The World Played Chess

by Robert Dugoni

A purpose, I have learned, is rarely found, but revealed. Only when I do not search does the purpose become clear.

I did believe in God. Maybe more now than ever. I believed, and I thanked God with every ounce of my being that he did not take my son. I know that was selfish to think in that moment, with the Carpenters grieving the loss of their son, but I couldn’t live without my boy, and I wondered how Art and Josephine would live without theirs. How would they move forward? How else but with the grace of God? How had William moved forward? How had the parents of all those young men?

Growing old is a privilege,

“Don’t worry about me. I’m a survivor. Worry about yourself. You don’t know shit. The world is playing chess and you’re playing checkers. It’s going to piss all over you.”

the rest of his life is both a long time and the blink of an eye,

Cruz took the hill. He made it to the top. And that’s where he died. I removed his dog tag and the contents of his vest, and I put them in a plastic bag that I taped to his wrist. For who? I don’t know. I helped put him in a body bag and I whispered, “I hope you’re home, at a party, that you eat until you puke, and you dance until the sun comes up. And I hope you do it again the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that.”