#NaNoWriMo 2017 Short Story #4 of 10: — The Paperboy

I will never forgot the summer I met Mr. Gregor.

Most freshman in high school had it simple. Go to school. Do a little homework. Maybe play a sport. But for me, it was different. Unlike most of my friends, I had a job. It was a low paying one at that (we’re talking forty bucks a month, tops), but a job nonetheless. This was a job I had been doing for a few years, biding my time until I could get a real job. McDonald’s, Walmart, or something legit. Oh well, money was money. It wasn’t much but I could buy a few things on my own. Despite my own family’s financial shortcomings, my parents let me keep everything I made. Sometimes I really did like those people.

My route was a simple one, with most of the clients those people too old to realize that everything could be found on the internet. Maybe there was some value to local news. It didn’t really mean much to me. Nothing much happened in our small town. At least, not until this summer.

School was ending for the year and all the students were excited about their big summer plans. Chris was headed to Massachusetts to visit relatives. Lacey had a cabin on a lake up north. Brad intended on getting drunk. I tried not to associate with Brad.

For me, however, the biggest issue with the paperboy gig wasn’t the pay, although it was lower than my friend Lance’s pants when he was trying to be “ghetto”. It was the lack of flexibility. No way could I easily just go on vacation for a week with my parents. If I needed a sub, it would cost me pretty much my entire paycheck. Therefore, I would get to spend a lot of quality time at home when I wasn’t trudging around with a fifty pound bag around my neck slinging dead trees around the neighborhood.

It was a late May day, a particularly hot one at that, that I met him. Walking the broken sidewalks that meandered through the sleepy outskirts of my home town, I tripped on a crack, flopping forward and ravaging my hands in the process. My bag flew forward, scattering a dozen rolls of newspaper over the front lawn of one of the houses on my route. I howled in pain, blood oozing my jagged cuts on my palms.

The door to that house swung open, creaking loudly. Emerging from the depths of the small, ranch style house was a formidable man that looked about seventy years old. Walking slowly with a slight limp, he made his way over to me. Trying to take a look at who was coming out, I had to do a double take. This man was missing an eye on the left side of his face, which was also heavily scarred. It made me forget about my own pain for a moment as a part of me didn’t want help from this rather scary looking dude.

“Everything alright, son? What happened?” he spoke with a deep, twangy voice.

“Oh, nothing.” I whispered softly as I tried to brush the tears of anguish away from my face with my sleeve. “Just tripped, that’s all. I’ll be fine. Really.” He didn’t take my statement as Gospel.

“Here, let me help you up. You can come inside and I’ll get your hands cleaned up. Can’t send you home to your parents like that.” With that he reached down with his massive arms and grabbed me by the elbow, pulling me to my feet with a single pull. Even though it appeared to pain him greatly, he also took the time to gather my papers and restock them in my satchel. Still whimpering a little in pain, I felt guilty watching him do this for me. Then, he motioned for me to follow him into his house.

I have to be honest for a moment here. This made me nervous as can be. TV, my parents, and even the school teachings of “stranger danger” made me quite wary of just following a stranger into their house. Especially concerning was the fact I was injured and had no good way of fighting back. My sense were on fire, and I was ready to hightail it.

“Uh, thanks but no thanks sir. I really should get my route done and go home. My mom will get worried if I’m late.” He looked disappointed, which didn’t help how I was feeling about the situation. However, my decision was made for me. I tried to take a step and nearly fell again. Through the pain of my scrapes I didn’t notice that I had sprained my ankle.

“Ahhhh!” I yelled, surprised by how much it hurt.

“Well, that’s that. You are coming with me. We can call your mom when we get inside.” He walked over and grabbed me by the elbow again, walking me into the house.

“What’s your name young man?” he asked politely.

“Collin. You?”

“You can call me Henry, or Mr. G. Whatever works for you.”

It was like visiting my grandparents inside his house, but with a lot more antiques. Memorabilia from sports and places around the world lined his walls. Knick knacks filled tables and shelves, many of which I couldn’t even recognize where they may have come from. The smell reminded me of a mixture of McDonald’s and my dad’s cologne. Weird, I know. My nose knows what it knows, you know?

