by J.E. Bolton
My last prayers are not for me. My days are short and numbered. Instead, I pray for my children, especially my son. I’m not sure if I’ll get to see him before I die. I can only hope my death will teach him to finally let go of the resentment and forgive. Not for my sake, but for his.
When I draw my last breath on Earth, I hope God will allow me to live forever in my son’s shadow. I want to watch over him, if even from a distance. To be in Heaven is to be with my son forever.
Signed, My Son’s Eternal Shadow
CHAPTER 11: A TIME TO BE BORN, AND A TIME TO DIE
Evening came, and I finished reading my father’s journal. He really did loved me, and I wasn’t sure how to take it. Not only that, but learning Mattie was my sister didn‘t help matters any, either.
I walked into our father’s bedroom and found Mattie vigilant by his deathbed. The awkward tension finally broke. Mattie cleared her throat and kept her eyes on him.
“Did you read the whole thing?” She asked.
“Every word,” I replied. “There’s something I’m wondering. Didn’t you have any idea he was your real father?”
Mattie smiled. “I think a tiny part of me always knew.”
Mama always said everything happened for a reason. Some things make sense, while others possess completely senseless reasons. Either way, it’s all part of living in this thing we call life. It’s also ironic the tiny, mundane things were replaced with what actually mattered most. Family, friends, and love without fear or regrets.
I cleared my throat and studied his face. “Do you think he knows we’re here?” I asked confused.
Mattie gently nodded her head. “I think so. The nurse said he might not seem like he‘s here, but he‘s well-aware of his surroundings.”
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“The only thing we can do now, Jacob,” Mattie replied with a concerned sigh. “We wait
and pray.”
*****
It wouldn’t be much longer before death would come for my father. His tightened pale skin felt colder to the touch with each passing hour. He laid dormant on his deathbed and quietly endured the final stage of cancer. The Hospice nurse placed him on a forty-eight hour death watch, but it was evident he‘d be gone come morning.
Unnerving silence in the house felt as frigid as the snow-clad winds that blew ferocious the night before. I fell deeper into helplessness with each shallow breath he drew. God knows I would’ve given anything to have taken his pain away. Instead, I did the only thing I could. I sat in a chair by his bedside and awaited his final hour.
For the rest of the night, I remained vigilant. A miraculous turn of fate should‘ve happened, but it never did. Instead, his breathing became sharper and his body suddenly felt cold to the touch.
I woke Mattie and told her it was time. She contacted the Hospice nurse, who arrived within a matter of minutes. We both stood in awe, as he gasped for air. His eyes never opened, and he never moved. The color of his lips turned a light blue color and rested tight over his teeth.
The Hospice nurse checked his vital signs and then told us we needed to say our final goodbyes. Mattie was first. She walked over to his side, and tearfully kissed him on the forehead.
It was my turn. The few steps it took to walk toward him felt like I walked a mile. I knelt beside him and held his chilly hand. Part of me remained silent and reserved. Another part wanted to weep loud enough, in hopes God would hear my cries and grant Mattie and I one more day with our father.
Then, It happened. Mattie and I watched our father draw his last breath. His body grew limp, and a single perfect tear formed in the corner of his right eye. A serene look overshadowed the evidence of prolonged illness, and he was finally at peace. For the last time, my father was gone.
CHAPTER 12: A TIME OF WAR, AND A TIME OF PEACE
Three months passed since my father died. Mattie finally moved to Atlanta the week following the funeral and oversaw our father’s business. I asked her why she’d want to throw away the quiet vibe of Weatherton for the fast-paced world of Atlanta.
Her answer was simple. People spend their entire lives rejecting happiness and following the leader. Mattie loved her years with Granny Grayson and our father, and would’ve done it all again. Weatherton just wasn‘t really her, and life’s too short not to be happy.
I took ownership of the old home place. Mattie and I could’ve sold the house, split the money, and go our separate ways. However, we felt it was only fitting a Grayson lived there.
