A Visit from Death

I turned to Death and found comfort in his presence.

“I thought it was okay for her to hate me,” I said, “for everything I have done, for all my mistakes that destroyed our relationship.”

“Somewhere, in your daughter’s heart she loves you,” Death said, “that is why she has shut you out. You are her father and even in death you will be her father. She is angry and once her anger subsides, she will finally feel her love for you, and then she will forgive you.”

“Do you believe she will?” I asked hopeful.

“I know so,” Death responded.

“I was a terrible father to her,” I said. “I was a drunk. The bottle was my friend. I pushed her away when she tried to get close. By then I had realized I was a drunkard, and nothing could ease my pain, but the wine I drank every day.”

“That is when you began to die inside,” Death said. “I had been watching you, waiting patiently as I await now.”

“Thank you friend,” I said.

“I promise the pain will subside,” Death said. “Close your eyes and let sleep come over you.”

I did as I was told and felt a wave of peace come over me.


A Visit from Death

By the third day, as the sun began to set, I laid my weary bones down on my bed and waited. Death as he had promised, precipitant to my side as the sun touched the horizon. I staid very still when he showed up.

“My, my,” Death first spoke, “glad to see you here.”

“I kept the end of my deal,” I said.

“You certainly did, my friend,” Death said, “so tell me, how did the family reunion go?”

“You know how it went,” I snarled, “you were there.”

“I was indeed, my friend,” Death said, “I had to make sure you kept the deal we made… Why are you so angry, dear friend? I gave you the three days to atone for your sins.”

“It did not go as planned,” I murmured.

“Nothing does,” Death was empathetic. He bowed his head and shook it.

“You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?” I gritted my teeth to keep my anger from showing.

“I have seen it all, my friend,” Death seemed sorrowful. “Forgiving those that have wronged us takes longer to do.”

“I expected her to accept my apology,” I said, “but, she rejected me. At least, I expected her to lie to me, so I can say my goodbye. She denied me any comfort before I die.”

“Mending our mistakes is the hardest thing for anyone to do,” Death said.

I stared vacantly at the ceiling.

“I thought, she could, she would,” I said, “find it in her heart to forgive me.”

“There, there,” Death comforted me.