The Gift

Possibly unlike anything you will ever read that has the title "The Gift". Unfortunately, This is a true story.

 

There, in a dimly lit room lined with black chairs, sat three girls staring at the closed casket laying before them. They were in the front of this empty room trying to understand what was crashing around them. Not a word was spoken for the silence was speaking loud enough. The only noise in the room was the sound of the lights that were humming softly. Tears were streaming down their faces as they stared at the faded brown carpet. They were to the point where they didn’t have enough energy to cry. All of the muscles inside their faces were sore, and their eyes were swollen and red. Tired and sick of grieving, their minds were searching for answers that they would later learn didn't exist.
I was the youngest at the time, having just turned thirteen. I was confused in the beginning, as I didn't understand what was happening around me. Instead, I was more in tune to the objects around me rather than what I was feeling inside. It was as if this was my defense mechanism for coping with all the pain and hurt. I looked to my left to see my two sisters sitting as if they were stone statues. They looked as if they wre portraying a moment in time when the world was cursed with depression. I watched for signs of life, but there were none.Their faces seemed pale and grey. They sat there with crumpled up tissues in their hands as they stared at the floor. I turned my attention to the casket sitting before me. It seemed too small to hold the remains of the super hero we once knew inside it. I sat, worried wondering if he was comfortable or not. I worried about his feet. The feet which had been crushed beneath a tractor bucket. He complained about how much they hurt. I wanted to walk up and open the casket. I wanted to be sure his feet had enough room. I had to remind myself that he was now dead. It no longer mattered whether or not his feet were comfortable.
I tried to shake the thought of my dad's crushed feet out of my mind, but it was so hard. I thought of how sad it was that like his feet, my dad was also crushed by a tractor bucket. It was as if the world was trying to foreshadow my dad's death. Suddenly all those days working on tractors with him seemed evil. I no longer wanted the toy tractor my father bought me when I was eight, but then I realized that it was all I would have left of my dad. I wouldn't even have a grave to go cry at. I suddenly found myself wondering where his body would go if it didn't go into the ground.
“Katie, what is going to happen to dad’s body after the funeral?” I said almost reverently. My voice began to crack. It made me feel small and broken. It was as if the world had taken everything from me, and then I realized that it had. My super hero was gone. I watched as the girl who used to beat up people on the school play ground for me, and was always my strong foundation to lean on began to slowly fall apart. My beautiful brunette sister’s shiny curls were the only thing hiding me from seeing her face. For a second, I was glad that her hair was covering her face because then, I wouldn't have to look her in the eye while she was sobbing. She had herself under control until I asked her that question.
“He’s being cremated,” she managed to say through her weeping. I suddenly found myself confused. Although I heard this word before it still seemed to roll off Katie's lips in an unpleasant way. I remember people talking about what was going to happen to his body, but I never did ask anyone what being cremated meant. It was as if my body knew that I didn't want to know the answer to the question, but now it bothered me. Without even thinking, I looked up at my two older sisters and said,
“What does that mean?” I watched as my oldest sister Ashley choked back her tears. Ashley is the sister who was always in control; like her life was going just how she planned it to. She was always so good at convincing me to make her food and do her chores as if it was fun. She always knew what to do in an emergency, she was always calm and collected, but not in this moment. She looked lost and confused. It seemed like all her energy and hope was drained from her, and all that was left was an empty shell.
“It means they are going to burn his body into ashes, and put those ashes inside a small box." Then I thought about my super hero being stuffed into a smaller box than what he was resting in now. I remember trying to make sense of it all, his body just disappearing. I couldn’t wrap my young mind around the idea that my dad would no longer be there. I would no longer be able to hand him tools while he was working on his truck. Suddenly, I felt just as lost as my two older sisters seemed to look. I realized that I was no longer the same girl that I was a couple seconds ago, I was now fatherless. This truth hit me harder then a brick. I no longer had a dad to teach me how to drive, threaten all the boys that I bring home, or even walk me down the aisle on my special day. I felt tears welling up inside my eyes as I finally came to terms with the truth that hurt me the most: I will no longer be daddy's little girl.