Some things went back to normal after my father died. However, other things felt like a delusional blur. He was the last and first things I thought about every single day of my life. I missed him, especially every time I looked at the pier. Also, I never opened his bedroom door since he died. Some things were better left alone.
There was also the issue he died without ever knowing I forgave him. Then again, who was I kidding? I had many chances but decided to hate instead of love. If I had forgiven him, perhaps he could’ve died as my dad instead of the man I barely knew.
*****
One Saturday in April, I awoke to the pink hues of the morning sun rising over the Appalachian mountains. It was bright and stung my eyes. I placed a pillow over my head and attempted to capture what little sleep I could get before the new day officially began.
A thunderous boom suddenly erupted from my father‘s bedroom. I got out of bed, ran down the hallway, and found his bedroom door slightly cracked open. I was hesitant at first but walked inside anyway.
Everything appeared in tact, except for his closet. A fishing rod and old tackle box spilled onto the floor. I gaped at the sight of those items scattered on the floor. They were his things and the memories of what would never be again.
Oddly enough, I didn’t weep at the sight of my father’s belongings. Instead, I went to his bedroom window and looked out at Grayson Pier and the lake, and I smiled. It was the first smile I had since his death. I began to see he and I during a happier time. In my mind, we were on the pier fishing and in that same lake swimming like many times before. The best part was not even death could take that away from me.
Dad’s death taught me there was more to my life than I thought. There were still books left to be read, movies left to enjoy, and soul-stirring songs that had yet to pen the unwritten chapters of my life. There were also many bright red sunrises to wake me in the morning, silvery moons to leave me in awe at night, and beautiful sunsets to end many perfect days still yet to come.
My next move wasn’t planned and surprised even me. I collected his tackle box and fishing pole, and ran outside to the pier, barefoot and skipping. Life wasn’t through with me. It had only begun.
The morning sun turned its usual bright yellow and drove away the morning fog. I sat at the pier’s edge, dangled my bare feet into the chilly waters, and prepared for a morning of fishing, just like my father would‘ve done.
On a beautiful spring morning in April, I learned to love my father again. My reasons were not colossal and I didn’t feel obligated to anyone else. The reason was simple: unquenchable hate was conquered by unconditional love.
I felt free, more than I ever felt in my life. Things I never noticed before, beautiful blessings that hid behind all the hate, made themselves known. The warm sun glistening upon the ripples of the water. Fish playfully nibbling my feet. It was all wonderful and would never be taken for granted again.
The sound of footsteps tapping on the pier distracted me. It was Mattie. I’d forgotten she was supposed to arrive that morning to pick up one last box of items that belonged to our father.
She approached me. “I’m here to get my last box of Dad‘s things.”
“It’s sitting in the hallway closet,” I said vague, still focused on the tangled mess I created.
A few moments of awkward silence filled the air. It seemed as though Mattie still felt guilty she didn’t tell me my father’s secrets s
ooner. She turned to leave and then stopped, as though she didn’t want to leave business unfinished.
The truth was I didn’t, either. The most heartbreaking moments of my life were generated because of unfinished business. I might’ve lost my father without any form of proper reconciliation, but I refused to lose my sister, too.
Mattie nervously broke the ice. “Jacob, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was your sister,” she said. “I honestly didn’t know until a couple months before you did.”
I shook my head. “You don’t have to explain anything, Mattie. I‘m glad you‘re my sister. Besides, it‘ll be nice to have another Grayson in the family, especially a sister.”
Mattie smiled and watched me, as I clumsily thread the fishing rod. She lightly chuckled and changed the subject. “What in the world are you doing?”
I accidentally knotted my fishing line for the third time. “I wish I knew how to thread this stupid thing the right way.”