Soon, we were in his main room. I noticed immediately that there was no TV, just a large radio and a record player, which was emitting some sounds that I think could have been jazz. Or Beethoven. Mostly, I listen to country, so my ability to recognize anything that doesn’t have a twang is a big limited. The music filled the room beautiful, as if it was physically there with us as well. Now, we finally reached a couch, where he let me down slowly. This also happened to be right next to a phone, at least, it looked like it might be one.

“Umm…how do I use this?” I asked innocently. It looked like a prop from an old movie. Believing that somebody actually still used something like this was hard to say the least.

“Simple, really. Just put your finger in the hole of the first number you want, then pull it all the way around until you can’t anymore. Let it swing back into place, and dial the next one, and keep doing that until you are done. I suppose your phone has buttons…” he explained. I thanked him kindly, even as I was still a bit surprised I was trying to make a call from this thing.

After screwing up a few times, I was finally successful in getting the correct number in. My mom was a bit concerned, but calmed down once I gave her the address of where I was at. The paper route was only a mile from my house, so it wouldn’t take her long to come get me. It just meant dinner would be a little later since she’d have to turn the oven off. Why she had to bring that up, I don’t know. Of course, she had to make me feel bad about getting injured. She’s stressed, I get it. But it would be nice to feel a little sympathy.

With a few minutes to spare, I sat quietly, trying to avoid looking at this guy who just took care of me. He had disappeared while I was talking to my mom, and now reappeared with some bandages and a wrap. Even though it looked excruciating for him, he knelt over, removing my shoe and tightly stabilizing my leg with the stretchy cloth he was using. Then, in what I can only describe as feeling like a million needles jabbing into my hands, he cleaned out my wounds before bandaging them up.

“Thanks…I think. I mean, wow that hurt.” was the best I could say.

“Hahah!” He laughed deeply. “Don’t want you losing those hands to an infection. How else will I get my news?”

By having a different paper boy? Investing in a computer and a tv? Those thoughts stayed in my head. That was nice though that he seemed to value me. I don’t remember meeting him before, but my brain seemed to recall a new address appearing on my delivery list. Henry Gregor was his name. Now, his face was certainly jarring to look it, but in peering around his house, something else caught my eye.

“WOAH! Is that a Ken Griffey Jr. signed picture? With in it? What is the deal with that?” I asked excitedly.

There was a loud knock on the door. My mom had arrived.

“Oh, looks like your mother has come to get you. I’d love to tell you all about that picture. Funny story, really. Why don’t you stop by tomorrow and we can talk about it?” He seemed to genuinely want some company, but he gave me the creeps. But Ken Griffey Jr. was one of my favorite players. Heck, his video games were the first sports games I played. Griffey Jr. might be the reason I love baseball.

I answered as honestly as I could. “If I have some time tomorrow on my route, I’ll try. Thanks again for helping me out. I’m feeling better already.” And with that, I limped my way to my mom, to her car, and to home. My mind couldn’t stop thinking about that Griffey picture. Who was this guy and why did he get to have a picture with him? Even though I had a hard time looking at him, I knew I just had to hear more about it.

That night I dreamt of what I might find out. Maybe he knew Griffey and could arrange for me to meet him. Then, I would learn everything I needed to become the greatest baseball player of all time. Everyone would know my name and crowds would cheer whenever I would step up the plate. Even in my dream I could hear the sound of myself making faux crowd noises. It was a fun dream.

When I woke up the next day, I realized something slightly upsetting. It was a Saturday. Normally this would be great. Sleeping in, no school, and general laziness was an awesome thing that needed to happen more often. With summer approaching, it kind of would. Unfortunately, Saturday’s were days that I didn’t deliver any papers. We did deliver papers on Sunday, but it happened before seven in the morning, so nobody would be up then. It didn’t seem like I really wanted to go at first, but the longer I had to wait, the more impatient I got.

