The soft, bouncy bed beneath him. Breathing air smelling of hand sanitizer, antiseptics, and alcohol. An uncountable amount of medical instruments that Joe didn’t know the name of. All of this didn’t help the uneasy feeling in Joe’s stomach. He was told to wait for his parents, Sarah and Michael, and the doctor to come back into the room, but naturally, he was curious. When Joe tried to creep silently to the door, he knocked a box of plastic gloves to the floor. Coordination didn’t come easily to him.
It didn’t seem like anyone had heard, so he quickly picked it up and put it back on the countertop. He pressed the side of his head against the gap between the door and the doorframe.
“...may have to increase medication. His seizures seem to be getting worse and more frequent, and although they aren’t severe, they could get much worse. The record you gave me says that he had seventeen minor seizures in the past thirty days, correct? That’s not a good sign. I don’t want to worry you, but it could cripple him after a while and eventually…”
Joe lurched back. He didn’t want to have to hear any more. Why did I have to have epilepsy? Why? I don’t want to..., he thought, then stopped himself. Whenever he had these thoughts, and that was a lot, it felt like he was stabbed. Not physically. Just with fear. But that might feel even worse.
Joe wasn’t special-looking in any way. He had short brown hair and pale skin from too little exposure to the sun. Not unique at all. The only difference between millions of other nine-year-old boys was inside his head, in his mind. He was wracked with fearful thoughts about the end. As in death.
He was silent for the whole car ride home, staring blankly out of the window. His mom and dad tried to start talking with him but to no avail. They knew why. Why didn’t they tell me? I have a right to know.
A few minutes ago, his mom had said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll be fine.”
His little brother Pobo was doodling in his notebook.
Things seem so normal for everyone else.
When they got back home, Joe wordlessly climbed up the stairs to his room. It was mostly devoid of decoration except for a painting of his grandmother and two lamps on the sides of his bed. He couldn’t sleep without the dimmed light of those lamps. There was a large window on the far right side of his bed that always shone in his face way, way, too early in the morning to be woken up. The door to his room on his right. It had always made a funny squeaking noise when opened. Everything in his room made Joe feel more and more trapped and vulnerable.
He picked up the old rotary dial phone on his nightstand and dialed. Jacob, his best and only friend, answered the call after a few seconds.
“Jacob?”
“Hey, are you Joe?”
“Yeah,”
“What’s up?”
“Ummm… I just went to the hospital. The doctors said I’m getting worse. A lot worse.”
“How bad is it?”
“I don’t know, really. I think I might die. I’ve been having a lot more seizures.”
“Listen to me: you are not going to die. You’re too afraid. Didn’t you already tell me a few days ago that only one in 1,000 people die of epilepsy?”
“But I could be that one.”
“Joe, you’ll be fine. Thinking that way won’t help, okay? I have to go help my mom with the groceries. See you later.”
Jacob hung up.
- - -
Joe got up the next morning, and his mom stuck her head through the doorway.
“Joe? We’re going to grandma’s house at eight. Brush your teeth, change, and then come down for breakfast.” She had a worried look on her face, and Joe didn’t think it was because of him. His mother’s eyebrows were creased and she had a faraway look on her face.
He did that, rushed through breakfast, and jumped in the car. Going to his grandma’s place was always treated as a special occasion by him and his brother because she knew exactly what they both liked. Food, toys, and games.
When they got there, Joe knocked on the door. To his surprise, his uncle, Bob, opened the door.
“Sarah! Michael! Come in! Mom is upstairs.”
Joe didn’t understand who Mom was for a moment. Then he realized that his mom’s and Uncle Bob’s mom was Joe’s grandmother.
Everyone rushed upstairs. During the stampede upstairs, Joe’s mom finally told Joe what was going on.
“Grandma’s very sick. She got a disease called cardiovascular disease. There are doctors, but they’re not sure whether grandma is getting better or not. We’re here to see her.”
Butterflies started dancing in his stomach. Not Grandma! he thought.
“Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.” his mom said.
Adults must love that phrase a lot. They keep saying it! No, no, no, nothing will happen to grandma, she’ll be fine, Joe tried to convince himself. Then he stepped into grandma’s room and saw her. Her skin was pale and she was lying unconscious on the bed. A doctor was sitting in a chair next to her with a machine with lines and numbers.
Joe didn’t want to see any more.
“Mom! I’m going back to the car.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned around and ran down the stairs to the car.
