Loving Legacy

Someone asked “Who Is Bella?”  For me, Bella epitomizes the timelessness of what an independent, loving woman could be in multiple existences. I have written her into medieval worlds, modern ones, even the realm of gods and goddesses. Now I offer you a chance to analyze Bella’s potential response to the impending end of her existence in a modern life.

Three weeks. Just three weeks. What can I do with just three weeks?

My head spins. My heart pushes against the walls of my chest until my breath catches. The blood pounding in my ears washes over me like waves crashing on the shore of these last three weeks of my life. I can see the doctor’s lips moving as he consoles me or explains my options, but I hear only the oddly comforting sound of the ocean of death coming to bring me home.

Finally, he realizes. His lips stop moving. He comes around the desk and offers me his arm. I shake my head and stand to go. My mind races faster. I have three weeks. I have twenty-one days. I don’t want to waste a second. I may have just enough time to complete ten more tasks before I die, but what tasks should I choose?

I spend my first day writing down everything I ever wanted to do. I rule out anything that would take more than a couple of days. I won’t learn to paint. A guitar will not know the caress of my fingertips. The world will not have time to be healed by words from my lips. Some of my ideas prove so shallow that I don’t even write them out completely before crossing them off. What am I left with?

Start a chain reaction of acts of love.

Only this goal made it to my final list. I have one simple task left to complete before I die, but how do I do it?

I’ve seen the movies where someone does something nice for someone else and the second person promises to return the favor by doing the same for someone. I’ve even participated in events to promote small acts of kindness. I’ve seen the good that they can do, but that small bit of light in the world wouldn’t leave the legacy that I desire.

As I stare down at the words written by my own trembling hand, I feel tears begin to flow down my cheeks. I should have done more. I should have started sooner. I shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to make a difference. I cross my arms on the desk, letting my head rest on them as my chest heaves around sobs I cannot control.

Wearied by my emotional struggle, I must have fallen asleep at my desk. Upon waking, I brush my hand against my face to find the list clinging to my check. Clutching it in my hand, I stare out the window at a dark sky. In the distance, I see a billboard with a scantily clad woman promising that I can find true happiness inside a blue bottle of perfume.

I stand up slowly, feeling the weakness in my legs as I shuffle toward the window to close the blinds. As the world outside disappears, a thought races through my brain. I shamble back to my desk, flipping on a small green-globed lamp. Under its soft glow, my shaking hands lift the telephone book and flip through the pages. Finding the page I need, I pick up the phone.

Four phone calls later, I realize that I have been standing for a half hour. My legs have locked in place and my hips feel as if someone has stabbed them with an ice pick. I gently lower myself to the chair, rolling it over to my bed, so I can crawl under the covers.

When I wake again, someone has summoned the doctor. He fusses over me, muttering that I shouldn’t be progressing this fast. A thin man with a hint of a mustache stands behind him with a briefcase in hand and a worried look on his face.

“Bella, I’ve told you to take it easy. There is no reason to make your last few weeks more painful.” The doctor picks up a prescription bottle from my bedside table, peering through the orange plastic discerningly at the pain medication he prescribed. “Have you been taking these?”

“I told you I wouldn’t.” I look past him toward the other man. “Mr. Wenzel?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The doctor snorts impatiently before shaking his head and hurrying out the door. I can hear him talking to my home health nurse, but I can’t make out the words. I don’t need to hear them to know his lecture involves me taking my medication by whatever means are necessary.

I turn my attention completely to Mr. Wenzel, who nervously adjusts his tie. “You brought the paperwork I asked for?”

“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Ryder said you’d know where to sign.”

I nod, reaching for the papers. Instead of handing them to me, he opens the briefcase to extract them and then sits the briefcase on my lap.

“You can write on this, ma’am.” He offers distractedly as his eyes skim the sheaf of papers in his hands.

“Is there a problem?” My arm wearily sinks to my side.

“No, ma’am. I’m just wondering why you would set up a trust like this.”

“I’m dying. I don’t want other people to waste their lives when they could be leaving a legacy of love.”

“So, this trust essentially loans money to people who are pursuing causes that help other people. Then they pay money back into the trust to be used for the same purpose.”

“That sounds about right. It’s the best I can do on short notice.” I smile at him as I extend my arm again.

He places the papers in front of me. “I hope it does what you want it to do, ma’am. You should read through it and make sure it is what you want.”

I smile weakly. My eyes are already scanning through the heavy language on the first page. A near eternity of reading passes before I finally sign my name to the last page.

“I wish I had done this sooner. I’d like to see if it makes a difference.”

Mr. Wenzel opens his mouth to speak, but dizziness carries me away from the sound of his voice into a troubled sleep. My dreams revolve around the fate of my trust. I will never know if it made a difference.

Moral: Begin building your legacy now so you have a chance to see what the outcome of your actions will be.