I had it all planned.
Every moment until my last breath had been perfectly orchestrated in my head. Plotting my death appeared foreign and so difficult but as the successful businessman I had become, I managed to fix all the puzzles together.
So this faithful morning, I had woken up earlier than I often did—which was way early seeing as I was an early bird—and stared into space for fifteen minutes, wondering if there was any sadness or doubt present in me in relation to today's to-do list. Searching the deepest part of my heart for any contrary thoughts, I shrugged, realizing my mind was definitely made up. I jumped out of bed, walked briskly across, reaching for the door leading to the bathroom of the enormous penthouse I owned.
Staring at my reflection on the mirror, I took in my appearance, wondering if much had changed since. I had lost a ton of weight but my zebra striped pyjamas did well to conceal my emaciation. I cursed inwardly and fumbled with my toothbrush. While applying toothpaste, my fingers quivered a great deal, making my toothbrush fall and hit the sink. Shit! Picking it up proved far difficult than ever before.
But I wasn't surprised.
Today made it six months since the intense quivering began. At first, I thought it was as a result of the meals I skipped so I could attend to meetings, seminars, auctions and many events that earned me more money, so I completely ignored it. However, seven nights ago, as I felt the need to clear my throat whilst taking a shower, the need to evacuate whatever icky substance in my oesophagus led me to spitting blood. That was when I knew I wasn't okay!
Selecting my favorite business attire, a black long sleeved turtle neck shirt, black pants and a black blazer, I picked up my matching designer shoes at the same time calling my driver to get ready in fifteen minutes. I was about to attend to what I agreed was my last business meeting and I needed to make a final impression. Staring at myself one last time via the elevator's side mirrors, I recalled the terrible news I received three days ago.
"Sir, it appears you have cancer. Stage III Cancer of the heart. I'm sorry."
The words of the doctor shattered my world, broke my already fragile heart and crushed my soul. It also opened my eyes to how empty a man I was. At age 35, all I could brag about was my financial prowess. As one of Canada's most successful businessmen, I could say I was filthy rich. I lost count of how many cars I had on my thirtieth birthday, owned houses and properties all over North and South America, had a successful petroleum refinery operation in Nigeria and several bakeries, wineries and breweries as well as being a prominent shareholder in software companies across Canada and the United States. I made roughly seventy thousand dollars per hour which had increased by fifteen percent in recent months. Basically, I lived and breathed money.
But then, I was empty. Apart from my uncle, I had no one. I knew nothing about my real parents as I was born and dumped on the streets of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, two days later. My mother couldn't even let me enjoy her motherly warmth for a while, she left me in the cold hands of the street. I was found and taken to an orphanage where I was adopted six months later by a wealthy couple who dealt in foreign exchange. Once the adoption process was completed, they took me to live with them in their Victorian style Mansion in Québec, Canada where I grew up. Unfortunately, my adoptive parents only lived to see me graduate college. They died a year after experiencing a mysterious illness that till date, I had no idea of its source. Therefore, my dad's elder brother offered to train me in the family business. With a knack in business, soon I had accrued thrice the amount my parents made annually. Within five years, I established an empire and found myself on Forbes' list of top world billionaires under age 35. I had over five hundred thousand employees worldwide and could proudly say I had achieved a significant amount of success.
But then, I didn't have the things a few of my colleagues in the business world had; no wife, no kids, just loneliness! Initially, I wasn't bothered that each time, I got home, there was no one waiting to hug me and ask how my day went—my chefs and Butlers knew not to meddle in my personal bubble—no one to warm my bed every night—well, I indulged myself in that area a couple times a week, a man had to satisfy his urges, right?—none to have a deep knowledge of the real me, no one to celebrate festivities with. My uncle, Gerald, lived a few blocks from my penthouse but there wasn't so much connection between us. Most times, even in the same room, we still found it hard to communicate beyond business matters but he remained the closest thing to family.
So yes, I had nothing but a fat bank account. Sad, right?
But screw that though! Why search for love and family when I had all the money in the world, right? Who wants a woman to nag and whine all day long when I could pay someone to perform her duties, no strings attached? Pfft! Love is for fools! Intimate family gatherings are for the weak! I might be empty in my heart but I was full and overflowing in my pockets; that and that alone, was my motivation!