- - -
It’s going to happen. I don’t have control over it. There’s no way to escape it. Wait, doesn’t that mean that life is meaningless? Because if you can’t stop time, time will keep running. Eventually, it’ll be over. Everything that we do will always end at some point. Joe’s mind was running through these thoughts over and over again as he lay on his bed, staring up at the blank ceiling of his room. He was no philosopher, but it seemed pretty apparent to him that anything he did would come to an end. Eventually. He hated that word.
The next morning, he woke to the sound of the phone downstairs ringing. It made a weird noise, not brrnngg brrnngg brrnngg, but more like a fast series of low beeps. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and reluctantly got out of bed. Nobody was picking up the phone. He went downstairs to get it, but when he entered the kitchen where it was located, his mom came rushing down the stairs. She ran to the phone and grabbed it before Joe could do anything. His mom gestured with her hands for Joe to go out of the kitchen. Wondering what was so urgent, he walked out and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
When he was done, he went back downstairs and saw his dad and Pobo setting up the table for breakfast.
“Morning, Joe,” his father said.
Joe replied with a half-hearted “Unh.”
Suddenly, Joe’s mom slammed the receiver of the phone down. Her face was stony and her mouth could only be described as a flat line.
Then she started crying.
In the middle of a fountain of tears, she told them. “Mom passed away. Your grandmother. She’s in heaven now.” she said bluntly.
Joe felt like he’d been punched. He didn’t fully process what his mom had just said until a few seconds later. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just stood and stared at a wall.
His dad went over to comfort his wife, and Pobo started shouting.
“Grandma! I’m coming to save you!” he cried and ran to the door. He was only three years old. Their dad stopped him and said, “Pobo, your grandmother is in a better place now. You won’t be able to find her now, but you’ll see her again, okay?”
Right at that moment, Joe remembered the last time he saw his grandma. He remembered how he ran from her. Then he ran to his room and started to cry.
- - -
Weeks went by but the memory of his grandmother’s death was ever fresh in Joe’s mind. Life went on, and he did what life wanted. Schoolwork was done, food was eaten, medications were taken. He did all of this impassively and rarely spoke. Never was there a night when his memories and fears tortured him in his thoughts and dreams. Life went on.
One Sunday morning in late March, his mom came into his room.
“We’re going to see grandma’s grave in Ann Arbor. I know you probably don't want to come, so if you choose not to, we can call Uncle Bob and have him come over and stay with you for a while. Think about it, okay?” she said and walked out.
He did think about it. He thought about it a lot. He thought about it for minutes, hours, days, weeks. At least that’s how long it felt like to Joe. It was actually only fifteen minutes when he came to an answer or at least thought he did.
No. I’m not going. I can’t face it. Too many graves, too much death, too many memories. And I don’t think I can go to see grandma’s grave without breaking, he thought. But then, from somewhere in his mind that hadn’t been exposed to him for years, maybe never, thought something that the usual Joe would never even consider. But what if I can? What if I do go see Grandma? The last time I saw her, she was lying in a sickbed, and I ran away. That’s not a great final meeting. I should go and, well, at least try and make up for it instead of just hiding from it, the other side of his brain thought.
No. Can’t, won’t. he thought. I’m arguing with myself. Am I going crazy?
He went down to tell his mom. Walking down the stairs, he felt something was wrong. He didn’t know what. Shrugging it off, he continued down the stairs to see his mom drinking coffee on the dining room table.
“Mom,” he said, “I’m…”
“Yes?”
Suddenly, he had a feeling that he needed to do something. “I’m going,” he decided.
- - -
A few hours later, Joe and his family were getting out of their car. Joe was tense. He still hadn’t fully understood why he agreed to go, just that he had felt a need to. Not a desire to, but a sense of duty to his grandma. She had always loved him and taught him. Now, he thought, it was his turn to return the love.
But he was still scared to death… of death itself.
When everyone had got out of the car, they walked to the rusted iron gate. Joe’s dad tried to open it, but it wouldn’t pull free. He tried again, and it swung open with a loud screech and almost flung him onto the ground. After he had recovered, they all went in.
The cemetery was littered with seemingly randomly placed graves and statues. The grass around the graves looked like it hadn’t been cut for ages and was shining with dew. Trees were towering over the memorials and the wind made the leaves dance. The rising sun created an unnatural glow on the wet grass and Joe could smell the freshness of the air. It really would be a nice place, Joe thought. If only I weren’t walking over dead people’s bodies.
They wove their way through the crooked aisles in between the graves until they got almost to the back. At that point, Joe’s stomach had climbed into his throat. It took tremendous effort just to keep his legs moving.
