The Olivia R. Smith Foundation
I frayed the edges of my papers with my right hand as my left pulled the mic up to meet my mouth.
One quick swallow to wash away the lump in my throat. I’m ready.
“I awoke in a cold sweat that night. That had been happening a lot at the time. I turned in the wooden throne in which I’ve slumbered recently with an outstretched arm only to, once again, be saddened by hitting the arm of this chair instead of my love.
“She had been kept overnight for three straight nights for treatment at that point, I believe. She defeated this once before in her sweet 27 years, but neither of us ever thought the cancer would come back.
“I turned over, trying to get comfortable in the wooden chair in her hospital room that had become my home for the past couple months.
“During her first bout two years ago, I quit my job as a reporter for the Daily Sun and have been on-and-off with entry-level positions since then.
“I checked my phone. ‘7:08 a.m.’
“‘The docs will be in soon,’ I shrugged to myself. I pushed my wool St. Bonaventure jacket with the leather sleeves that I was using as a blanket off and stood up. I remember it was very cold in the room that day.
“I clicked on Jack Johnson’s In Between Dreams album, which had been the soundtrack to our relationship. We flipped it on whenever we were home for years. Even though it was the thousandth time she had heard it, the introductory guitar riff to ‘Better Together’ gave her another piece of TLC, and it always let my sweet Olivia awake with a smile. Music was the glue that bound our hearts together. My fondest memories were Sunday drives, the steering wheel in one hand interlocked with hers. We’d drive from ‘Better Together’ to ‘Constellations.’ Those are the times that I miss the most and make telling you all this that much more painful, but makes what I’m doing more beneficial in the end. Because, we all have tales like this, I guess.
“And there she was. Bald, thin, and just as beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on her back when we were college freshmen.
“I reminisced a lot back when she was sick, mostly about our college years. They seemed to be our happiest times. Before jobs, bills, responsibilities, and cancer.
“There was one time in particular that never failed to rush through my mind, especially recently since, well…you know…she left us. We were sitting on the bleachers, stargazing. It was freshman year, and we had both been a little down because summer was coming and we would be separated for a few months. I mean, how do just leave your best friend that you’ve spent every waking minute with for two whole semesters with no hard feelings.
“As I mentioned earlier, music was the foundation of our relationship. We were sitting on the bleachers in an awkward silence, and she pulled out her Sony CD Walkman and gestured for me to listen.
‘’Track three.’ Her voice cracked as the words poured out of her half-closed mouth.
“The guitar riff started. I instantly knew the song. ‘I’ll Have To Say I Love You In A Song’ by Jim Croce. Perfect. The song was perfect. She was perfect. The moonlight was touching her face in the most perfect way. I just didn’t know how anything could have ever been more beautiful than that moment.
“I croaked out an ‘I love you too,’ and we let the moon and stars take us away.
“This is when I knew I had found the one. The one for me. She was meant to be mine, and I was meant to be hers.
“The lyrics still ring in my ears like I’m there now.”
There’s no combination of words I can put on the back of this postcard…
“Jack Johnson brought me back to reality. I slipped the jacket on.
“No song that I can sing, but I can try for your heart…he narrated as I gently began to rub her back to wake her up. No response. Typical as of late. Waking up had become harder and harder for her.”
It’s not always easy, as sometimes life can be deceiving…
“I rub a little tougher this time. Still no response.
“The docs bust in, led by Gladdis, my favorite doctor. She had done her best to try to keep me sane through it all.
“They can see me rubbing her back, still no response. The puzzled-turned-concerned look on their faces is not reassuring, as she’s always up and talking with me when they come in.
“‘Brian, I think you should step back for us, please,’ Gladdis sternly directed me.”
With only two, just me and you, not so many things we’ve got to do….
“They began to rush. And yell. They have never done that. I was worried. She wasn’t moving. I couldn’t do anything but hold my head in terror. Never before had I admitted it. Not two years ago. Not when it returned. Not ever. But surely my worst nightmare was coming true.
“Gladdis turned around to me with tears pouring down her face.