One benefit of a slow Saturday was being able to rest my ankle. Over night, the soreness definitely ramped up a notch. My mom helped me ice it and gave me some pain medicine. She also make sure to replace my bandages in the most painful way possible. A day to distance myself from these injuries would be nice before having to get back on the road and start flinging the news of the day around again. Without the ability to move around much, I stayed in my room most of the day playing video games and eating pretzels. Every once in a while, my mom would knock on the door and ask if I needed anything. Otherwise, I’d simply shout out into the rest of the house in the hopes she would hear me.

Sleep was rough that night, as it had been the night before. You never really realize how difficult it is to get comfortable when your hands hurt no matter where you put them and you need to be careful of where you set your ankle. No combination of pillows or blankets seemed to do the trick. I laid awake all night twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the sun to rise. Somehow, the papers needed to be delivered today. Silently, I prayed that my mom would be willing to drive me on my route.

Once 6:00am appeared on my alarm clock, I got up and tested out my ankle. It wasn’t pleasant to walk on, and I really shouldn’t have put much mileage on it, but I could limp along. In a decision only a proud adolescent male could make, I decided to walk my way up to my route for the morning. After getting dressed, I popped a few Advil, downed them with a glass of milk, and headed outside to get my papers ready for the day.

It was a quiet, tranquil morning. Still cool, the walk was pleasant, aside from the pain that came from every step on my ankle. My eyes got a little wider as I walked past Mr. Gregor’s house in the hopes I could see him and learn more about his connection the baseball. However, the shades were closed and I saw no sign of him. That wasn’t any different than I expected, but I wondered at that point if hearing his story might not happen. I certainly didn’t feel comfortable just knocking on his door and asking to come on at this point.

By the time I made it back home, my ankle was screaming. My shoe was straining from the swelling, cueing me in on how poor of a decision I made. Making it to the living room couch, I plopped, enjoying the sweet pleasure of getting off my feet. Next time I will swallow my pride and let my mom help me out.

As Sunday rolled onward, my parents woke up, went to church, and returned. I got a pass on attending since they wanted me to keep resting my ankle. Surprised, I thought for sure they would get on my case about walking on a bad ankle and make me go to church anyway. Thankfully, they were considerate of my pain. One way or another, the paper route had to be done. At least they didn’t have to do it!

The idea of walking around school on Monday was not a fun one to entertain. Hopefully I would feel a little better, but with classes on both floors of the high school, I could envision the stairs putting a hurt on me. Floating the idea of begging my mom to let me stay home sick, I decided that I needed to stick it out. Maybe Monday was the day I could learn about Gregor and Griffey.

This was the last week of school, so by the time I arrived at my second class of the day, I was so focused on wrapping up the year in these classes and preparing for finals that I didn’t even think about what would happen after school. Being a Freshman, I was fairly concerned about my grades and thus, despite the fact we were so close to summer break, I needed to be at my best. By the end of the day, I was fried and my ankle was throbbing. I took the bus home and saw the stack of papers waiting for me to prepare for my route. Sometimes I really hated this job.

I rolled the papers up, slide them in plastic sleeves, and stored them in my over the shoulder bag. Forty papers in all. As I trudged up the street to begin my route, grimacing with every step, it started to annoy me just how cheap my employment was. One dollar per paper. But not just that, since I delivered six times a week. Next year I would get a car and I would get a real job. I couldn’t go another year doing this. A couple of times a year I might get a tip from someone on the route, but hardly enough to write home about.

Most of the route consisted of toss to the door patrons. Some wanted the papers specifically in their paper slot by their mailbox. Mr. Gregor was one who had a slot right outside his front door for my delivery. Given how difficult walking seemed for him, I’m not surprised he liked his paper close to grab. At last, I made it to that house I had been looking forward to stopping at since Friday. I was still a little nervous about the entire situation, however. The scars on his face, the missing eye, and the fact I didn’t even know him made every sense in my body go on high alert. If I didn’t like baseball so much, I would have run on my bad ankle to drop his paper off. But, the mystery of this man was too much. I walked up to his door and placed the paper in the designated holder. Then, after lingering for a bit, I knocked, then waited.

As a minute passed, I began to think he wasn’t home and angled myself to begin leaving. Then, the familiar screech of a well-worn door was heard, and out popped Mr. Gregor.

