A Heart of Gold - 1. A Heart Of Gold

A Heart of Gold

Today was the day; the one I’ve dreaded most these past few days. Today was going to be the day I put my father to rest. A heart attack, of all things, my mother had informed me over the phone a few days previous.

How could this be? My father, Jerry, was an ex-Olympian. He’d competed in the summer Olympics as a swimmer twenty years ago, he was strong, had a good heart; or so we believed. He won a gold medal for our proud nation that year and would show it off proudly to anyone who’d ask about it.

That morning I dragged myself out of bed, shaved, showered and headed towards the kitchen. I quickly found a note from my wife, Sharon, saying that she’d left to help my mother with some of the arrangements, flowers, food, and the likes. Sharon was always the type to find a place where she was needed and would jump right in; one of the things I loved about her, so kind and generous. Beside the note laid a bowl of cold cereal waiting for my consumption, with a glass of orange juice and milk.

I took a seat, poured some milk onto my breakfast, and stared off into blank space. It was in that moment I saw a photo of my father resting on the wall, proudly holding his gold medal upon the podium of which he won it, smiling. It was then that it hit me like a freight train; the weight of losing my father was heart wrenching for me. I tried to tell myself to remember the good times, just like we’d talked about two weeks ago, him and me.

My eyes went black, and my brain brought a fond memory to mind: it was my thirteenth birthday. My friends and family were gathered around me in the kitchen. My father then entered, proudly, into the kitchen, cake in hand. Sparklers are my candles. I beam a smile as everyone sings happy birthday, rather horribly at that. Funny if you ask me, but I know I’m loved. After we had our fill of hamburgers, cake, and soda, we went into the living room. To my astonishment, I found the room fully decorated with balloons, a banner, and a wall of presents lining the wall.

I smiled and returned my attention back to my breakfast.

Today was going to be a difficult one, this I knew. However, I would have to be strong for my mother, sister, and younger brother. After all, I was now the head of the family, thus I took it as a burden, a responsibility to look after mom.

With the pain of losing my father still reverberating within my chest cavity, I quickly finished eating and went to get changed into my suit for the funeral that would start within the next two hours or so.

I was ready physically, but emotionally I was a wreck. But I mustn’t let it show, I thought while leaving the house.

After a quick drive, I parked the car and walked into the funeral home. I quickly found my wife in the lobby. She was greeting everyone as they came in, thanking them for coming, shaking hands. I approached her from behind.

“How’s mom holding up?” I whispered.

“Not so good. She’s been crying all morning,” she said.

“Okay, I’ll go try and find her then,” I informed my wife.

She nodded, gave me a kiss on the cheek and off I went.

In next to no time I found my mother, hovering over my father’s casket, crying. I came up behind her, wrapped my arms around her slender frame and tried to bring comfort to her shattered heart.

“Mom, I love you,” I said. “But how about we go and sit down for a few moments, and give the other’s a chance to pay their final respects before the minister comes.”

She nodded and withdrew her hand from the casket. But as she did, her legs gave out from under her; had my hand not been firmly gripped around her, she would have surely hurt herself. I quickly repositioned her, and placed my arm under her shoulder to support her weight. It appeared that in her grief, the strength she once had was siphoned right out of her.

After carefully helping her into a seat, she finally calmed down. She looked at me and gave a gentle tap onto my cheek. “You’re such a good boy James,” she said. I smiled and nodded.

Deep within me, it hurt to see my mother so broken, fragile. I started to cry, tried my best to fight it, but this wasn’t a battle I was about to win. The tears began flowing furiously as I embraced my mother. In those precious moments, we shared a heart-felt cry. In some ways, I felt guilty for making her cry again and for allowing myself to do so; I was supposed to be the strong one, and yet I wasn’t.

My sister then approached us and wrapped her arms around us. She too was crying. This went on for several minutes. After what felt like an eternity of salty liquid flowing from my eye sockets, I realized that my sister was holding a red rose in her hand. This was my father’s favorite.

