Father

Father’s phone rang halting the journey of a forkful of pasta into his separated lips, the kind lady from the drugstore who was battling with cancer felt that it was her time to leave this world, her husband an unbeliever didn’t see the need for a confession but he would do anything for the beloved woman who he had known for almost half of his life. Father cast a sorry look towards mother, apologising for not having dinner with us for the fourth time this week. He took his coat which always hung on the kitchen door, an emergency coat he had called it and headed for the door, I followed suit wanting to say goodbye to the lady who gave me presents and a light kiss on my cheek everyday from school. ‘ Pastor Mike’ she called him just as everyone in town did, she looked like the sunflower Jordan gave me which I kept inside my treasure box, wilted and discoloured but her eyes still held its spark, they shone with tired enthusiasm. Father touched her head and bowed his head in prayer, I stared at Dutch, her husband who fiddled with the cigarette in his hand, an apparent sign of boredom and he stared back at me and smiled, showing his teeth which reminded me of the mustard paint Father used on Mrs Doe’s peeling kitchen wall. After the prayer, I stayed by her bed, singing softly the hymn which mama sang to me when I was troubled ‘cast your burden on the Lord, his grace is sufficient for us’ while father had a drink with Dutch, speaking about the harvest, praising God for his blessings. Dutch was uncomfortable with the subject and told Father so, asking him to take me home for I had school tomorrow, Father gave him a kind smile, the type he gave me each time I came home, vowing not to talk to Ann, my best friend again. On our way home he stopped by Ms. Penny’s and said a warm hello to her mother, she thanked him yet again with a knitted cardigan for bringing penny home when she eloped with Greg, ‘a man who would have surely brought her to ruin’ my mother had said when we prayed for her safety. Father hugged penny and promised to put in a good word to Pat, the lady who owned the diner that had a large vacancy sign on one of the windows close to the bookshop at Avery’s close. After saying a quick prayer we headed home, I on Father’s shoulders and him, humming softly 'Amazing grace'. Later that night, when I snuggled besides Father on my bed for a bedtime story, I learnt that Mr Dutch’s wife had died. I awoke the next day to a loud shuffling from the room next door; I came down from my bed, stepping on my blanket which had always managed to end up on the floor everyday and nearly tripped on Kat which sprawled on the floor, it was still dark, the sun which I used to judge when to brush my teeth was nowhere to be seen. I saw Father leave through the front door, his hands holding a basket filled with baby bottles, formulas and diapers half covered with the soft duvet I cuddled every night for the first three years of my life and mom pacing around with her head bowed in prayer, I reached out to touch her, sorry for interrupting her prayer but worried about where Father might have gone. She looked down at me, startled at first but replaced her surprise with worry, she told me that Dorothy, the Lady who lived in the bad part of town, the same one who lost her husband few months ago to war, was in labour. Mom held me close, as close as she did when we heard later in the morning that Father on his way back home was stabbed to death a few blocks from Mrs. Dorothy’s. The Funeral service was held few days later, a sea of bodies clad in black made their way towards the church building, the one where Father with shirt tied around his waist fixed the leaking roof and with the help of some men, made more chairs to accommodate the ever growing congregation, the one I played piano in every Sunday morning, the one Father blessed the sick and prayed for the troubled. Mr Grave proceeded over the service, a strange name that suited the occasion which we all gathered for. I am sure Father was laughing wherever ever he was, for he always found a way to make light, a dark situation. The new man from town said his eulogy first, he recounted with tear-filled eyes threatening to give way, how Father helped him get a job, a favour he called in from Engineer Smith who he stopped from committing suicide in his teen years. The man whose name mom later told me was Chris went further to say that Father gave him the courage to make peace with his past and move forward, to be able to face the teenage girl who carried his child after years of neglect and make amends, from the crowd, she blew him a kiss. Penny wheeled her Mother in next, her eyes swollen from crying and nose reddened from constant wiping, her mom hugged my mom and held my face in her chubby hands. He had replaced the son she lost to rheumatism years ago and helped pay for Penny’s college tuition, a feat her trust fund couldn’t achieve alone. The praises went on and on from Pat, to the Gardener and his family, to Mrs Doe and her husband, to people we said hello to from a distance. Everyone had a story to tell, Father had impacted on everyone positively, from a weekly drink with the men from the construction site, to the huge tip he left at Pats’, to the counselling sessions he held at the church every Tuesday and Wednesdays and his weekly visits to the hospital to pray for everyone from the workers to the patients. The coffin was lowered while Penny’s melodious 'Dancing in Heaven' contented everyone present and dispersed the dark cloud of grief hanging above their heads. According to Father, ‘the body is dead but the soul isn’t’, today we had buried a hero, dressed not in capes and under wears worn over pants but clad in generosity and awesome, an Angel that dwelt among us, today we buried Father.