The morning financial reports and his checkbook sat open on his desk, along with a fresh cup of hot coffee. The scene looked virtually unchanged from when he began his career almost five decades ago. Instead of updating his checkbook, double-checking his financial positions, and searching for other opportunistic investments, as was his morning routine, Ray stood in front of the large plate glass window in his office. Thirty three floors up and facing Boston Harbor, Ray stood blankly staring out the window, as tears welled up in his eyes. Although he stood quietly and stoically, his thoughts and emotions were loud and running wildly. He blinked and the motion was enough to release a plump tear, which slid down his cheek and was quickly absorbed into his white button down dress shirt, which he had crisply pressed the night before. It was early, but the letter from his oncologist, lying on top of the morning reports, said it was late. The mass was large, growing, and his time was short. Very short. Suddenly, the numbers, which he had carefully watered, groomed, pruned, and replanted for so many years, were insignificant. Right on time, the morning sunlight exploded into his simple and elegantly posh office and bathed his long weary face in warm light. Granted, he inherited an enormous family fortune and figuratively began his career standing cleanly on 3rd base, but Ray was a worker. An all day, no lunch break, stay until it's done kind of man. He was a millionaire many many times over and had grown the family fortune immensely. Thirty three floors up on 225 Franklin Street in the State Street Bank Building, Ray gazed into the sunrise, as the city came to life, while he fought wave after wave of regret.
One particular wave hit him hardest and was like a line from a chilling horror scene, as he heard it over and over and over. "I could have bought the damn Celtics, but not once did I ever take my boys to see a Celtics game"!..... "They didn't want investment accounts or advice or even a new toy or car. They just wanted a share of ME and some of my undivided time, but I wouldn’t give it", Ray mumbled to himself. "It was FREE and I wouldn't even give it"! He walked to his desk and called the doctor's office, but hung up after just three rings then began slowly pacing around the office thinking about and recalculating it all. "How much.. how much... how much?", he wondered to himself. "How much do I have left"? He walked back to his desk and hit redial and just let it ring until voicemail at the doctor's office picked up. His tone fully conveying his urgency, "This is Ray O'Brien and..and...and I really need to talk with Dr. Buschbaum or his nurse right away. I mean RIGHT away. Please call my office as soon as you get this 617.786.3314." He picked up his coffee and walked back to the window. His heart was so heavy it was almost more than he could bare. He could scarcely contain his tears and emotions, as he waited. With over an hour left until the doctor's office opened, Ray decided to do something he rarely ever did. He found doctor Buschbaum's business card and texted his cell, which the doctor had written on the card. "This is Ray O'Brien. I got your letter. How much time? Please, just tell me." Ray returned to pacing his office. Minutes passed like days. "I'm dying over here!", Ray thought to himself. His hands shaking, as he set down his coffee and cell, grabbed his overcoat, then briskly walked out of his office and made a beeline for the elevator.
.....to be continued.