And then he saw it.
Jane Lasker.
1934—2017.
R.I.P.
His eyes started tearing up. Then, through bleary eyes, he looked down and saw her last words.
“Life isn’t long enough to be unhappy. Smile, and find the meaning of life.”
He had a few seconds to process this. Then his right hand raised itself. His head turned to the left. His legs stopped working. And he collapsed.
- - -
He was still standing in the cemetery. But where were his parents and his brother? He was all alone. He turned around to look for them. On her favorite rocking chair sat Joe’s grandmother. She was smiling.
“Grandma? What are you doing here? How?”
“I am here because you want me to be here, Joe. Now, look at that fly. Tell me what you think.”
Joe turned around and saw a fly behind him. From a half-forgotten science class, he had learned that flies have one of the shortest lives of all creatures.
“The fly… its life is so short. Compared to our lives.”
“Yes. You must realize that no matter what, your life to be used. Your life is yours. Life isn’t meant to be wasted. It will end, but use the little time you have and be happy. Happiness is the point of life. If you look hard enough, you will find happiness. Not just in yourself, but in everything. Remember that.” she said.
Her words did something to Joe. He had never thought of life like that. He would try to change. But first, he needed to understand.
“Are you real? Is this real?” he asked.
“What do you think? Am I real? That is for you to decide. But now you must go back into the world. Remember what I told you. Do not waste your life dwelling on thoughts of death. Look for happiness, and you will find happiness.”
“Goodbye, grandma,” he said.
She was already gone.
- - -
Joe woke up and immediately felt a bed beneath him. What happened? Where was he?
“Have a nice nap, kid? I’m Dr. Kirkman. You’ve just recovered from a major seizure in record time. Want some music?” Without waiting for an answer, the doctor pressed a button on an iPhone.
As the music started playing, he walked out of the room. Before he was out, he turned his head and winked.
- - -
“I’m gonna live till I die,
I’m gonna laugh ‘stead of cry.
I’m gonna take the town and turn it upside down
I’m gonna live, live, live till I die.”
“They're gonna say ‘What a guy!’
I'm gonna play for the sky
Ain't gonna miss a thing I'm gonna have my fling
I'm gonna live, live, live till I die.”
- - -
Three months later, he was bowling with his friends.
“Strike!”
Laughter all around him, kids and parents alike bowling, eating, drinking, gaming…
He hadn’t had a single thought of death in months.
He was happy.
It didn’t seem like anyone had heard, so he quickly picked it up and put it back on the countertop. He pressed the side of his head against the gap between the door and the doorframe.
“...may have to increase medication. His seizures seem to be getting worse and more frequent, and although they aren’t severe, they could get much worse. The record you gave me says that he had seventeen minor seizures in the past thirty days, correct? That’s not a good sign. I don’t want to worry you, but it could cripple him after a while and eventually…”
Joe lurched back. He didn’t want to have to hear any more. Why did I have to have epilepsy? Why? I don’t want to..., he thought, then stopped himself. Whenever he had these thoughts, and that was a lot, it felt like he was stabbed. Not physically. Just with fear. But that might feel even worse.
Joe wasn’t special-looking in any way. He had short brown hair and pale skin from too little exposure to the sun. Not unique at all. The only difference between millions of other nine-year-old boys was inside his head, in his mind. He was wracked with fearful thoughts about the end. As in death.
He was silent for the whole car ride home, staring blankly out of the window. His mom and dad tried to start talking with him but to no avail. They knew why. Why didn’t they tell me? I have a right to know.
A few minutes ago, his mom had said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll be fine.”
His little brother Pobo was doodling in his notebook.
Things seem so normal for everyone else.
When they got back home, Joe wordlessly climbed up the stairs to his room. It was mostly devoid of decoration except for a painting of his grandmother and two lamps on the sides of his bed. He couldn’t sleep without the dimmed light of those lamps. There was a large window on the far right side of his bed that always shone in his face way, way, too early in the morning to be woken up. The door to his room on his right. It had always made a funny squeaking noise when opened. Everything in his room made Joe feel more and more trapped and vulnerable.
He picked up the old rotary dial phone on his nightstand and dialed. Jacob, his best and only friend, answered the call after a few seconds.
“Jacob?”
“Hey, are you Joe?”
“Yeah,”
“What’s up?”
“Ummm… I just went to the hospital. The doctors said I’m getting worse. A lot worse.”
“How bad is it?”