I tried to preoccupy myself. I wanted to do anything but cry more than I already had. I looked up to see Ashley's eyes glistening. Even though her world was slipping through her fingers, in her own special way, she still looked calm and collected. I looked over at Katie who still had her hair in her face crying. Katie was still stronger than I was, she was strong enough to cry. She was releasing her pain into the world, the pain I was hiding from. I didn't want to cry, I just wanted to stay numb forever because being numb meant I didn't have to feel anything. I wanted to say something to comfort them, but the words wouldn’t come out. I knew first hand that nothing I could say to make them feel better; I was just the little sister. I watched as Ashley grabbed the blue box of tissues that was resting on the chair next to her. She held them out for Katie who was trying to calm herself down. As Katie reached for another tissue, all the ones already sitting on her lap fell to the ground almost as if they were in slow motion.
I looked at all the tissues on the ground and noticed that we all had our own tissue pile, our own set of memories. Memories of our hero that had leaked out of our eyes into tissues; special memories that no one else but our own selves would understand. I almost wished the tissues would display what each of us were feeling so that someone else would understand, but they did not. There was no way that thin pieces of paper with tears inside them could ever express the shock that the three of us were feeling. My chest began to feel heavy, my ribs now had a hard time expanding; no longer allowing me to breathe.
I watched as Ashley smoothed out her already perfect red and wavy hair. She then reached over to grab Katie’s hand. They both held each other's hands so tight that their knuckles were turning white. Although seeing my two role models in pain gave me a deep sense of sorrow, it also gave me comfort. They were holding hands and keeping each other sane through this hard time. I suddenly felt tired and rested my head onto Katie’s shoulder and took a deep breath taking in the smell of the sweet scented perfume.
There we sat in complete silence for half an hour as bodies began to fill the black chairs around us. Soft music played as people walked up to the closed casket and placed flowers all around it. Nobody asked why the casket was closed, they knew why it was closed. They were lucky they didn’t get to see the man they once knew in the condition that he was in now. The memory they had of my dad was wholesome and alive. He glowed with spirit and towered over everyone, but my sisters and I didn’t get that luxury. We had seen our father’s crushed and swollen face. We had to look at his pale skin and a sad attempt to cover up the blue bruises. All the good images we had of our father had now been replaced with the image that the tractor bucket had left him with. I hated the image that was now in the back of my mind of my father's face shattered as it rested against the white satin cushions inside the casket.
His funeral started and my sisters began to cry harder than they had before. I just sat there in complete shock taking in what was going on around me. I watched as strangers walked up to the podium to speak about my father as if they knew him their entire life. I had never even met these people, why were they speaking at my dad’s funeral? I found a sense of jealousy growing within the pit of my stomach, for I wanted so badly to be the one up in front of everyone sharing my feelings about the man that raised me.
"Robert wasn't just a welder. He was an artist. He could take a scrap of metal and turn it into something amazing." Suddenly I felt the speakers eyes on me, and I looked up at him trying not to look as fragile as I felt. I sensed that he was forlorn, I could see it in his shiny green eyes as he stared at me from the podium. His sorrow, I noticed, wasn't for himself, it was for me. His voice began to shake as he spoke directly to me,
"Did you receive the metal book ends that he made you for your birthday?" My mind flashed back to the day before at my step mother's house as she placed the heavy shoe box onto my lap. She explained to me that my dad spent all of this spare time working on them so that he could get them done early. Apparently he wanted me to receive them by mail on time. I opened the box to see two beautiful black horses carved out of metal. They were standing on their back legs and their hair looked as if it was floating in the wind. Each curve in the metal was carefully cut to form two breathtaking pieces of art. The speaker was right, my father was an artist. I learned something about my dad at his funeral from a complete stranger that I failed to realize throughout the course of my entire life. I slowly became aware of the present and the question that was asked of me. I looked back up at the speaker and nodded. I watched as he took a deep breath and leaned away from the microphone towards me.
