My name is Cody, and I interviewed a dead man.
Years ago, I took up an interest in journalism. I was always an artsy guy, having fallen in love with books at a young age; I always dreamt of being the next Stephen King, scaring millions across the world. That passion led me to writing my own stories in my free time, and although some people struggle with getting ideas, ideas for me came too often. I felt as if I couldn’t write them fast enough, which caused me to worry, fearing that I’d forget most of them.
Some time later I developed a love for working outside of fiction, doing things like game reviews, or covering news stories. The act of delivering content to somebody who may enjoy it stimulated me, and I simply couldn’t get enough. This would lead me to an interaction, in which I still get goosebumps thinking about it. Let me explain.
I lost my dad in 2019 to lung cancer. He was the best dad, someone who I idolized growing up, and even as a kid I feared the day for whenever something would happen to him. Simply, I never wanted him to die, as I couldn’t imagine life without him.
He smoked cigarettes, and after years of convincing him to stop, he finally did in 2013. I was so happy and I thought nothing would happen to him after that. Unfortunately, in October of 2017, he was diagnosed after a tumor was found in his lung which set up pneumonia. The doctors said it had been in there for around 6 months, and had it not been for pneumonia, I suppose we’d never of known he had it.
It was hard watching him suffer, so when he passed, there was a weight lifted from all of us in the family. After his death, it was hard to cope. My best friend was not a phone call away, or in some different state or country; he was just simply not on planet earth anymore. I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
I spent so many days at his grave, talking to him, telling him how much I loved him, and expressing my regret for not spending more time with him. For the majority of his battle with cancer, I hid in my room, playing games, not wanting to face reality.
I always played games, even before he got sick, cause I wasn’t much of an outdoors person. I thought maybe if I just acted normal, he wouldn’t think I was worried something was going to happen to him, perhaps boosting his morale. It’s these feelings I’d confess to him, and one sunny day, a man behind me said hello, which gave me an unexpected startle.
“Hello young man!” He said.
He appeared to be in his sixties, walking with the help of his cane. I offered a hey in return and he came up to stand next to me, looking down at my dads grave, offering a salute.
“Did you know my dad, Sir?” I said.
“I sure did know Bobby. Grew up with him, down the street from where his parents lived.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that. What’s your name?”
“Jimmy, but your dad always called me Jim.”
“Hey Jim, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Cody.”
He was overwhelmingly nice, and we spent around an hour talking about my dad at his grave. I couldn’t help to observe his attire, as he wore this beautiful white and pink suit, with a white rose in the coat pocket. The suit had a nice vintage look to it. The colors popped in the summer sun, and I complimented him on it.
He told me it was his favorite suit, wearing it to church every chance he got. He said my dad always loved that suit, and that he would always ask where he got it from, but he never told him.
“I figured since Bobby loved this suit so much, it was only right for me to wear it every time I got to come see him here at his grave” Jim said.
In the midst of us talking, my journalism brain kicked in. I figured, if he had stories to tell, then I’d love to have a sit down with him. I had no grand plans of publishing anything; this was just for me, to connect and I knew it would help me. I’d gain a better understanding of what Dad’s younger days were like, and it would also help my grief. To be a journalist, you have to follow the stories, and I knew this was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.
He offered me a ride in his old Chevy truck, which was painted a beautiful green and white. I sat, looking out of the open passenger window, the warm breeze brushing against my face as classic country music played.
My dad always listened to that kind of music and just hearing it again, sitting beside one of Dad’s old buddies that I never had met, was so calming to me. I felt as if fate had brought this man to me, to help my grief, and to help me move on from things.
We stopped near an open field, which at first confused me.
“Why here, Jim?”
“You wanted to interview me, right?”
“Yea, but I thought we’d do it at my house.”
“No, no. Right here is perfect. I got something to show you out here.”
Although I was a little weary at being in some random open field, I trusted him, which is something I wouldn’t recommend people do. But given the situation, I felt in my heart to be safe with old Jim.
As we walked through the calf high grass, Jim patted me on the back, “You know, this spot is special. Me and your dad, along with his brothers and my sister, we’d come out here and just play all day long. Not a care in the world.”
I walked beside him, a smile across my face, as he continued, “This place here, it was home away from home. And right up there, that’s what I wanted to show you. The perfect spot for an interview, young man.”
Ahead of us, at the top of the hill, sat two tree stumps, perfect for looking out into the rolling fields and watching the sunset.