“I don’t know, really. I think I might die. I’ve been having a lot more seizures.”
“Listen to me: you are not going to die. You’re too afraid. Didn’t you already tell me a few days ago that only one in 1,000 people die of epilepsy?”
“But I could be that one.”
“Joe, you’ll be fine. Thinking that way won’t help, okay? I have to go help my mom with the groceries. See you later.”
Jacob hung up.
- - -
Joe got up the next morning, and his mom stuck her head through the doorway.
“Joe? We’re going to grandma’s house at eight. Brush your teeth, change, and then come down for breakfast.” She had a worried look on her face, and Joe didn’t think it was because of him. His mother’s eyebrows were creased and she had a faraway look on her face.
He did that, rushed through breakfast, and jumped in the car. Going to his grandma’s place was always treated as a special occasion by him and his brother because she knew exactly what they both liked. Food, toys, and games.
When they got there, Joe knocked on the door. To his surprise, his uncle, Bob, opened the door.
“Sarah! Michael! Come in! Mom is upstairs.”
Joe didn’t understand who Mom was for a moment. Then he realized that his mom’s and Uncle Bob’s mom was Joe’s grandmother.
Everyone rushed upstairs. During the stampede upstairs, Joe’s mom finally told Joe what was going on.
“Grandma’s very sick. She got a disease called cardiovascular disease. There are doctors, but they’re not sure whether grandma is getting better or not. We’re here to see her.”
Butterflies started dancing in his stomach. Not Grandma! he thought.
“Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.” his mom said.
Adults must love that phrase a lot. They keep saying it! No, no, no, nothing will happen to grandma, she’ll be fine, Joe tried to convince himself. Then he stepped into grandma’s room and saw her. Her skin was pale and she was lying unconscious on the bed. A doctor was sitting in a chair next to her with a machine with lines and numbers.
Joe didn’t want to see any more.
“Mom! I’m going back to the car.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned around and ran down the stairs to the car.
- - -
It’s going to happen. I don’t have control over it. There’s no way to escape it. Wait, doesn’t that mean that life is meaningless? Because if you can’t stop time, time will keep running. Eventually, it’ll be over. Everything that we do will always end at some point. Joe’s mind was running through these thoughts over and over again as he lay on his bed, staring up at the blank ceiling of his room. He was no philosopher, but it seemed pretty apparent to him that anything he did would come to an end. Eventually. He hated that word.
The next morning, he woke to the sound of the phone downstairs ringing. It made a weird noise, not brrnngg brrnngg brrnngg, but more like a fast series of low beeps. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and reluctantly got out of bed. Nobody was picking up the phone. He went downstairs to get it, but when he entered the kitchen where it was located, his mom came rushing down the stairs. She ran to the phone and grabbed it before Joe could do anything. His mom gestured with her hands for Joe to go out of the kitchen. Wondering what was so urgent, he walked out and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
When he was done, he went back downstairs and saw his dad and Pobo setting up the table for breakfast.
“Morning, Joe,” his father said.
Joe replied with a half-hearted “Unh.”
Suddenly, Joe’s mom slammed the receiver of the phone down. Her face was stony and her mouth could only be described as a flat line.
Then she started crying.
In the middle of a fountain of tears, she told them. “Mom passed away. Your grandmother. She’s in heaven now.” she said bluntly.
Joe felt like he’d been punched. He didn’t fully process what his mom had just said until a few seconds later. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just stood and stared at a wall.
His dad went over to comfort his wife, and Pobo started shouting.
“Grandma! I’m coming to save you!” he cried and ran to the door. He was only three years old. Their dad stopped him and said, “Pobo, your grandmother is in a better place now. You won’t be able to find her now, but you’ll see her again, okay?”
Right at that moment, Joe remembered the last time he saw his grandma. He remembered how he ran from her. Then he ran to his room and started to cry.
- - -
Weeks went by but the memory of his grandmother’s death was ever fresh in Joe’s mind. Life went on, and he did what life wanted. Schoolwork was done, food was eaten, medications were taken. He did all of this impassively and rarely spoke. Never was there a night when his memories and fears tortured him in his thoughts and dreams. Life went on.
One Sunday morning in late March, his mom came into his room.
“We’re going to see grandma’s grave in Ann Arbor. I know you probably don't want to come, so if you choose not to, we can call Uncle Bob and have him come over and stay with you for a while. Think about it, okay?” she said and walked out.