“Hello there son. How ya feeling?” he asked, stifling a cough.

“Hands are sore. Ankle is killing me. But I’ll live.” I revealed matter-of-factly.

“It’s a warm day out here. Want to come inside for a bit in the air conditioning? If I remember, you had a particular interest in a photo of mine.” His invitation was sincere, and I could hardly pass up this opportunity. I nodded, and followed him back inside.

We sat back in his living room. Once again, the feeling of taking the weight off my ankle after an hour of walking was nirvana. It would be hard to get up and go home. Hopefully his story was a long one.

“So, I mean, Mr. Gregor sir. You met Ken Griffey Jr.?” I stuttered through my question, nervous to be so forthcoming with someone I barely knew.

“Well, that picture there must have been taken, let’s see here. 2017 is this year right? I guess that would make that 20 years ago. It was a pretty neat moment. I was in Seattle for the dedication of a new hospital that I helped fund. We even set up a pretty solid plan where children without insurance would still get care for no cost. In any case, the Mariners baseball team had a special game to recognize us. I didn’t really care for the attention, but they brought us behind the scenes. Gave us a tour. And let us meet some of the players for batting practice. Ken happened to be there. Super nice guy. Hit two home runs that day.”

I was engrossed by this man. Looking so young and full of life just twenty years ago, I wondered what happened. This story just begged more questions. Suddenly, instead of a creepy old guy who also had a signed picture of a famous baseball player in his house, he was now somebody that I wanted to know much better.

“That is so cool!” I exclaimed, finally breaking the silence after he finished. “We’ve only been down to Milwaukee a couple of times to watch the Brewers, but we usually get the tickets for free up in the nosebleeds from friends. Baseball games are a bit of luxury. Too far to drive and too expensive for us.”

Mr. Gregor sighed. “A boy should be able to go to as many baseball games as he wants. If you ever need help getting to a game, you just let me know.”

I practically just met this man, and now he wanted to buy me tickets to go to baseball games? That seemed to good to be true. Instead of ruining the moment with more ridiculous expressions, I took a look at my watch. It was now close to 5:00pm and my mom would certainly be getting worried about me.

“So, Mister.” He interrupted me.

“Call me Henry.”

“Oh, okay. Umm. Henry. Would it be okay if I stop by everyday on my route? I have so many questions!” I could barely contain my excitement.

“Absolutely young man. I don’t plan on going anywhere. I’m old. Retired. And it is too dang hot to do much outside. In fact, with summer here, if you are looking for a little extra work, I might have some odd jobs.” I was floored. A little extra money was never a bad thing. If it came with more stories, it would be worth whatever it was.

“Thanks Henry! I better go finish my route. See you tomorrow!” He nodded, and I limped my way out of his cool house into the warm world.

Delivering the last few papers, I was relieved to be done. Sadly, there was still the mile walk back to my house. The last time I was in this much pain I think I was five and just had my fingers slammed in a door. That stuck with me for about 30 minutes. This annoying ankle was going to dog me the entire summer. I just knew it. If I paid taxes to the city I’ll throw another few bucks in to fix the sidewalks!

The rest of the week played out in much the same way. I grinded through the school day, working on our last few projects and preparing for the big final exams on Friday. Every day, I stopped by Mr. Gregor’s house for just long enough to hear one story, and then I went back on my way. And even though progress was slow (no doubt due to my continuing to log multiple miles a day on it) my ankle was recovering.

Henry was a more interesting man than I could have possibly imagined. On Tuesday, he told me the story of when he was my age, he actually started his own business, selling flowers his mom grew on their large chunk of land to people at the neighborhood flea market. It was at this point, he made sure to highlight, that he learned the importance of entrepreneurship, the value of waking up early every day, and the necessity of having enough supply to meet demand. Laughing, he said he couldn’t remember exactly how many days that business lasted, but he thought that it was probably as little as a week.

Wednesday he shared about his son, Luke, who was a big baseball player himself. Proud as any father would be, he recalled watching him pitch a no hitter in high school. In fact, that must have been an especially impactful moment for him as I noticed his eyes got a little watery. As I thought about it, he also seemed to refer to his son in the past tense. That seemed a bit off.

