were:

‘I can not cash this.

I can not keep this.

I don’t even know this person.

What kind of a name is James Smith?

This must be fake.

I can not keep this,

but also,

I NEED this money.’

As soon as I got home, I jumped on my bed, grabbed my phone, and started searching the internet. Isn’t that what we do these days? Let me tell you, there are a lot of James A. Smiths’ in Connecticut.

I put my phone down, made myself a cup of tea, and sat with my thoughts for over an hour. Life will always give you what you need. It will always put you where you need to be when you need to be there, even if you don’t understand it at the time. If there was ever a time to doubt this, this is not the time. James A. Smith saved my life. I don’t know where I would be or how I would be living were it not for his kindness in death. I wish I knew more, but that part wasn’t meant. I will forever be grateful to him though.

And so, James, to answer your questions, with my last breath, I would tell the story of how our souls met on my very worst day. With my last day, I would find a burdened heart, and do all I could to lighten their load. And with my last thoughts, I hope I will think about the time I was blessed enough to be touched by the love of a stranger. Thank you, James A. Smith, thank you.”

As I stepped down from the pulpit, the woman approached me. “Hi, I’m Valerie.” She said. “I’m so glad you came. The eulogy was lovely. My brother would be so pleased.”

“Your brother?”

“Jameson was my twin. It has been just the two of us for a few years now. He was very sick, and he knew for quite a while that his time was running out. In the end, he wanted to live simply and spread kindness. He took everything he had out of the bank and started traveling. That journal was his final act of kindness. When I saw you on the bus that day, you looked like you were carrying the weight of the world. I knew you were the one.”

I stood speechless and in awe, eyes filled with bittersweet tears.

“I was just fulfilling my brother’s dying wish. Thank you for that beautiful eulogy. He would have been thrilled to have had such an impact. If you ever get the chance, would you pay it forward? In honor of my brother, James Angel Smith?”

“James Angel Smith. Will do.”