"Happy Birthday." He said to me. His attempts to keep the speakers from picking up on what he said to me had failed. Now everyone in the room knew that today was not only my dad's funeral day, but also my birthday. Yes, I thought to myself, Happy Birthday to me. I tried to stay strong not for myself, but for the speaker. It took all his courage to tell me Happy Birthday and I didn't want him to feel like his courage was a waste, but I couldn't stay strong. I burst into tears and covered my face with my hands. He had good intentions, he really did, but what he said didn't help the situation at all. I felt my sister Katie put her hand on my back in an attempt to comfort me.
The rest of the talk that man had written was a blur to me. I finally stopped crying, but I had now cried so much that I was unable to cry. It was as if I had run out of tears and all that I was left with was an empty feeling inside. It was time for my sisters and I to get up and sing in front of everyone. As I stood up in front of the room and waited for the music to start I took in all the sympathetic faces of family members I hadn’t seen in years, people who worked with him,people who became his friends, and complete strangers. I noticed that all the chairs were full and that people were even standing up in the back and out the door trying to listen to the funeral service. I didn't realize how much my father meant not only to my sisters and I, but also to the people staring back at us. As the music began to start, I watched as the song we practiced many times and knew by heart turned into a miserable mess.
Katie had the first verse. She sang the first three words beautifully and then began to cry. She was sobbing into the microphone and didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that were rolling down her face. Her sobs echoed throughout the room. I was frozen in place as Ashley walked over to put her arm around Katie. Instinctively, I picked up the verse that Katie was supposed to sing. I looked at the ground and pretended like we were at home practicing in the living room.
By the time it was Ashley’s turn to sing her verse, she was no longer crying in front of everyone with Katie. She somehow managed to pull herself together and sing with her soft voice the last verse. All three of us sang the chorus together and even though we were completely falling apart, I felt like we were also very strong. As we waited for the music to fade, I obtained the nerve to look up at the audience. It was as if they were a group of entirely different people than when I had last looked up at them. Before, they looked anxious like they had somewhere they needed to be and needed this service to end as soon as possible, but now every face that I looked at was red and had tears falling from it.
I had been to many funerals before, and all of them I didn't personally know the person who died. I just reverently stood in the back of the crowd and smiled at who ever came up to talk to me and tell me how much I had grown. I remember how I used to think that the funeral services seemed like they dragged on forever, but that wasn't the case with my dad. It seemed like his service was over before it even started. I realized that even after a couple hours of time that had been donated to talking about my dad still wasn't enough. I still felt empty, and I still wanted to listen to more stories about him.
I found myself hoping that after the funeral was over everything would suddenly cheer up and I would feel instantly better, but that wasn't the case at all. I had never lost someone so close to me. I was just beginning to scratch the surface of the entire grieving process. My sisters and I sat in our chairs trying to find the energy from somewhere to become social again, but this was harder then any of us could have ever imagined. We were greeted with familiar faces, and faces that we did not know. Although they were all very different, they were all the exact same. Every single face looked at us with the same worried stare and tried to give us the same words of comfort.
“I worked with your dad” one man walked up to us and said, “He was a very good man. He talked about you girls all the time. He talked about you girls constantly. He was very proud to have three beautiful daughters. He wasn’t kidding when he said he had a red head, a brunette, and a blond.” He looked over at us once more; put a hand on my older sister’s shoulder, and then he walked away. His old brown jacket then disappeared into the sea of people behind us. It was hard to take in all this pity. I wasn't used to being the center of attention, I didn't know how to act or what to say. Most of the time I felt like I was trying to comfort the people who were trying to comfort me. After all, they did take the time to walk up to us and show that we were being thought of.
“Oh girls, you all sang beautifully, but it was so sad. It just broke my heart! It will all get better with time, I promise. I'll be sure to keep you girls in my prayers.” One well-dressed lady with a faint accent said to us. All three of us forced a polite and thankful smile onto our faces. We tried to make it seem like we were grateful for her words before she left through the double doors. I felt like the world was moving on around me and I was frozen in time. I couldn't move, and I couldn't think. The only thing that I felt was a blanket of numbness wrapped around me.
