Fireflies Read Free Page B

world. Random chance. Accident. That’s what killed Matt. A cellular mistake. A misstep of nature. If so, we learn this as well. Given a precarious existence, we ought to follow Matt’s example and prize every instant, to make the most of the life we’ve borrowed, to be the best we can, the bravest, the kindest. For at any moment, life can be yanked away from us.
    “There are those who would have lapsed into hedonism, into alcohol, drugs, and other forms of reckless self-indulgence. That was not Matt’s way, for he worshipped creativity. Strumming on his guitar, dreaming of a career in music, he knew with a wisdom far beyond his years that beauty, good nature, and usefulness were the proper values.
    “But from another point of view, a religious one, we learn something else.
    “Life is suffering, the great Buddha says. That was his first truth. He had three others.
    “Suffering is caused by the wish for nonpermanent things. All living things die. Everything physical falls apart. That was the Buddha’s second incontrovertible truth.
    “And the third? Suffering ends when nonlasting things are rejected. No person, no object, no career can finally bring happiness. In a world of eventual destruction, only eternal goals are worth pursuing.
    “Which leads to the Buddha’s fourth and last great truth. Seek the eternal. Seek the forever-lasting. Seek God.
    “Matt wasn’t religious in the sense that he belonged to an organized body of faith. He was baptized as a Roman Catholic. He was trained in that religion to the point of what Catholics call the sacrament of Communion. But to him every other religion had value as well. He did believe in God. He wore a small crucifix as an earring. On one of his last conscious days, he received what the Catholic Church used to call the sacrament of Extreme Unction, the final rites, what it now calls the sacrament of the sick. We know Matt’s body was sick beyond belief, but I assure you his soul was wholesome to its depths, and I’m convinced the sacrament spiritually and psychologically eased his passage.
    “Poor dear Matthew, how we grieve for him. But in addition to his hopes of being a musician, he had three final wishes, which I’ll share with you.
    “ ‘If I die,’ he said, ‘I want to be surrounded by a communion of my friends.’
    “Today, with love, we’ve achieved that wish for him.
    “His second wish?
    “ ‘If I die,’ he said, ‘please remember me.’ With all the tears in my heart, son, I swear you’ll be remembered.
    “And his third wish?
    “ ‘I hurt so much,’ he said. ‘I want mercy.’
    “My unlucky wonderful son, in a way I can barely adjust to, you received that wish also. You did gain mercy.
    “Sleep well, gentle boy. Be at peace. We’ll think of you with fondness till we ourselves pass. And if there is an afterlife—I confess I’ll never be sure till I find out—I know you’ll forever be in loving tune with us.
    “Say hello to Jimi Hendrix for me. John Lennon. And Janis Joplin. All the other departed music greats. Pal, I bet you’ve got a hell of a band.”

5

    So David had read at his son’s memorial service. Next to him on the altar, beside the photograph of a glowing son and an urn filled with ashes, had stood Matthew’s favorite guitar, a white combination acoustic-and-electric made by Kramer, the instrument Donna had purchased for Matt the day of his extensive surgery. Waking from sedation after being monitored in Intensive Care, not yet knowing that the cancer had not been fully removed, he’d been shown the guitar and, too weak to hold it, had managed a tearful grin of joy, his weak voice breaking. “Isn’t that beautiful?” David, about to die now forty years later, still heard those heart-choking words reverberate through the morphine swirl of his mind. His son had survived to play that guitar only four muscle-weary times, discouraged because his fingers no longer retained their skill.
    In the eulogy, David hadn’t