The Cottage

In a chilly cottage right beyond a rain cloud sat a somber man inside. This was his home. He had watched his children dance about, and his wife wither away with the same disease he had. The walls thick with past laughter, and joyous occasions. They held his memories. While battling this disease he lost his ability to speak, and eventually became a recluse. Living in his fleeting memory of a cottage newly made, and a simple family of six. He searched for an end to his sentimentality, but nothing came. One could say between his family never visiting, and his life companion returning to the dirt, he had nothing but that image. So, he sat every day in the kitchen window overlooking the yard. He’d pour his cup of coffee, lukewarm of course. Throat cancer has a way of taking all of life’s wonders, food. Then, he’d position himself where the sun would meet his face, and sway his mind to the day they first moved in the mystifying cottage. It was ninety-five degrees, and the sun felt like daggers of heat piercing through their clothes. He always remembered what his wife said in laughter next. “Whewwww this sun is hotter than satans toenails”. That was it. The memory would fade, and find itself back to him again. This is how he lived for the last three years.

On this specific chilly day in October, he went about doing his daily ritual. This time, however, his hands trembled as the coffee flowed down his throat. The chemotherapy made it hard to not only eat but to drink too. He knew he only had a short time before he was called home to be with his wife. He was at peace, maybe even happy about the reunion he would soon face. One thing bothered him, however. In this palace built on the edge of town, it once housed four children. Three boys and a girl. The girl was his baby and his favorite. He had wished every pregnancy that he’d be blessed with one. When she came his life was finally complete. With all the time he spent nurturing his family, in his old age, no one did the same for him. That’s alright, he thought. He knew he had to spend his final time on Earth giving to them once again. He set out to write a will. 

Between his wife’s medical bills, and his, he didn’t have much to give. As far as money goes he only had eight thousand to add to his will. Next, he had to think about the junk piled as high as the ceiling in the garage. He and his wife bonded over their love for shiny things and spent a large part of their marriage going on dates to rummage sales. Their kids hated it. Yet, the piles of knick-knacks had special value. He couldn’t just give them to a second-hand shop. Not sure if his children would accept them, he added it to the list anyway. Lastly, he felt compelled to add his most prized possession. After all, he knew he couldn’t take it with him to the afterworld and he thought his children would surely want it since it came from him. It was a dancing Santa that sang Christmas songs on a continuous loop. Then it’d gyrate its hips to the beat. While Santa Baby was his wife’s favorite to see, nothing compared to dancing Santa’s cover of Ottis Redding’s Merry Christmas Baby. Their children hated it and often hatched plans to destroy it much to the dismay of their parents. After so many years, it became a Christmastime staple. Remembering this made him smile, and he added it as the final item. Now he had to figure who would get what. If he gave all the money to his baby girl, his sons would fight it. If he left the other things to his daughter, she’d give them away. His daughter was very spoiled most of which was his doing. Ehhhhh he thought. “They’d be grateful for whatever their old man gave them. After all, I am their dad”, he said to himself. Racking his brain for hours he finally decided on who would get what. The will was as follows: “To my children whom I love, my body has decided to leave this plane, and I’ll be returning home to meet your mother. Although I have spent the last few years not hearing a word from you, I searched my house for things to give to you as a piece of me so that you all could pass them down through generations. I’ve decided that the old tattered things laying about wouldn’t serve that purpose. They wouldn’t bring you the same joy they brought your mother and I. As far as money, I’ve given the rest of it to an organization that helps children with cancer. In short, I leave you all nothing tangible, but the love your mother and I felt so strongly for you. I leave you with these words…. I love you and am proud of the people you all have become. Love your Dad.” After writing this letter, he drifted off peacefully staring into the sunny window. His last breath was soft and stable. He relieved his frail body from the pain it endured. His spirit could now ascend.

About three weeks later his children gathered together to read his letter. The EMT was the one who found it and passed it on to his daughter. With greed in their eyes, they eagerly waited for the reading. Outside the rain crashed against the roof, much like the days in which their father would sit listening to it alone. The daughter’s words trembling with pain and guilt, she was unable to finish the reading and rain outside. Her brothers soon followed after reading it themselves. They held each other in the ran sobbing and hoping that their father could hear how sorry they felt. How sorry they were for leaving him all alone.