Meeting Death

2

When I turned 12, Death visited me again. My papa was 68, a farmer for life, working in the fields, harvesting alfalfa, when he had a heart attack. I was visiting the farm for spring break. In the stables, brushing the horses and feeding them apples, a familiar calm settled over me. I turned around, Death and Papa stood in the early morning rays.

She wore a green billowing dress. The color of the fields Papa tended with all his heart. Papa looked younger, back straight, eyes bright with life. But I knew he was dead, after all I could see through him. When he opened his arms, I couldn't help but run into them. Warmth blanketed me, his vaporous arms wrapping around me.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too," tears filled my eyes despite the calm I'm now sure Death provided.

"No tears, my child. I am content with the life I lived. I am ready for what comes next."

"I don't want you to leave, Papa," I whispered.

"I know. But I'll always be with you. In here," his ghostly hand over my heart. Streams flowed down my cheeks, despite the damper filtering my emotions. Tucking my head under his chin, we stood there in the stables for a long moment. I held tight, to him, his hugs, his smile. I wanted to remember them forever.

Placing a hand on our shoulders Death gently reminded us it was time to go. I pulled back, watery evidence of my grief still covering my face. Papa kissed the top of my head, my bangs ruffling in the accompanying breeze.

Papa extended an arm to Death, always the gentleman. Resting her hand in the crook of his elbow, they walked into the sunshine, smiling.

As Death took Papa, sobs blossomed in my chest. Turning back to the horses, I let all my grief pour out. I couldn't show Nana. She wouldn't understand. So I brushed the horses, crying until there were no more tears to cry. You must be strong, for Nana and Mom.