She took the rod from my hands and skillfully loosened all the knots. The rod was fixed and threaded within a couple minutes. Like me, she took her shoes off, rolled her pant-legs up, and sat down beside me on the pier‘s edge. She untangled the knots, threaded my line, and handed the rod back to me. “There you go. It’s good as new.
“Thanks,” I said grateful. “Dad taught me how to fish, but he never taught me how to fix my line.”
“It’s okay, Jacob. I‘m sure there‘s things you can teach me as well. For instance, how to fish.”
“You don’t know how to fish? Where did you learn how to thread a rod like that?” I asked shocked.
Mattie looked at me and softly smiled. “Dad taught me.”
That Saturday was the first of many Saturdays my sister and I fished on Grayson Pier. Neither one of us ever caught the amount of fish our father did, but we had one another. And by doing so, our father would stay alive for as long as we wanted.
Those special Saturday mornings contained the same joyous routine. I brought the fishing rods, and Mattie brought the bait. Dad was there, too, and had the most important job of all. He brought the morning sun and enough memories to last a lifetime.
CHAPTER 13: A TIME TO MOURN, AND A TIME TO DANCE
Many years passed since that unforgettable year. I remained in the Old Home Place and even raised my family there. My life was filled with the most wonderful spouse, three beautiful children, eight lively grandchildren, and one great-grandchild on the way.
One morning in December, I passed away peacefully in my sleep at the age of eighty-nine. My unanticipated death came as a shock to many. There’s nothing about death that should shock anyone. Death’s as much a part of life as being born.
The thought of dying never bothered me. Everyone precious to me in my younger days were gone. Mattie was battling the final stages of Alzheimer’s Disease and didn’t have long to live, either.
People always look for reasons why a person dies. In my case, there’s no explanation other than it was just my time.
Many people arrived the day of my funeral. Some paid their respects, while others treated my memorial service as nothing more than a social gathering. Those who loved me grieved, but little did they know my life wasn’t over. The best was yet to come.
*****
My final journey Home was unique and unlike anything imaginable. I found myself on a gravel road that appeared to have stretched out for miles. There were no detour signs and spanned in one direction.
I walked slowly, as the sky played out like a movie screen. It displayed my entire life. All the joy, pain, heartache, and lessons learned from my birth until my death finally made sense.
A translucent, silver cloud wiped over the image-filled sky and vanished. The gravel road underneath my feet was replaced with a marble walkway that glistened like pearls. I looked in awe, as the clouds lifted and a seemingly perfect day unfolded.
The skies became the color of deep sapphires, and the grass was a bright emerald green. Lakes and rivers sparkled like diamonds, and everyone, both young and old, seemed forever at peace. The sounds of children’s laughter beaconed me toward a gate that shined like the sun.
Something about me felt different, as though I took on a new form of being. My hands were tiny, and my hair was soft as silk. My legs and hands appeared youthful and no longer plagued with the pains of old age.
I was a child again. Then, a strange, yet familiar voice from inside the gate softly called my name. Jacob.
A man dressed in familiar attire walked outside the gate and toward me. He knelt in front of me and smiled. It was that same, wonderful smile I often thought about and longed to see just one more time.
I gaped with joy, as he took his hand and gently wiped away the last tears I’d ever cry again. It was my father.
I ran into his arms and warmly embrace him. “Daddy,” I said happy and in awe, as the word naturally flowed from my lips for the first time in many years.
My frivolous mind often wondered what Heaven would be like. I anticipated Heaven to be winged angels and illustrious mansions on every golden corner. My Heaven was different. It was the moment I finally felt like my father’s son.
My father lifted me into his arms and carried me through the gates of our new Home. “What you want to do first, Daddy?” I asked.
He smiled. “There‘s a great big fishing pond. We could kick our shoes off and wade our feet in the water. The sky‘s the limit.”
My young eyes widened with wonder. “Will we have time to do all that, Daddy?”
“Of course we will, son,“ he said with a warm smile. “We have forever and a day.”
THE END