Ten minutes later, the minister came up to the podium, tested the microphone and kindly asked everyone to take their seats.

“Good morning everyone,” he said. “Today we’re here to celebrate the life of a friend, a father, a brother, a husband. Many of you know the late Jerry Whyte as the man who won the gold medal for the good ol’ USA twenty years ago. But let me tell you that he was more than just that. Jerry once told me the happiest day of his life was not that day, but the day he and his wife had their children, James, Terry, and Stephanie. However, he was also a man who lived his life in the ways that God would have wanted him to.

“A man filled with compassion for his fellow man, a regular volunteer at our local church, working in the soup kitchen. We’ve not only lost a dear friend, but a warrior for God. A man with conviction in his heart to challenge those around him and question ‘What would Jesus have you do’. This was a saying I’m sure all of you heard from time to time. He made you think; make you give reason to your actions. I must say, I’ve always admired him for that.

“So let’s open the good old book, the Bible, and see what God has to say. First we’ll look at 1 Thessalonians chapter 4, verse 14-17, which reads: ‘For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep. For this we declare to you by a word from the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord.’ But fear not, for we’re not alone. Yes, the body has died, but the spirit of Jerry lives on. According to Matthew chapter 5, verse 4 it reads: ‘Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.’ God sends a commanded blessing for those of us who mourn; we are protected by his grace.”

“Thanks be to God.” This echoed throughout the hall as everyone repeated this statement.

The minister droned on for another ten minutes before my brother Terry went up to eulogize our father. He did rather well, even through the tears he fought back. By the time he’d finished, a red rose had been handed to everyone, an idea Terry had for later on at the gravesite.

LATER IN THE AFTERNOON

Terry, Stephanie, my mother and I stood around my father’s grave, everyone had since left which left just the four of us. As was Terry’s wishes, the red roses had been thrown onto the casket as a final farewell. Terry then spoke to the four of us.

“I know I’m going to miss dad very much,” he whimpered, wiping a tear from his eye. “But what’s done is done. I don’t think there’s anything more that we can do. Mom, I know when I say this that we’re all here for you if you need us. We’ll get through this whole ordeal together as a family like we always have. I love you mom.”

“I love you too honey,” she replied, holding a handkerchief up to her nose. “But I think I’m going to be all right. Dad didn’t leave us with nothing.”

“Mom, we’re not talking about materialistic possessions, or even money. We’re talking about your emotional well being,” I interjected.

“I know that too honey. We’re going to be fine,” my mother said. “And while we’re at it, did you happen to see that pregnant woman who sat near the back? Do you even know who that was?”

“I think that was Carl’s new wife, I know their expecting soon,” I suggested.

Mom nodded and we fell silent. In our own ways, we reminisced of the good times, time well spent with dad.

My mind went black again: It’s my high school graduation. Dad’s proud of me; he smiles and gives me a bear hug. I thank my father for never giving up on me; his encouragement throughout my life has propelled me, made me the man I am today. I’m thankful to God for giving me the father I had, a man who would give the shirt off his own back for any man.

I couldn’t help but smile, my father, my mentor, my friend. I will miss you daddy.

I said my final goodbye. As did the rest of my family as we dropped the remaining four roses onto the casket and walked away.

By the time I’d made it home, and sat myself down at the kitchen table I had lost my composure, the stress of today overcame me as I cried for hours on end. My wife never left my side. She comforted me with hugs and kisses, held me tight in her bosom. I was thankful to have a woman such as her, my equal, my friend.

It was hours later that I ran out of tears and gazed up towards that picture on the wall. I realized something so profound that it rocked me to the core. My father wasn’t just a gold medalist who wore it to brag, boast. No, the medal was only a symbol for a man with a heart of gold. This was the truest thing I’ve ever believed. I can only hope that I can instill such virtues into my own children whenever we’re fortunate to have them.

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