“I am so sorry for your loss. Is there anything I can do?” asked a man with a familiar face. Yes, I thought to myself. You can bring him back. Although I knew this man was only trying to help, he made it a lot worse. Every time I heard someone tell me that exact phrase, I wanted to claw their eyes out, but I didn’t. I just stood there staring at the ground and behaving just like my mother taught me to.
The man made casual conversation with my sisters for a couple minutes. He was trying very hard to cheer us up. He even cracked a few jokes. My poor sisters faked a laugh for his sake while I just stood there lost in my thoughts. It wasn't until the man put his hand on my arm that I returned back to the conversation,
"Happy Birthday..." He said to me with pain that stuck in his eyes. I just stared at him for a few seconds taking in his half smile, and the genuine look of worry that he had strewn across his face. It wasn't until then that I noticed how well this man was dressed. He had a crisp white shirt on, that I could tell he ironed for this occasion with a neatly folded black tie hugging his neck. His hair was combed away from his head revealing his widows peak. I didn't know this man, but I found myself wondering who he was and why he was at my fathers funeral. Suddenly realizing that I had just stared at this man for a good ten seconds, I tried to muster up what I thought was a smile. After seeing how hard I tried to give this man a reaction, he nodded and walked away.
After it seemed like we had talked to everyone that came to the funeral, we all felt extremely drained. It was hard to force a smile on your face when all you want to do is cry. Eventually everyone filed into the room next to the one we were in for food. Once everyone was gone, Ashley grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me to that room for food as well knowing that all of us hadn't had anything to eat for at least a day. By the time we got in there, all the chairs were taken, and so was all the food. We all sat there completely miserable and drained. We listened to everyone around us laughing as if they didn't just sit through a couple hours of a funeral service. We all grew insanely bitter,
“It’s our dad’s funeral and they didn’t even save us anything?” said Ashley. She no longer looked like a model. She looked pale and drained. I stood there analyzing my two sisters realizing that they no longer looked like models. They looked broken. The brown eyes seemed to turn grey and their hair no longer looked shiny and healthy. Instead it looked brittle and lifeless. Even though they seemed completely shattered, in my eyes, they were still very beautiful.
“No kidding.” Katie agreed, breaking my train of thought. I just stood there leaning up against the wall. Suddenly I felt as if I was going to pass out. I then realized how desperately I wanted this day to end. I found it hard to believe that this had happened to me. What did I do to deserve this? I wondered. It was as if all the emotions that I didn’t let out during the service had came crashing in on me. Suddenly, I burst into tears and fell into a ball crying. I couldn’t do this anymore. I wasn't strong enough to face this death alone. I just couldn't do it.
Then suddenly, I felt arms around me. These arms were holding me tight, caressing my shoulders, and letting me know that I was not in this alone. Both of my older sisters were there for me to take care of me. I knew everything was about to change and even though we were going to walk out of that funeral home completely different people, I still had my sisters to turn to. We were there to hold each other up and be there for each other when it seemed like no one else was. Although the rest of the world seemed to carry on just fine, my sisters and I were not. But the arms wrapped around me proved that we still had each other there to comfort. Suddenly, I found myself with the best birthday present I could ever wish for; my family.

Author's Note

Please be aware that this is a true story. It took alot of courage to write about this day, and even more to put it up for others to read.

Reviews

[Eagle Cruagh]

Although an example of raw courage and terrible
suffering, this story is so well written that, from the
first paragraph I was unable to tear my eyes from the
page. An unbelieveably good exampke of the art of
constructive writing , and done in the worst possible
situation a writer can be faced with.

I hope you enter this story in as many contests as
possible .
You have done an amazing write under the worst possible
conditions. Thank you,
John
.

[Kacee]

What you just said means so much. Thank you. I really appreshiate you taking the time to look over my work.

[∠( ᐛ 」..]

Amazing, its so long and enjoyable, plus emotional.
I'll call this a masterpiece :D
Rating 100/100

[Kacee]

Thank you so much :D I'm glad you enjoyed it. Do you think it is too long?

[∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿]

The story is completely fine, I enjoy reading long chapters/stories/poems.
You are totally awesome. Keep up the good work ;)

[Mushiegirl]

This is an amazing piece of writing and I am glad you had the courage to post it. Anyone who has lost someone knows how emotional the day can be, the thoughts, the toll the day takes on and thank you for writing it.

[Kacee]

Awe :D Thank you. I'm glad that I posted it now. :D