Dying For Change

Here I sit in the first row of the funeral home, eyes puffy red and tears rolling down my cheeks, still in disbelief that this could all be real. My older brother, Kyle, is sitting to my right, and my mom, Bev, is to my left. Both are in a daze and drained of emotion, likely due to last night's emotional visitation ceremony. I couldn’t make it back home until this morning. This is the first time I've seen my dad since Easter, and he’s lying pale and lifeless in a glossy dark maple casket.

***

My flight from Phoenix to Dayton was uneventful, except for the little boy who sat behind me, kicking my chair the entire flight. The plane landed at Dayton International Airport in Ohio around 9 am. I briskly walked to the Enterprise rental car counter. After I signed the rental agreement and received the keys to the silver Nissan Altima, I drove the 40 minutes to my parents’ house. The house was empty. My mom and brother must have decided to grab something to eat before heading to the funeral home. I knew I didn’t have a lot of time to dilly dally, but I decided to make a pot of coffee. At least I could be properly caffeinated, since I had to get up at 5 am to catch my flight. As I poured the water into the coffee maker, my phone rang. It was Mom. “Hey, Mom, I guess I must have missed you and Kyle. I’m at the house getting ready,” I said, trying to sound as cheery as I could.

“Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re home. You know how I worry when any of my guys are flying. I just wanted to make sure you were safely on the ground,” said Mom, sounding both relieved and exhausted at the same time.

“I’m fine, Mom. I fly all the time, it's safer than driving,” I reassured her. “How are you holding up today? Is Kyle with you?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m doing ok, Dave. Kyle is here beside me. I’m just so glad to have you and your brother home,” Mom said, sounding drained.

“Typical, Mom,” I think to myself, “brush off bad news and turn the focus onto someone else.”

Mom and Dad were the perfect couple and have been married for 23 years. Mom’s a teacher. Dad worked at an auto repair shop. Dad worked long hours. Putting the family and work first were Dad’s priorities. Dad wasn’t much for healthy eating. I’ve seen pictures when he was dating Mom, and he looks like a different person. I don’t really remember Dad exercising growing up, and fast food was one of his main food groups. Doctors confirmed that he had high blood pressure. Dad was 300+ lbs. prior to his passing. A heart attack shouldn’t have been such a surprise.

“Well, Dave, I’m going to have to let you go,” Mom interrupted my daydream, “they are calling me to finalize a few things for the ceremony. I can’t wait to see you, sweetie.”

“Ok, Mom,” I distractedly replied, “I’ll be there soon. I love you.”

“I love you, too, honey, and be careful driving here,” Mom said as warmly as she was able.

I had procrastinated as much as I could. I got in the rental and drove down the street. As I looked out the window, I thought, “It’s amazing how much the old neighborhood has changed since I was a kid. The old elementary school where I had gone in the early 1990s was now a gas station and Starbucks.”

I passed Quality Repair Central on the way. This is where Dad worked all my life. As I stopped at the red light outside the front entrance, I gazed into the office. It looked very busy this morning with customers dropping off their vehicles for repair and Dad’s former co-workers doing their best to assist them. Business as usual, with or without my Dad. He spent so much time at that shop. One time, I remember he even cancelled our vacation because three of his co-workers had come down with the flu. His motto was that when it came to work, “just had to make it happen”. Often, this came at his own personal expense.

As I pulled into the parking lot of Jackson’s Funeral Home, I felt the pit in my stomach grow. I saw the sign next to the front door that said, “Welcome Family & Friends to the Celebration of Life for Bill Darcy.” Seeing my Dad’s name on that sign shook me. I knew that as soon as I got out of that car, I was going to have to see all of my extended family and my Dad’s friends. Growing up, Dad was always a shield for uncomfortable situations. As I opened the car door and stepped out of the vehicle, I took a deep breath and thought, “I need my Dad, right now.”

***

The funeral was a blur, followed by a parade of people offering me their condolences. Then we went to the cemetery. We stood around the casket, and Pastor Brian gave a final prayer. It was announced that there would be food and fellowship at the church for anyone who would like to attend. I hugged my mom and walked back to my rental car. As I sat down and started up the car, I realized I don’t think I can handle any more of this right now. As the procession of cars all moved to turn right out of the cemetery to the church, I made a left towards Al’s Pub.

I parked on the side of the building and made my way to the entrance. I noticed a strange man lurking near the bushes with a smoke-gray hoodie pulled down almost over his eyes. I glanced at him but continued in. I sat down at the bar and gazed around, “Man, even this place has changed so much since Dad used to bring me here as a kid.”

