Time Lost

What shall be your legacy, barbed wire or golden thread ?

 

 

 Time Lost

 

      Our father was the golden thread and the barbed wire that ran through all of us. While providing for two marriages and eight children over a span of forty-five years, he pursued interests in fishing, music, and religion. Taking time with us in his interests wove the golden thread into each of us. This was the man that we all loved. During times of hardship, when he felt as if he had fallen out of grace or for no reason at all, he would drink alcohol. Those within his scope of reach, be it in person or telephone, would receive the wraith of his frustrations and anger. The scars were laid into each of us. We all struggled to understand and forgive. As we all matured and departed from his home, we stood alone in our own lives. The wedges of division settled firmly into place between us all. The years passed and our father lived a life of solitude in a rural home without any visitors for months on end. He passed his days reading the bible and praying for us all.   

      During a bland grey winter day I found myself reflecting on life in general. The realization of so many possibilities lost to the relentless onward grind of time itself left me yearning to mend broken family bonds. The desire to succeed at this task overshadowed daily life. A great number of calls were made during those cold days. Familiar, distant voices of siblings silenced by decades gave way to warm, inviting loved ones also wanting to forgive, forget, and to become family again.      

      Springtime had finally arrived. The wonderful feeling of renewal and sunshine so familiar and welcome, released me from the dark dungeon of winter’s grasp. We had all mended our differences and were strengthening our bonds; that is, everyone but father. We all had our own way of talking to him when we felt compelled to do so. Father could be quick to judge, quick to anger, and even quicker to shun. The overwhelming need to make us whole again arose to dominate my days. A quickening sense of urgency drove me to make the first call from any of us to father. We traveled through the past together, rejoicing in the fond memories and crying through the bad ones. The fine details were lost to time which allowed forgiveness to come easy. Numerous phone calls from sons and daughters filled his home with happiness for the first time in many years. I thought that I had succeeded at my task, yet something still pulled at my soul.

      I arranged for my siblings to meet at my father’s home for a surprise reunion. If ever there were to be a great moment in our lives, this was sure to be the greatest. That day could not come fast enough; we were all brimming with excitement and anticipation. I arrived a day early at my brother’s home not far from dad’s. I couldn’t resist calling him to tell him goodnight and that I loved him. Tomorrow’s surprise reunion was going to be a great day indeed.          

      From within the fog of deep sleep the sound of the telephone ringing pierced the silence. I clumsily answered, searching for the clock with weary eyes. An unknown, broken voice addressed me by name. Our father had passed away, alone. Time offers no promises and never stops. We have severed the barbed wire and cast it aside. The golden thread of our father shines bright in us now as we weave it into the fabric of our children and loved ones. Not all gifts are given in person. 

 

 

© 2012 by John M. Willhite

  All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of  John M. Willhite.

        

Author's Note

I would greatly appreciate reviews and ratings.

Reviews

[J. Viands]

I know you can reach a lot of people with this piece. When I was eighteen both my parents passed away at separate times first my father then my mother. When my father died it was like an earthquake hit my entire family. As the shock passed we also took the time to look at who he really was and everything we learned from him. I can relate to your pain and your gratitude. Keep up the good work friend you could really help someone out with it.

[Karen Preston]

This is so beautiful! I am not good at writing critiques but I will say I honestly love this piece. What an amazing gift you have.

Thanks for reading and commenting on my story "Flame"
I am working on rewritting it. Maybe you will read it when its done.
I have a hard time being patient enough to wait until something is done to post though. So I may post half and then finish and post the other half.

[Issac Scott]

This was beautifully told. It takes something special in someone to write a piece with so much sentiment. Thanks for the share.

[Mr Dunne Poetry]

Wow. This is so touching. I can feel every word. I am sorry to hear of the loss of your father.