Lucky 13 Read Free Page B

was her one goal in life, and I’d say she accomplished it with pride a long time ago.
    “She started the Thompson Foundation almost forty years ago and has helped countless women and children find a new start in life. Her own story is not one that is known by many, but I’m going to share it with you now.”
    Another pause, and now I’m sure it’s for dramatic effect. If my father had emotions to show, this wouldn’t be necessary, but he’s a brick wall. I’ve never seen him cry, and I’ve never seen him smile. His face remains unchanged, not fazed by anything. The one emotion he does have and doesn’t hide is anger.
    “When I was about seven years old, my mother and I left my father. We landed in New Bern a few days later with nothing but the clothes on our back and the little bit of money that my mother had been able to save. There was a woman, Sherry, who was a little older than my mother. She took us in and we lived with her until my mother was able to get on her feet. You see, like many that she’s helped over the years, my mother was in an abusive relationship. She felt that her only option, if she wanted to survive, was to leave.
    “Now, as loving and caring as my mother was, she was also an angry woman when she was younger. She held onto that anger for years until it finally consumed her. Another woman, looking lost and tired, sat at a table in the café where my mother was working. My mother knew all the signs, she knew exactly what that woman was running from. We took her in, and she stayed with us until she was able to be on her own. My mother said that paying it forward was the best feeling she had ever had. That’s the day she decided to start the Foundation. She managed to touch the lives of hundreds, possibly thousands of people in her lifetime. She lived a meaningful life, a life she was proud of, and when she passed, she had a smile on her face because she knew that her work would continue, even though she wouldn’t be able to be a part of it any longer.
    “She loved this town, she loved her work, and she will always be grateful to the woman who changed her destiny by showing her compassion and kindness.”
    Looking down at his eulogy again, he folds the small piece of paper and tucks it into the pocket of his pants. Directing his attention back to his captive audience, my father finished his speech.
    “Pastor Henry is going to lead us in prayer and then everyone is welcome to join my daughter and me back at my mother’s home to continue celebrating her life amongst friends.”
    As my father takes his seat next to me in the front row, Pastor Henry asks every to bow their heads. His prayer is short and sweet. He concludes with a few nice words about my grandmother, a parishioner here since she first arrived in New Bern. His respect for her is apparent in every word he speaks. It makes me wonder how she touched his life over the years they’ve known each other.
    I shake the hand of every person in the church. I listen to each of their kind words. The women hug me tighter than necessary, and the men put their hands on my shoulder, telling me how much I resemble my grandmother. Her spirit will live on in this community, long after her ashes are spread along the river. I can only hope that one day I will have an impact on one person’s life as great as my grandmother did on this entire community.
    I sneak up to my room for a reprieve. People are everywhere. You would think my grandmother was hosting one of her charity fundraisers downstairs, instead of my father hosting her wake. I’ve talked to more people today than I have in my entire life. People I’ve never met, but who have the greatest respect for my grandmother and her work.
    Moving my fork around, I pick at the plate of food I grabbed. It all looks delicious, but I don’t have the stomach for it. I haven’t eaten in almost three days, since the day I said goodbye to my grandmother in her room down the hall. Cancer is a bitch. She