I know that sounds bad that my dad brought me to a bar as a kid, but it was actually a very special time. My Dad would bring me here some weekends when it was just us two. He taught me how to play pool and let me drink as many root beers as I wanted. Now, the pool tables that used to sit at the back wall under the giant Moosehead were gone. They were replaced with a large shelf for DoorDash pickup.

I felt the coffee from this morning and made my way to the restroom. Standing at the urinal, I heard the door creak behind me. I turned around to see the strange man from the front of the building standing there. The bathroom’s soft loft made me unable to see his face clearly.

He spoke first in a low voice, “Something troubling you, son?”

“I just came from my Dad’s funeral,” I replied.

“Hmmm…,” he grumbled. “Tough times. Was he sick?”

“He had a heart attack. Way too young for something like this,” I said solemnly.

“Maybe I can be of some help,” he growled.

Confused about what he meant. I turned to wash my hands at the sink and saw the strange man move closer. I flinched to move, but too late. His icy cold hand pressed down on my shoulder, causing the room to spin and the light to narrow until everything went black.

***

I woke up lying on the bathroom floor with a pounding headache. I slowly sat up and looked around.

“That son of a bitch must have sucker punched me,” I thought.

I stood up and walked forward to push open the bathroom door. I looked across the room and couldn’t believe my eyes. The pool tables from my childhood were sitting at the back of the bar under the same old Moosehead. Panic rising in my chest, I raced over to the bar and looked at the calendar above the register… December 24, 1999. Shaking my head in disbelief, leaned over the bar for support. I turned my head to the side and stared in disbelief. Sitting down on the other end of the bar was my father, but not my father from the casket; this was my father, at least 25 years younger.

***

It felt like a magnet was pulling me over towards my Dad. I walked over and pulled out the barstool next to him and took a seat. I tried not to stare like a creep, but this was all so weird. I noticed his cheeks were wet with tears, and his hat was pulled down low. He must have sensed me leering, so he turned to me and asked, “There a problem, bub?!”

“N-N-No,” I stammered, “You just look like someone I know.”

Dad looked me up and down and said, “Honestly, I was thinking the same thing about you. I noticed you when you stumbled out of the bathroom. Did you use to work for Frank’s Auto Parts?”

“Uhh, yeah, but just for a short time,” I lied. “My name's Dav—err—Dale. I just moved back to the area. What was your name, again?” I asked.

“It’s Bill,” Dad replied.

“I don’t want to seem nosy or anything, but you look pretty rough. You doing ok?” I asked.

Dad shifted in his seat uncomfortably, “Uhh, that obvious, huh?”

I shrugged and said, “Well, I’ve seen a similar look recently. On myself.”

Dad raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“I just lost a very close family member, and we laid him to rest today,” I said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dad consoled.

We started talking about death and life and everything in between. The conversation flowed like two old buddies catching up. Dad told me about his family, and you could hear the pride in his voice. He mentioned two boys who were always getting into stuff and his wife, who keeps them all in line.

Then he started to talk about his job, and his tone changed. He told me that he doesn’t really know how he ended up working in the auto repair field. It's not what he wanted when he got out of college. He went on to say that the economy was shit after he graduated, and he struggled to find work. Student loans started coming due, and this was the shop was the first place that gave him a chance to earn a paycheck. He said he never looked at it as long-term, but as time moves on, you get married, you have kids, and next thing you know, it seems like you can’t risk making a change.

“I just feel like I’m I’ve been in a rut for some time now. Just seems like all I have the energy to do is go to work, come home, and go to bed. I eat like shit, and am out of shape. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this…” he trailed off.

“It’s fine, man. You bottle that stuff up and it will explode,” I reassured him.

Hearing all this really shook me. This is not the Bill Darcy that I thought I knew. He sounds depressed. As a naive child and young adult, I guess I just never saw it. He hid this sadness and disappointment well.

“Let me ask you something. What is it that you really want to do? If you could reset your life, how would you want it to look?” I asked.

“It’s been so long since I’ve thought about something like that,” he started. “When I was still in college, I wanted to be a writer. And I loved sports… but that doesn’t put food on the table.”

“Well, a man’s gotta have dreams and hobbies,” I said. “Gotta take that first step. What about checking with the local paper to see if they need help covering school sports. Or just start writing for fun, anything is a start.”

