Foolish

Miles Conrad coughed deeply as his son sat at the conference table and opened a file.

"Maybe you should be home, like the doctor's said," Daryl said.

Miles was proud of his eldest.  He had graduated near the top of his class at Harvard Law School.  Miles intended to make him a partner at Conrad, Jennings and Horwitz.  Daryl had expressed an interest in setting up a practice of his own, somewhere other than his hometown.  Still, he promised to hold down his father's end of the business until the elder man's health improved.

"We could have done this at home," Daryl added once his father had stopped clearing his lungs.

Miles Conrad had smoked in his youth.  He gave it up fifteen years ago.  Too late, the tar and nicotine had done their damage.

"Not staying in bed like some invalid.  There are things worse than radiation and chemo."

"Not many," Daryl said under his breath.

"So, have the changes been made that Nicolas requested?"

"I glanced it over, knowing you would want to read it through, before I brought the documents to the convalescent home for signature."

"Good." Miles slid the folder in front of him and read all the changes.  He nodded his head a few times, pleased with the wording.

"He has no heirs," Daryl said.

"His wife passed when he was young."

"And he has no other family?"

"Nicolas has plenty of family.  The people listed here are those who have come close enough to receive a special blessing from a very special man."

"And you think this is right?"

"We spoke about this," Miles said, his voice becoming more raspy. "In the end I understood why."

"But..."

"He literally paid for an entire wing at Salem Hill.  When he decided he could no longer live alone, he moved there.  That home owes its existence to Nicolas Dworaczyk.  Frankly, what my friend decides to do with his money is his business."

"I thought he was losing it."

"So says Nicolas," Miles replied with a smile. "I don't know one doctor who agrees.  The truth is, Nicolas loves people.  Sure, he was slowing down and beginning to forget things, but he loves people.  He's always been like that.  He sees that home as a place where the forgotten can be loved."

"It's a convalescent home, dad."

"Tell Nicolas that.  To him it's a community of people like him who need to be loved while they are still on this earth.  You don't know him like I do."

"How long has he known these people who he has added to the will?"

"His will, lest you forget."

"I'll do what you ask, but I don't agree with your reasoning."

"Then, I am sorry for you, my son.  Remember, I will not be here much longer.  Someday the same will be said for Nicolas.  When we die, our wisdom goes to our graves, unless someone has listened and taken to heart that, which can only be learned through time.  I can pray for you, my son, but you have to have eyes to see and ears to hear.  Do this while I am still with you and my heart will be glad."

Daryl gathered together all the pages of the last testament and will of Nicolas Dworaczyk.  He placed them neatly back into the folder.

"I will do this for you," Daryl said, "even though I don't agree.  Sometimes the world we live in sees the wisdom you speak of as foolish.  Still, he is your friend, and it is his money he has chosen to throw away."

He turned his back and moved toward the door.  

Miles coughed one more time.  He really should be in bed.  The treatments from yesterday had left him exhausted.  Before his son cleared the door, he said, "I will always be foolish, when it comes to my love of God, of my family and of my friends.

copyright 2023 - Donald P James Jr