"Good morning Mr McAdams, I hope you had a pleasant night?" My driver, Philip, asked me, a bright smile on his face. The image of my night flashed right into my mind; a night spent growling in severe pains coupled with an intense cold that gripped my ribs and heart despite the three pairs of socks and two quilts I had utilized.
"Yes, I did." I lied. My curt response ended further interrogation as I settled in the back of my Maserati, ready to get to work and finish today's activities so I could call it a day.
My last day.
Ten hours later, I smiled over the success of the day's meeting, shook hands with the board of directors and wished everyone a great day. Anyone who noticed how often I blanked out or how hard I coughed during the meeting, kept their observations to themselves. They knew better than to ask me, if they needed to keep their jobs.
"Alexa, mail me all copies of my bank accounts statements." I ordered my personal assistant as she scurried off to execute my assignment. Walking into my office after leaving the conference room, I was hit by a jolt of nostalgia. This office was my second home, the place my ideas and innovations were birthed. I couldn't estimate how many times I spent the night devising ways to make more money, there was always breakfast and a clean pair of office clothes waiting for me the subsequent day, courtesy of Alexa.
I stood motionless, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my pants as I stared at the city bordered by the gigantic glass wall of my office. The busy streets of Quebec, cheered me up a little. I lost track of time until my stomach groaned, a not-so-subtle reminder that I hadn't eaten the whole day. I marched back into the conference room, to the brunch buffet table in search of what to eat. I found my favorite croissants and coffee which had already gotten lukewarm, so I settled for orange juice instead. My stomach knew it was the last food of my life so it did well to get full to the brim. No doubt, I ate like a man who had been deprived of food for centuries. When I burped, I looked around to be certain I was the only one in the room. Satisfied, I finished my croissants and gobbled up some grapes as well.
"Where to, sir?" Phillip inquired the second I got into the car, ready to leave my office.
With one long lasting look at the magnificent building which over the years I had been honoured to call my enterprise, I answered my driver, "Take me home." My response shocked us both as I hadn't been home in months. Home to me was where I grew up with my parents, where I experienced joy and happiness for the most of my life. My penthouse was merely a house I stayed at, to be close to work. He drove silently while I looked out the window, relishing this drive for the last time. The ride lasted over thirty minutes until finally, he parked by the fountain of my home. I got out before he could offer to open the car door and ran into the house like I was being pursued.
The house still remained as it was when my parents were alive. I paid the caretakers a substantial amount to ensure everything stayed the way my parents left it. Now that I was in, I couldn't bring myself to move, it seemed like a normal day I came back from high school, hoping to get a hug from my mother who would drag me into the kitchen and make me taste her latest meal from her cookbook and then dad would come in hours later to join us for dinner. We would laugh over the silliest things and they would chant how proud they were to have me as their son. I would go over the dinner table to give them both a kiss on their temples and confess how much I loved them right back.
A tear ran down my cheek at this memory. My parents were everything to me! I owed them my life. They never abandoned me even though our skin colours were evidently different and people ridiculed them over adopting a black child. They loved me unconditionally and never did I feel different or unloved. Like a miracle, I was able to move from the doorpost to the living room where another wave of bittersweet yearning for what I had lost, hit me in the face. All around me were pictures and portraits of my parents and I. We looked so happy in all of them. Some were of my days as an infant and others were of my adolescence down to adulthood.
Stooping low, besides the home theater system, on a drawer was the last picture we took together. I had just graduated college and their health had began to depreciate terribly. Dad had gotten so lean but mum still appeared healthy because she used to be chubby and beautiful. We had a picnic at our garden in the backyard and mum had played the ukulele, her favorite musical instrument, though her fingers trembled in tremulous motion as a result of her illness. She kept making mistakes and playing the wrong keys but we didn't mind because her voice and the way she smiled was enough to lift our spirits. Somehow, I knew it was our last time together and I cried bitterly in my room after lunch.
It hurt so much thinking about them. It... It.. It was the worst feeling I had ever felt. I grabbed the picture and closing my eyes, pressed it to my lips, kissing them, hoping they could feel my undying love wherever they were. Opening my eyes, I gazed longingly at them, a few stray tears escaped the corners of my eyes and I sniffled. Suddenly, understanding how today was gonna end, the fact that I would finally join them, I smiled and in hushed tones, I said,
"Mum, Dad, I'm gonna be with you for real today."