“I could tell what had happened. All of the memories flashed before my eyes. Freshman year, that moment that was everything perfect, graduating together, our first home, looking for a puppy, that empty feeling when we were apart. I could tell that feeling was coming, and was never going to leave. I could see the “No” in front of the vacancy sign on my heart disappear, this time for good, forever emptiness beyond repair in my heart. I lost my best friend.”
Yeah, I’ll tell you one thing: We’re Better Together…
“Jack faded out and so did my entire world.
“So I stand before you all today, telling you my story. But truthfully, we are all here because we all have our own stories. We are all here because we want to end stories like this. We want our children’s children to never have stories like this. Thank you all for coming out to support, and for all those affected by cancer, for Olivia Roberta Smith, let’s join together and help find a cure!”
I stepped away from the mic. Tears filled my eyes to the roar of applause. I turned around and was face to face with the giant “Olivia R. Smith Foundation” poster.
“Great job, Mr. Smith.”
“Excellent job. It still gets me every time.”
“No, thank you so much, Brian.”
This is always my least favorite part of giving that speech. I just want to be left alone. Which is a horrible feeling, because that’s all I ever am ever since that day. Anyway, it’s all part of the job now. I feel like Olivia left a legacy too great not to be used for good. But I just hate reliving the moment that ruined by emotional life. But it’s all for good now. She would still like to be helping people now if she had survived, I guess. That’s really why I’m doing that. And it gives me a greater sense of purpose. I hate thinking that, but damn, it’s true. I’m doing fine, don’t get me wrong. I just miss her, ya know? God, I hate these mental rants afterwards.
I head over to the t-shirt tables. I’m greeted with a hug from Olivia’s mom, sporting the blue Foundation shirt. I crack a smile when I notice she probably should have grabbed a smaller size.
“That was great Brian. Thank you so much. Thanks again for putting all this together, too. You’re doing great. I’m glad you’ve finally found your calling. I just wish it hadn’t come at such a cost.”
I force a laugh to lighten the mood a little. She says the same thing after every event. “I’ve got to keep myself busy somehow.”
“You’re doing great for yourself. I know this is all for nonprofit, but I couldn’t have asked for a better job for my son-in-law.”
The miserable feelings wear off once I’m back in my car, the same piece of crap I’ve had since college. I toss my suit coat to the passenger seat. The fact that there was no Olivia there to catch it brought some of the sadness back again.
I hit the road, and drive from “Better Together” to “Constellations.”
I end up at Mount Hope Cemetery and spread a blue t-shirt where my love is resting eternally.
Olivia R. Smith: 1986-2013 Brian J. Smith: 1986-
Love is the Answer, At Least For Most of the Questions of My Heart
The stone grew blurry. Tears began to soak my cheeks and I dropped to my knees.
“The event went really well today,” I tried to make out behind a choked-up voice and sniffling. “Everyone came out to support. Everyone really misses you. I really miss you,” every word felt like a dagger going in and coming out of my throat. It was times like this where everything hurt. I always think I would have come to terms with this, but I’m always wrong. “I just wish I didn’t have to say ‘I miss you.’ I wish people didn’t have to come up to me and tell me how much they miss you. I just wish you could be here.”
“I love you, Olivia. Your story will help us find a cure. You’re doing great things for the world, even after you’ve gone. I love you, and I’ll see ya real soon.”
I got in my car again.
This was the part I dreaded the most. The “Now what?” realization that seemed to inevitably follow me everywhere.
I arrived at the apartment and looked at my calendar, drawing a big red X over today’s date.
“So nothing until October 26, three months from now, where I’ll give the same speech at the Relay for Life in Eyer Park. Now what?”
I opened up Facebook on my computer, the regular boredom setting in.
I find a notification of a post in my college alumni page from a classmate. He is notifying the group of a job opening in a local paper that happened to be close to me.
I thought about this a bit. For the past few years, I’ve been seeing job openings but immediately brushing them to the side, but for what? What reason? To give the same speech about the same sob story about a girl that’s never coming back? She’s gone and I’m still here. All of my classmates have jobs, and I’m still stuck on the bleachers during the last week of freshman year.
I found a copy of my résumé, which hadn’t been opened in a few years.
“Olivia, I love you to death, and always will. But it’s time for me to move on.”
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