Dad looked at me skeptically, “I don’t know… I don’t even have any experience. I don’t even know where I would start and when would I find the time?”

I waved him off, “Look, Da—err Bill, I get it. Dreams are hard. Doing what you always have done is comfortable. Taking chances is hard and scary. Baby steps, though. I’m going to be around for a bit. Do you think you could be my work out partner? I have a hard getting up and going with a partner.”

Dad still seemed doubtful, but I also thought I saw a slight gleam in his eyes “Well, I haven’t worked out in a long time, but if I can find time, I’ll help you out.”

Dad looked at his watch, “I have to get going, Bev is going to wonder where I am.”

We walked outside and I realized that my rental car was no longer there. I asked Dad if I could catch a ride with him. He said sure and asked where I was staying. Luckily, I remembered the name of a local motel a few blocks away from our family home. As Dad drove, I looked out the window and noticed my old elementary school, no longer a gas station and Starbucks.

As we arrived at the motel Dad pulled over to drop me off. I asked, “What are you doing tomorrow, Bill?”

Dad looked up, thinking to himself, “Well, it’s Sunday, so probably nothing really.”

“How about I stop by, and we can hit the gym?” I said hopefully.

Dad replied with what sounded like a hint of gratefulness, “Sure, that will be fine.”

As he drove away, I pulled out my wallet and realized that, luckily, I had taken out some cash before I made my trip back to Ohio. I walked up to the front door of Laz-E Day Motel and asked for a room.

***

Over the next couple of weeks, I continued to show and hang out with my Dad. Trying to motivate him and encourage him to try something different. It started with us exercising together before he went to work. Within a few days, you could just tell that he seemed happier. By the second week, I coaxed him into talking to the local newspaper editor. The editor agreed to take him on as a freelance columnist for the sports department.

On Monday of the third week, I walked over to the house to work out with Dad and noticed a strange man standing on the front porch. I called out, “Hey, who are you?”

The strange man started to almost glide across the yard toward me. “Hello, Dave,” he groaned in a low voice. “It seems you have been getting along well.”

Unsure what to say, I started to back away.

“I’m here to tell you that your time here is done, Dave. This was just a temporary trip,” growled the strange man.

“But, I can’t leave my Dad,” I protested. “I can’t go back to him being gone.”

“I’m sorry, Dave, but your time is up,” he said.

The strange man raised his hand and placed it on my shoulder as he had done in the bar. I instantly felt weak, and my vision narrowed. The world spun, and then everything went black.

***

I was awakened by someone shaking me vigorously. I opened my eyes and the world started to come back, blurry at first and then clearer. I looked at the face of the person shaking me and almost passed out again.

“Dave, are you alright?” asked my Dad. “I was headed to the gym for my morning workout and saw you passed on in the front yard.”

I looked up in amazement. It was my Dad, but not the same Dad that I had just seen yesterday. This version looked to be older based on the shades of gray along the side of his head, but thinner and much more fit. “Dad?!” I said, almost in tears.

“Uhh, yea, Dave, it’s Dad,” he said, confused.

“Dad, I’m just so happy to see you. I was so worried,” I exclaimed.

“Dave, I just saw you yesterday. We watched the Cowboys play last night,” replied Dad.

My head still spinning, I asked, “Dad, I know this is going to seem crazy, but what year is it?”

Dad looked at me questioningly, “2025. Dave, I think we should take you to the ER to get checked out. You must have hit your head.”

“No, Dad, I’m ok, I was just joking. I went for a run earlier, and I don’t think I drank enough water,” I lied.

“Oh, Dave, you know better than that,” Dad scolded.

“I know, Dad,” I said.

“Regardless, I’m just so happy to have you back around the house for a bit. You coming home to visit your mom and me out of the blue last week has been great,” Dad said.

My thoughts were still swimming, but I was starting to put the pieces together. The strange man brought me back, but things are different now.

***

I spent the next couple of days trying to discreetly figure things out. I found out that my Dad no longer works for an auto repair shop and hasn’t for about 20 years now. He is a writer for several national news outlets and has written 3 published novels. He seems to be genuinely happy and healthy, both physically and mentally.

One afternoon, I was sitting in the living room and noticed a book sitting on the fireplace mantle. I picked it up and saw it was Dad’s first novel, “Flying High”. I opened to the inside cover and began to read. “This book is dedicated to my friend Dale. Without him, I would have never learned to reach for the stars and take chances.”

I closed the book and hugged it to my chest.