As it got later in the week, I knew I needed to really take time to study. With finals being on Friday, Thursday night was crucial. Since I really enjoyed Henry’s stories, I did stop by, but only for a few minutes, just long enough to explain that I needed all the time I could get. He understood and told me he looked forward to my next visit.

Normally, the end of the week would be a welcome conclusion. Instead, today presented the lovely combination of simultaneously being the last day of school and finals in four different classes. My stress level was through the roof the entire day, and when the bell finally rang to let us go home, I just about burst out of the building. Because I had to ride the bus, I didn’t have a ton of time to say goodbye to my friends. Still, I had a moment to wish them well on their summers. I didn’t yet have a cell phone, so it wasn’t as simple as exchanging numbers. My mom didn’t even let me have a Facebook. Unfortunately, this only left me with the option of learning out their excursions when school started up again in the Fall.

Mentally drained from the day, I tried to go through my route as quickly as possible so I could just be home and relax. Skipping a visit with Mr. Gregor’s wasn’t easy. I was really starting to enjoy our time together. However, being home and by myself to chill on the couch and watch baseball seemed like the right decision today. After all, Mr. Gregor would still be there on Monday.

When I made it back to Henry’s house on Monday, he was so ecstatic to see me that I was taken aback. Apparently my presence was more important to him than I realized. You never really realize the impact you have on somebody, even after just a week. Loneliness is a terrible thing, and it seems that Mr. Gregor was quite lonely. Whenever I thought about it, it seemed strange that a 15 year old boy would be hanging out with some random old guy. But, maybe, and this was a deep thought moment for me, perhaps more of us should be doing that. The joy I saw on Henry’s face every time he opened the door to see me made me feel so good inside.

Some days he shared stories, like he did the first week we spent together. Other days, however, we just sat, listening to jazz on the record player and enjoying the air conditioning. As the summer progressed, I began to learn everything about this man and all of his knick knacks and keepsakes. I learned he was successful in business and was invested in companies all across the United States. He moved to Wisconsin to enjoy a quiet end to his days.

One thing that he hadn’t talked about much, and I hadn’t brought up, was what happened to his face. Maimed badly, it must have happened in the past twenty years. It was understandable that he didn’t bring it up on his own. I’m sure it was a very painful memory. But now I had to know. He also didn’t talk much about his family. An off handed mention of a son or wife here and there, but I never saw them, and he never talked about them as if they were around. Something terrible must have happened.

As August approached, I knew our time would be coming to a close soon. Once September rolled around, I would be starting a job at a local grocery stories. There would be more hours, more pay, but less flexibility. Since I had school, the hours would all be in the evening. Visiting Mr. Gregor would be challenging, if not impossible.

Finally, on a dreary mid-week day, I asked him. “What happened to your family?” I tried to sound as sincere as possible because I really did want to know. Mostly, however, it was my curiosity that led to the question and perhaps not as much caring as it should have been.

He sat for a moment, looking up at the ceiling for a bit, then the floor, then back at me.

“I suppose you’ve heard me mention them now and again, and have probably connected the dots that they aren’t here with me now. Alas, you should know.” He paused, took a deep breath, and revealed his truth. “My family is dead. My wife. My son. They are no longer with us.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy blanket. My shock was written all over my face. I should have known. It made sense that his wife may have passed. But his son too? My brain couldn’t imagine my dad losing my mother and I.

Mr. Gregor continued. “It all happened about two years ago. I was living in Phoenix at the time with my wife. My son called us one day very excited — he was getting called up the majors and making a spot start for the Diamondbacks. We were thrilled — our son’s dreams were coming true. We had moved to Phoenix after retiring and it was so cool that he was going to be playing for them. The night before the game, he came into town, and we had a lovely dinner. That is when it all went wrong.” Knocking away some tears from his eye, he fought through his emotions to continue.

“After coming home that night, something seemed off. Our door was open and some lights were on inside. My son went in first to check on things for us. Everything else was a blur. I heard him scream in pain and rushed in as best I could. There was a man with a knife in our house who must have been trying to rob us while we were gone. He came after me, swiping up my face a few times and slicing my eye on the process. You can see the results of that attack on my face.”

