A Short Story
From a Broken Father and the Daughter
He Holds
* * *
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a
time to dance…
Ecclesiastes
3:4
“God,”
pause, “Thank you for everything you have given me. Thank you for my beautiful
little girl. She is so beautiful. Please, take care of her. Please, keep her
safe when I cannot. And help me raise her in a way most pleasing to you.
“And Father… I come now for guidance.
I need your help. I need you to keep me strong… for my little girl and for you.
I… I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. She’s the only thing
keeping me here… keeping me with you. I love her so much,” louder now, “Oh,
God… please, help me! Please, take away this pain! Take away this misery! Please.
I need you,” almost whispers, “Father, please,” tears streaming, “please, help
me. It hurts so much. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt.
“I’m sorry, God. I’m sorry. Please,
forgive me. You’ve graced me with this sweet darling and I am so ungrateful. Forgive
me. Thank you so much for her… for this piece of me… this piece of Sarah. Thank
you. I love you,” deep breaths, “Amen.”
Darkness swallowed him at the foot of
his bed, all of him but the necklace. Little light from the alarm clock on his
dresser reflected off the silver butterfly charm. After his prayer, he remained
kneeling with his hands clasped together, tears continuing to stream down his
face. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw the dangling shine of the butterfly. With
his deep breaths, the butterfly flew, defying gravity with silver strings
holding its wings.
As his wife’s charm swung from his
neck like a steadily slowing pendulum, images flooded his mind: Blonde hair
danced around a pale face in the evening sunlight during a calm breeze. Holding
her hands in his and smiling at her, he disappeared into the blue of her eyes.
She smiled back, and the sounds escaping his mouth sounded much like laughter.
They danced together among trees, and as they danced he saw the necklace bounce
against her chest. When the charm caught the light of the descending sun in
his memory, he returned to reality. The necklace was almost completely still.
His eyes then caught the blue LED of the alarm clock: 2:50 AM.
A pitter-pattering of footsteps came
from outside his bedroom door. Rising slowly, he wiped his tearstained cheeks
with his bare forearm. He pulled on a shirt before moving to the door. He
turned the knob with little noise and pushed the door, revealing a low light
from the hall. He left the door open behind him and walked toward the kitchen.
No one was in the hall, but his daughter’s bedroom door was cracked slightly.
The bathroom door was closed, as well as the door to his office. His headache
pressed him to continue into the kitchen.
A light that originated from above
the stove guided his way; he moved toward the fridge. He opened the door and
instinctively grabbed a bottle of soda. “Drink some water, Love. You’ll feel
better,” he remembered her say once. Changing his mind, he kept the
door open a moment longer. He replaced the soda and closed the door. Instead,
he grabbed a small glass from a cabinet, and then filled it with water from a
door on the fridge. He raised the glass to his lips and drank slowly. When he
stopped, his empty mind filled with thoughts out of nowhere. He set the glass
on the counter and walked slowly toward his room when his heart began to abuse
the confines of his chest.
The hair on the back of his neck rose
for more than just the cold. Thoughts of his wife attacked him from every vantage
point. Each and every lovely memory was another stab to his gut. Every memory,
except that of a dance. The first time he laid eyes on the girl who would
become his wife, his wedding day, his honeymoon, the birth of his daughter, and
finally, the sight of his wife’s dying form; they all attempted to take his
life. But again, there was the memory of a dance. An evening outside, feeling
the subtle wind, the sun on his face, his wife in his arms, and the presence of
God all around him. This memory resounded again, slowing his heart and soothing
the pain in his stomach.
He realized he had stopped walking in
the middle of the hall. Before he went to continue on his way back to his empty
bed, he heard a voice.
“Dear God,” he heard come from his
daughter’s room, which was just before his and after the bathroom. He looked
through the partly open door at his kneeling, six-year-old darling. She was
kneeled at the foot of her bed, hands clasped. A night-light illuminated her
being and much of the room. “Thank you for this day. Thank you for my good
daddy.
“Daddy needs your help. He misses
mommy a lot. Is mommy having fun in heaven? I hope she is. I can’t wait to see
her again; I miss mommy, too. Daddy says you helped mommy. He says you helped
her to not hurt anymore. Will you help daddy to not hurt anymore? I hope you
will.
“Amen,” she finished. She then crawled
quickly onto her bed, lay down on her side, and placed her hands under her
head.
“Annie,” he whispered as he pushed
open her door. He walked to her bed and laid himself down. He pulled his
daughter’s small form into his arms and held her. “I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too, Daddy.” She looked
up at him as he embraced her. He saw her lids slowly close over her blue eyes.
He brushed her blonde hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek.
He held her there until she fell
asleep. Even after she entered a world of beautiful, happy dreams, he held her.
After some time, he whispered to God, “I love you.” And with the gift of sleep
to him, God said, “I love you, too.”
By MFW III
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