~*~
The service was short, there was very little for anyone to say, and to his credit, Rev. Starks didn’t try to clean up the mess. Mama was there with Lionel and although I didn’t see her, Janie signed the guest book, and I knew she had at least gazed upon his face one last time. Micah and my boys were wonderful, helping me maneuver through my grief, and even Mama was generous in her solace.
“I’m glad you were here with him at the end, he certainly needed someone who loved him despite himself.”
I accepted that but it didn’t really help. Her words were like putting a band-aid on a gaping surgical wound, but it was something, at least for me. I hugged Ruth at the graveside, and Missy stood by with a simple smile of approval. Poor Gil, there at the end as he had always been was pitiful in his grief but required no comfort from me; he had done what was required of him as my father’s only friend. I hugged him and he shuffled away and left me with Ruth and Missy.
“You call me if you need to talk, Ruth.”
She nodded and touched my face, “Even if he couldn’t say it Grace, he loved you and your sister and he was proud of his grandchildren. Maybe he has some peace now, and who knows? Maybe he was able to fix things with God, I know I hope so.”
Fix things with God, a curious epitaph for such a closed in, self-serving man, but maybe Ruth was right. I hope that when it’s all said and done, and this time is over, August William Robinson will be able to let go and enjoy, wherever he lands. He didn’t apologize, but I forgave him anyway. He was after all, just what Ruth said he was, a man, and as imperfect as any.
There are life lessons waiting to be learned every day, and if we’re as smart as we think we are, we’ll absorb them and make them a part of who we are. I loved my father, I always will, warts and all, and I just hope that he knew it. It took 13 months, 3 weeks, 4 days and 18 hours for my father to give up the ghost and die. I wonder how long it took him to understand that he was not in charge? I know that those fingers held on to life as tightly as he held on to his winding sheet, and I just pray that for once, Gus opened his hands as well as is heart and just…let…go.
Write On Press Presents: The Ultimate Collection of Original Short Fiction, Volume II Page 8