I was horrified. Tears were streaming. Part of me didn’t want him to finish. I didn’t want to hear the end of this story even though my mind was already guessing.

“In severe pain, I dropped to the ground. Then, the worst thing happened. My wife…my lovely, beautiful, amazing wife, tried to stop the attacker. She rushed at him, hitting him with a chair and tried to chase him out of the house. But he decided he didn’t want any survivors, and went after her, stabbing her in the neck. During their struggle, I managed to get to my feat and wrestle him to the ground, surprising him with a hit that knocked the knife from his hand. I picked it up and plunged it deep into his chest. I took a life. But he took two…” He trailed off. Sniffling strongly, he grabbed some tissue next to him.

“I held my wife as the last pieces of life left her body. My heart ached more than the physical pain from my face. It was hours before I called the police. In shock of both losing my wife and son and killing another man, I was numb. A part of me died that day. After that, I had to get away. There was nothing for me there but horrible memories.”

I didn’t know what to say. Sobbing myself, it just didn’t make sense to me that such senseless horror happened in the world. “Henry…I’m so sorry I made you tell that story. I’m just…so sorry.” Compelled by some deep part of me that felt it was right, I got off the couch, walked over to Mr. Gregor, and gave him the biggest hug I possible could. Then, I realized it was once again getting very late and that I needed to get home.

“I…I need to go. I’ll be back tomorrow though, okay?”

He smiled and replied softly. “You are welcome any time. These last two months have been the happiest I’ve been in two years. It is a lonely life without any family. I would consider you to be my family now. Thank you.” Before I made it out the door, he added, “Don’t feel bad for me. If anything, it felt good to get that off my chest. I haven’t told a soul since that night. I feel so much lighter now.”

As I walked home that night, I couldn’t get those images out of my mind. What if I got home and somebody was in my house and had killed my parents? What a horrifying thought! To have survived such an encounter and still continue to live life was an amazing testament to what kind of man Mr. Gregor was. Whatever role I played in his well-being, I really don’t know. It did feel good to think I helped him feel better about things though.

When the final week of August arrived, something I had been putting off for weeks had to come to a conclusion. I had to tell Mr. Gregor that I wouldn’t be stopped by as often anymore. It was the Monday before school started and, coincidentally, my new job would begin as well. Wrapping up my route as always near Mr. Gregor’s house, my heart sank. Outside of his garage was an ambulance. Upon seeing this, I sprinted over as fast as I could, arriving at the house just as the paramedics were rolling him out on a stretcher.

I shouted with exasperation. “Henry! What happened? Where are you taking him???” One of the paramedics got in my way, and I tried to push through him.

“Woah kid. You can’t just run up to someone being put in an ambulance. Are you crazy? Go home.” His voice was quick and his tone rude, but I understood. It was just his job and he didn’t want someone interfering.

“Let him come. That’s my grandson.” a quiet, raspy voice uttered from behind him. It was Henry.

“Oh, so sorry sir. Of course he can approach you.” Then, he looked at me. “You’ve got one minute. He is in very critical condition and we have to get him to the hospital.” With that, I nodded, and ran over to Henry.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

He mustered the strength to answer. “Not quite, son. I think my body has had about enough of this world. Thank you for the last three months. I’ve enjoyed every minute. Probably kept me going a little longer.” Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and the paramedics lifted him into the ambulance.”

One of them stated, “He’ll be at Mercy Hospital.” They jumped in the front and drove off.

I just stood there. What was I supposed to do? We had made a genuine connection. Even though I had my own grandparents, I felt a deeper relationship with Mr. Gregor. We talked about everything. He gave me advice and shared so many fun adventures. My summer was good because of him. He made me want to be a better person. Laying down on the grass and staring up at the clouds, I tried to think through what to do now. As for now, I didn’t want to move.

Once ten minutes or so passed, I realized that I couldn’t just lay in someone else’s front yard all day. I had to go home. When I got there I would ask my mom if we could go to the hospital and visit Henry. More than for me, I know he would benefit a lot from visitors.