He did think about it. He thought about it a lot. He thought about it for minutes, hours, days, weeks. At least that’s how long it felt like to Joe. It was actually only fifteen minutes when he came to an answer or at least thought he did.
No. I’m not going. I can’t face it. Too many graves, too much death, too many memories. And I don’t think I can go to see grandma’s grave without breaking, he thought. But then, from somewhere in his mind that hadn’t been exposed to him for years, maybe never, thought something that the usual Joe would never even consider. But what if I can? What if I do go see Grandma? The last time I saw her, she was lying in a sickbed, and I ran away. That’s not a great final meeting. I should go and, well, at least try and make up for it instead of just hiding from it, the other side of his brain thought.
No. Can’t, won’t. he thought. I’m arguing with myself. Am I going crazy?
He went down to tell his mom. Walking down the stairs, he felt something was wrong. He didn’t know what. Shrugging it off, he continued down the stairs to see his mom drinking coffee on the dining room table.
“Mom,” he said, “I’m…”
“Yes?”
Suddenly, he had a feeling that he needed to do something. “I’m going,” he decided.
- - -
A few hours later, Joe and his family were getting out of their car. Joe was tense. He still hadn’t fully understood why he agreed to go, just that he had felt a need to. Not a desire to, but a sense of duty to his grandma. She had always loved him and taught him. Now, he thought, it was his turn to return the love.
But he was still scared to death… of death itself.
When everyone had got out of the car, they walked to the rusted iron gate. Joe’s dad tried to open it, but it wouldn’t pull free. He tried again, and it swung open with a loud screech and almost flung him onto the ground. After he had recovered, they all went in.
The cemetery was littered with seemingly randomly placed graves and statues. The grass around the graves looked like it hadn’t been cut for ages and was shining with dew. Trees were towering over the memorials and the wind made the leaves dance. The rising sun created an unnatural glow on the wet grass and Joe could smell the freshness of the air. It really would be a nice place, Joe thought. If only I weren’t walking over dead people’s bodies.
They wove their way through the crooked aisles in between the graves until they got almost to the back. At that point, Joe’s stomach had climbed into his throat. It took tremendous effort just to keep his legs moving.
And then he saw it.
Jane Lasker.
1934—2017.
R.I.P.
His eyes started tearing up. Then, through bleary eyes, he looked down and saw her last words.
“Life isn’t long enough to be unhappy. Smile, and find the meaning of life.”
He had a few seconds to process this. Then his right hand raised itself. His head turned to the left. His legs stopped working. And he collapsed.
- - -
He was still standing in the cemetery. But where were his parents and his brother? He was all alone. He turned around to look for them. On her favorite rocking chair sat Joe’s grandmother. She was smiling.
“Grandma? What are you doing here? How?”
“I am here because you want me to be here, Joe. Now, look at that fly. Tell me what you think.”
Joe turned around and saw a fly behind him. From a half-forgotten science class, he had learned that flies have one of the shortest lives of all creatures.
“The fly… its life is so short. Compared to our lives.”
“Yes. You must realize that no matter what, your life to be used. Your life is yours. Life isn’t meant to be wasted. It will end, but use the little time you have and be happy. Happiness is the point of life. If you look hard enough, you will find happiness. Not just in yourself, but in everything. Remember that.” she said.
Her words did something to Joe. He had never thought of life like that. He would try to change. But first, he needed to understand.
“Are you real? Is this real?” he asked.
“What do you think? Am I real? That is for you to decide. But now you must go back into the world. Remember what I told you. Do not waste your life dwelling on thoughts of death. Look for happiness, and you will find happiness.”
“Goodbye, grandma,” he said.
She was already gone.
- - -
Joe woke up and immediately felt a bed beneath him. What happened? Where was he?
“Have a nice nap, kid? I’m Dr. Kirkman. You’ve just recovered from a major seizure in record time. Want some music?” Without waiting for an answer, the doctor pressed a button on an iPhone.
As the music started playing, he walked out of the room. Before he was out, he turned his head and winked.
- - -
“I’m gonna live till I die,
I’m gonna laugh ‘stead of cry.
I’m gonna take the town and turn it upside down
I’m gonna live, live, live till I die.”
“They're gonna say ‘What a guy!’
I'm gonna play for the sky
Ain't gonna miss a thing I'm gonna have my fling
I'm gonna live, live, live till I die.”
- - -
Three months later, he was bowling with his friends.
“Strike!”
Laughter all around him, kids and parents alike bowling, eating, drinking, gaming…
He hadn’t had a single thought of death in months.
He was happy.
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