We sat, and I interviewed him about how life was, and how my dad was. He told me so many funny stories, about how all of them would pretend to be cowboys up here, or football stars. How that feeling of being young cascaded its way through all of them. Their imaginations ran wild, just like all kids do. Up here, they were free; up here they were nothing but uniquely themselves.
My dad was my superhero; he was who I always turned to because he was always right. He always knew what to say to me, and he always knew what was best for me. Talking to Jim about Dad’s childhood, reminded me that more than a superhero, more than a guardian angel, Dad was once just a kid with dreams. I guess I inherited that imagination, which is why I do what I do. In my talk with Jim, it helped me connect with my dad on a level I had never felt.
The interview ended and Jim gave me a ride back to the grave as the sun painted orange stripes along the horizon. My notebook was full of things Jim told me, and my heart was full of happiness.
Jim cranked the radio up when old time rock and roll by Bob Seger came on. He sang the words, and I joined him. I saw the kid at heart come back out in that moment, as a song that obviously meant a lot to him played.
Jim told me Dad showed him this song, when they were teenagers, and he listened to him all the time after that. Bob Seger was my dad’s favorite artist. He introduced me to a lot of his songs, and it was nice to see that him and Jim both shared a love for his music.
We got back to the grave, and old Jim told me it was time for him to go back. I thanked him for everything.
“Will I see you around here again, Jim?” I asked.
“Not often… but I’m sure I’ll be back around, Son. Keep visiting your old man for me.” He reached into the suits front pocket, and handed me the white rose. I waved, and I turned to head back up to Dad’s grave to say goodbye. I remember not hearing that old truck start up, but when I looked back a minute later, Jim and his green Chevy were gone.
Later that evening, I got home, and told my mom what had happened. As I explained everything to her, I remember the look of shock and confusion dawning across her face. I just thought she was a little surprised that all of that had happened to me today.
“Sit down, Cody… I’ll be right back.” She said while looking distraught.
Moments later, she returned with a stack of photos, and she murmured to herself, “I know it’s in here,” while fumbling through the pictures. “Here it is. Look at this Cody.”
I looked, and it was Jim, Dad, and my uncle Mike standing together in church.
Without hesitation, I immediately pointed at Jim in his white and pink suit and said, “That’s him, Mom, that’s Jim.”
She was immediately taken aback by this, for now obvious reasons.
“Yea, that’s Jim, he’s even wearing the same white and pink suit. When was this?” I said.
“That was around 5 years ago.”
“He hasn’t aged that much since then. That’s about what he looked like today.”
Mom stood up, seemingly filled with anxiety, and an equal amount of horror. I asked her what was wrong, and she sat back down beside me, placing her hand on my knee.
“Jim was your dad’s best friend. You never knew about Jim cause he moved when your dad and him were in their thirties. That picture was when Jim came in to visit one Sunday, and you were staying the night with friends.”
She looked down, tears forming.
“What’s wrong Mom? What’s so sad about all of this?” I said.
“Because Jim died six months after that photo was taken, Cody.”
In that moment, everything froze for me. I felt as if I wasn’t living, only observing. I was convinced she was trying to pull some prank on me, but as I looked at her sobbing in front of me, and with the way the words escaped her, I knew in my heart she wasn’t.
“Mom, tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not honey, but I wish so badly that I was.”
She pulled out an envelope, with an obituary that was mailed to them. Jim’s death date was November 17th, 2015.
She told me to hang onto the white rose he gave me, as I stared blankly at Jim’s death date on the obituary.
I stood up and ran out of the house. My adrenaline had never been higher than it was at that moment. I looked up in the sky, thinking about my dad, what happens when we die, and how what just happened to me changed every perspective about life that I had ever had.
Time has passed and I still haven’t fully wrapped my head around it, and I suppose I never will. I have so many questions, and those questions will go unanswered for as long as I live. It’s nice to know that even after we pass, we still hang around in some form, but I’m left wondering why. I should be thankful, but I don’t know if I am. I try to force my mind to look at how beautiful what I experienced was, but I always fall into the bottomless rabbit hole of what if’s and existential dread.
Is Jim happy now that he’s gone? Is he just trapped saying goodbye to old friends? His last words to me were that he had to go back, but go back where? Wherever ‘where’ is, I guess we all find out in the end, as we cross death’s highway, into the great beyond. Where goodbye’s and hello’s all cross paths, to forever travel into the next horizon.