Arriving at home, I begged my mom to go. Thankfully, I had talked to her about him over the course of the summer, so she was more than willing to go. She did make a comment about having to get dinner out, which would be more expensive, but she smiled and said it was worth it because “I was being such a thoughtful boy.”

We arrived at the hospital and asked for a Henry Gregor. Room 305. Grabbing the first elevator we could find, we rode in silence up to the third floor. Then, we made our way through the sterile, white halls past the strolling doctors and recovering patients to our destination. My eyes did not like what they saw when we got inside.

Hoses and tubes were everywhere. There was a machine hooked up to his mouth that must have been there to help him breath. He looked like a shell of the man I had seen just a few hours earlier. A nurse walked in.

“Oh, before he went unconscious, he said to expect you, and he handed me this to give to you.” She held out an envelope with my name on it. I took it. “He said to open it when you get home.”

Fighting back tears with my mom’s arm around my shoulder, I asked the nurse, “Can we stay here a while?”

She sighed and said. “Well, I don’t think he’s going to be here long. But, if you’d like to be here when he goes, it will probably happen soon.”

At that moment, the heart rate monitor started to beep more slowly, almost as if she had triggered the end for Henry with her words. My mom and I walked over to his bed and each put a hand on his arm. The beeps became slower and slower until finally a long beep was emitting from the machine. A doctor came in to do a final check.

“Time of death — 7:00pm. Say your last goodbyes, then we have to take him out of here.” He said coldly.

The dam burst. My eyes were flooding and I couldn’t hold back. It just wasn’t fair. Yes, he was old. But for what he had been through, he didn’t deserve this. Henry had a heart of gold and did so much good with his life. He gave to charities and volunteered. Every community he lived in was improved because he was there. Every life he touched was changed forever. I know mine was. I hugged my mom as tight as I could and cried until I didn’t have any tears left.

“Goodbye, Henry. I will miss you more than you will know.” I whispered as we exited the room, looking into his eye one last time.”

The ride home was quiet. I declined food when my mom stopped at a drive-thru. Emptiness filled me. At this point in my life, I hadn’t experience much death. Some random relatives had died, but that was when I was too young to really understand it and didn’t know them that well either. This was different. This sucked. This hurt. I never thought I would feel good about things again.

When we made it home, my mom tried to cheer me up.

“Honey, this is just a part of life. We all are born, we all live, and we all die. You know we believe he is in a better place. Hopefully you’ll get to see him again someday. I love you and I’m so proud of you for taking time to get to know him. You are becoming a man right before my eyes. This is just part of that journey.” She was choking up a bit now too. After a long hug, she headed off to do some chores around the house. I went to my room.

Collapsing on my bed, I felt wide awake. My brain kept playing key moments from my time with Henry over the past three months. I just didn’t want it to be true. Tomorrow I would wake up, do my paper route, and talk to him like I always had. Nothing would be different, right? This loop would continue, and I would start crying all over again.

Then I remembered the envelope I got from the nurse. I reached into my back pocket and pulled it out. I ripped it open, and removed the letter inside.

Dear Collin,

You are an amazing young man. It has been a pleasure to get to know you over the past few months. This old man has been around long enough to know that those who care about the old are those with big hearts who will make this world a better place. I have a good feeling about you.

I hope you don’t find my story to be a sad story. Yes, my wife and son left me too soon. But they gave this world a lot, and I tried to as well. In return, the world was kinder to me than it may seem.

Your parents work hard and so do you. Hard work is important for a young man, and you need to keep doing that. But everyone deserves a leg up in life. A break, if you will. Collin, I want to provide you with that break.

I spoke with your mother and made an arrangement with your bank account and mine. Every year, $20,000 will be deposited in your account from now until as long as you live. Hopefully this will help you achieve your dreams and live your life to the fullest. Maybe it will help take some stress off of your parents. You are the closest to family I had left, so I’m leaving everything I own to you.

Don’t stop caring for people Collin. It is a special gift. And, while doing good things should be its own reward, I think a little extra doesn’t hurt. Thank you Collin for your companionship.

Sincerely,

Henry Gregor