Leaving Legacies

"I want to show you something," the old man says rummaging through his briefcase.

He's a professional acquaintance who wants to become my friend.

I am suspicious but need him to get what I want.

Having burned lots of bridges he's a bit desperate to have a friend or two.

He's mostly desperate to influence his legacy because he knows he's already shot his wad and doesn't have much time left.

Leaning upright at the tiny conference room table in my tiny office he spreads out newspapers.

"Look at this," he grins and points at a photograph of his younger self, "Front page!"

It's a story from a decade earlier when he cared about things nobody else cared about and that's News ... if you work it right.

He knew how to work it.

The Savannah Morning News is relatively easy to work.

He also knew how to talk ... Jesus Christ could he talk! ... without ceasing ... when he called I knew hours were immediately lost ... I did my best to avoid his calls ... BUT ... I needed him so I lost time.

I also realize he needs me ... for validation of his life.

He reads each article with pride, especially the ones with his picture.

Sitting there, bored out of my mind, chin resting firmly on cupped hands, he goes on and on and on ... and it strikes me he's justifying his life ... to me.

Who am I to have someone justify themselves to?

That God's job.

Not mine.

My eyes moisten with salt water as he goes on ... and on ... and on.

A few weeks later he died and the tiny Church was half full ... because it's raining.

That was a long time ago.

I told Sarah about him ... I don't know why ... yes I do ... it's because I remember him ... and most don't.

I Googled him just now and found the same stories he showed me with pride, though his photographs are washed out so I can't refresh my memory of what he really looked like.

He desperately wanted to be remembered but ... he's mostly not ... his wife died soon after he did ... the things he worked on were replaced by new things ... his ashes mixed with other ashes ... his dust added to the dust.

I've already lived more than I'm going to ... which is funny because I've got more to live for than I've ever had.

I remember the first time I was published ... in "The Journal of Social Work and Christianity" ... going to the Library at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary alone ... to see myself ... in print.

I was proud and told myself, "You'll live forever."

What a stupid thing to say ... full of arrogance ... pride ... wishful thinking.

Maybe in a Library somewhere that article still exists ... and perhaps someone's read in the not too distant past.

I don't have a copy.

And I really don't care.

What I do have ... is Sarah  whom I passionately love ... kids who are friends ... 3 little girls I'm really missing right now ... a Church I care about deeply when I haven't cared about Church in forever ... a few good friends ... the roar of the ocean through the open sliding glass doors.

Later, when I pour wine, I'm going to raise a glass or two to Russell Billings.

Because I remember.

You could be such a pain in the ass ... but you made a difference ... and I remember it.

Here's to you Buddy.

Now Shut Up!