Love,
He put the letter back in the envelope and replaced the packet in the drawer. He slipped the photo from the pocket of his robe and looked at it. From the depths of the color print, his family smiled back at him. He thought of all the others in this place who would never leave it alive. He had been spared.
Why me?
Jack had no ready answer. But he did know one thing. He was not going to waste a second chance at living.
13
A few days later, Jack Armstrong was discharged from hospice and sent to a rehab facility. He rode over in a shuttle van. The driver was an older guy with a soft felt cap and a trim white beard. Jack was his only passenger.
As they drove along, Jack stared out in childlike wonder at things he never thought he would experience again. Seeing a bird in flight. A mailman delivering letters and packages. A kid running for the school bus. He promised himself he would never again take anything for granted.
As they pulled up in front of the rehab building, the man said, “Never brought anybody from that place to this place.”
“I guess not,” said Jack. He held his small duffel. Inside were a few clothes, a pair of tennis shoes, and the letters he’d written to Lizzie. When he got to his room, he looked around at the simple furnishings and single window that had a view of the interior outdoor courtyard, which was covered in snow. Jack sat on the bed after putting his few belongings away.
He looked up when a familiar person walked into the room.
“Sammy? What are you doing here?”
Sammy Duvall was dressed in gray sweats and had on a checkered bandanna. “Why the hell do you think I’m here? To get your sorry butt in shape. Look at you; you’ve obviously been dogging it. And they told me you were getting better. You look like crap.”
“I don’t understand. You didn’t come by the hospice. And I left you phone messages.”
The mirth left Sammy’s eyes, and he sat down next to Jack on the bed. “I let you down.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve done everything for me.”
“No, I haven’t. I told you at the cemetery that I’d always be there for you, but I wasn’t.” He paused. Jack had never seen Sammy nervous before. That emotion just never squared with a man like him. Nothing rattled Sammy Duvall.
Sammy’s voice trembled as he said, “I should’ve come to visit you. But... seeing you in that place, just waiting to...”
Jack put a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Sammy. I understand.”
Sammy wiped his eyes and said, “Anyway, I’m here now. And you’re probably gonna wish I wasn’t.”
“Why?”
“I’m your drill instructor.”
“What?”
“Worked a deal with the folks here.”
“How’d you do that?”
“Told ’em you were a special case. And you need special treatment. And if you’re okay with it, so are they.”
“I’m definitely okay with it. That was one reason I called you. To have you help me get back in shape.”
“Famous last words, boy, because I’m gonna kick your butt.”
The weeks went by swiftly. And with pain. Much pain.
The sweat streaming off him during one particularly arduous workout, Jack told Sammy, “I can’t do one more damn push-up. I can’t!”
“Can’t or won’t? ’Cause that’s all the difference in the world, son.”
Jack did one more push-up and then another and then a third, until he could no longer feel his arms. Jack had gone on to pump thousands of pounds of weights, run on the treadmill until he couldn’t stand the stink of his own sweat, perform more push-ups until his arms nearly fell off, jump rope until his knees failed.
He cursed at Sammy, who laughed at him and goaded him into doing more, and more.
“You call yourself an army ranger? Sam Jr. can work harder than you, and he’s a big, fat baby.”
And Sammy didn’t just instruct. He got down on the floor and did the exercises with Jack. “If an old man like me can do this, you sure as hell can,” was his usual taunt.
On and on it went. Sammy screaming in his face and Jack gnashing his teeth, furrowing his brow, and doing one more pull-up, one more push-up, one more mile on the treadmill, one more set of curls, a hundred more pounds on the squat bar. But the thing was, Jack was growing stronger with every rep.
He talked to his kids every day. They knew he was in rehab. They knew he was getting stronger.
On one joint Skype session, Jack showed Cory and Jackie his muscles.
“You’re ripped, Dad,” said Cory.
“Whipped,” crowed Jackie.
Later that night he saw Mikki. She hadn’t agreed to do a Skype session with him in a while, but repeated phone calls from him and finally Sammy had convinced her.
“You look great, Dad,” she said slowly. “You really do.”
“You look thin,” he replied.
“Yeah, well, Grandma is watching her weight, which means we all eat like birds.”
“Cheeseburger’s on me.”
“When?” she said quickly.
“Sooner than you think, sweetie. I know I probably should have come out to see you before now. And I miss you more than anything. But... but I want to do this right. When I was in the army and we’d go on patrol, I always analyzed everything that might come up. Some of the other guys liked to wing it. Just turn on the fly. And sometimes in combat you have to do that. But being prepared for everything because you’ve done your homework is the best way to survive, Mikki. I hope you understand. I want to do this right. For all of you.”
“I get it, Dad.” She added playfully, “And Skype will get you ready for when I go to college and you really miss me.”
Finally, the day came on a surprisingly warm spring morning. Jack’s bag was packed and he was sitting on his bed when Sammy came into the room. “It’s time.”
“I know it is,” said Sammy.
“I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Sure you could, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.”
While his discharge papers were being finalized, Jack sat in a chair outside the rehab office. The months had been a blur. He drew a long, measured breath, trying to collect his thoughts. He looked out the window, where winter had passed and spring had arrived. Crocuses were pushing through the earth and trees were starting to bud out. The world is waking up from a long winter’s nap, and so am I. He opened his duffel and pulled out an envelope with the number two on it. He slid out the letter.
Dear Lizzie,
Christmas will be here in five days, and I promise that I will make it. I’ve never broken a promise to you, and I never will. It’s hard to say good-bye, but sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to. Jackie came to see me a little while ago, and we talked. Well, he talked in Jackie language and I listened. I like to listen to him because I know one day very soon I won’t be able to. He’s growing up so fast, and I know he probably won’t remember his dad, but I know I will live on in your memories. Tell him his dad loved him and wanted the best for him. And I wish I could have thrown the football to him and watched him play baseball. I know he will have a great life.
Cory is a special little boy. He has your sensitivity, your compassion. I know what’s happening to me is probably affecting him the most of all the kids. He came and got into bed with me last night. He asked me if it hurt very much. I told him it didn’t. He told me to say hello to God when I saw him. And I promised that I would.