An inspirational story by M. A. Danko

It’s raining. Again. It has been like this for the last three days: dreary, foggy, and wet. Jack watched the gated entrance through the mist, anticipating the headlights of the vehicles he recognized as they were precariously making their way up the steep mountain road. “Why does it always rain on days like this?” He spoke aloud, jostling forward a memory from his childhood. Closing his eyes, he could see his sister sitting in her chair as he sat beside her on the wooden box. The imaginary scent of smoldering flames in the fireplace circled in his mind.

Silently, they would sit and watch the raindrops splash against the windowpane. He wished the sun would come out so he could go outside; she just wished. On inclement days like today, the scenario was always the same. Jack smiled to himself, remembering the dialog that would follow.

“Momma, why does it have to rain?” his parent’s reaction and answers never changed.

“Well, dear, the rain is the angel's tears of joy. Someone somewhere has lived a good life and is now allowed to enter heaven.” Sitting in the living room, his father would be reading his Life magazine. The edition with the story of JFK being shot on the cover was the only thing Jack ever saw him read. He would look over the rim of his thin reading glasses and add loud enough for his mother to hear,

“Or maybe it is just Mother Nature pissed off again.” As always, his mother would make an exasperated sound, shake her head, and walk away, wiping the imaginary wetness from her hands on her skirt. Even now, years later, Jack could feel the heaviness in his heart thinking of how his sister would say to him with sincerity,

“You don’t have to sit here with me. I bet your friends are out.” He would nudge her and give her a make-believe hurt look,

“You tired of my company?” Not needing to look at her, he felt the love and despair in her young eyes, but he had learned a way to make her smile, even if it was just for a moment. Taking his pointer finger, he would draw pictures in the fogged windowpane and ask her to guess what they were. As the rain stopped, their window game would soon end, and the fog began to dissipate, and the glass cleared. Right before this happened, he would draw two circles with smiles, putting their initials under them. J for Jack and K for Kimi, and they would watch until the warmth from the sun made every droplet disappear.

That was years ago. It's funny how such a simple memory can stick with you. Now, he stood under the large oak at the entrance to the single road that led into the small graveyard at the top of Emmer’s Peak. The black hearse approached ominously, dark tinted windows shut tightly, hiding what lay in the rear. The boxes it delivered were as different as the people they carried to their final destination. Some were highly polished mahogany, gilded in silver and gold with white silk cushioning the affluent deceased within, and others simple unornate pine with its occupant swaddled in a homemade quilt to take to the afterlife. As the procession passed, he could named everyone he knew who was attending.

The first cars in the procession, all black, held the family members, followed by a silver and two white SUVs, each adorned with a tiny black flag attached to their roof. He thought they should be waving in a breeze, but they lie wet and limp instead. Lifeless.

 Jack smiled, thinking the deceased would be pleased that his wishes for a small and private burial on the family's remote property were granted. There were no outsiders, no media, and no one to show up who despised the man while he was alive, yet they were making sure they were put six feet under.

Jack walked over to the tent erected over the earthen hole to keep the congregation and the casket from getting drenched. It was noticeably absent of flowers and arrangements. He stood for a moment outside, allowing the rain to run down his face. No one knew this man’s life better than he did; he thought how ironic it was that he was even here, so he stood back, not that anyone would notice him, he thought. The family and friends sat beside the gravesite, and he listened to their conversations.

“We didn’t keep close contact, but he always gave the kids a Christmas gift. Never married, did he?”

“I heard he knew he was dying, and he cashed in his assets and left instructions to give it all to charity.”

“I remember after my cousin found out my Barry passed away, he showed up at the house out of the blue. Those were bad times for us; we couldn’t even afford a casket. He took care of it all. It meant the world to me and the kids.” A pretty woman was reapplying her lipstick with shaky hands and said emotionally,

“I really can’t believe he is gone. I loved him. We said our goodbyes…I don’t know why he invited everyone here; he always said he did not want any fanfare…” She could not go on and dabbed at her tear-swollen eyes.

“Don’t know; I got a simple postcard asking me to attend. I’m here out of respect and admiration for my friend.”

“You’re right on the fact he wanted to keep everything simple. Even in college, he would say that he didn't want any big ordeal when it was his turn to go. He said if he ever made it big, he planned to give to those who deserve it.”

“Yeah, he always told us he wanted to be cremated, ashes thrown over the mountains. I received a card a couple of days ago, too.” The man looked around, then back. “We’re definitely on a mountain, but the family decided against cremation.”

“I believe this was the family homestead before the fire that killed his parents. I believe they are buried in this graveyard. He never talked about where he grew up. He always said he loved the city and people. Now I see why; it's too remote up here for me.”

“He always talked sweetly about his family but never mentioned much about his childhood. I hope his sister follows his wishes. I only met her once; I imagine he told her what he wanted.” The woman put her lipstick back in her purse, looked at her friends, and said,

“So where is his sister? I only met her once, but I imagine she would be here,” the woman hesitated, “If she was able.” At that, the minister came to the front of the simple pine box set on the rack to descend into the earth.

“May I have everyone’s attention, please? I know some of you have had quite a distance to travel to get here, but this is the last wish of…” He stopped as a black sedan pulled up. A burly man exited the driver’s door, not glancing at the people staring in his direction. He was at the rear passenger side in two strides, opening the door. He then went to the trunk and extracted a wheelchair. Bringing it to the open door, he effortlessly lifted a woman out and into the chair. He opened the umbrella and held it over her as he placed her feet on the pads and a blanket on her lap. He went to the back of the chair to push her, but holding a gloved hand up, she stopped him.

“It’s all right, Charles. I can manage it from here. No umbrella. I want to feel the rain on my face today.” He nodded, closing the umbrella, not noticing the rain on his skin; he leaned against the front of the car, waiting and watching if she should need him. All eyes were now glued to this woman as she wheeled in front of the casket, not the least concerned that the rain was soaking her clothing and plastering her long dark hair to her features. Looking in the direction of the minister, she spoke,

 “Thank you, Reverend. I will continue from here.” He nodded and stepped aside. She nodded to the family that was there. These were those who never asked or had an attitude of entitlement about themselves or their family. Then she faced her friends. She met a few of them when she visited the office—the company the deceased built from an idea to a Fortune 500. The people who took time from their lives to attend today had stood by him even in rough times when he could not pay them. Then, there were a few select friends, his college roommates, and the one woman who never wanted more from her brother than to love him. She spoke softly,

“Thank you all for coming out on this dreary day; for those who don’t know me, I will tell you I am carrying out my brother's last wishes. He wanted me to invite each one of you because you are his true friends and loved ones.” She took a key from her pocket and unlocked the three clasps on the casket. Everyone looked on in surprise, but no one said a word, not even the minister. As she pushed open the top, everyone looked puzzled to see it was empty.

She reached into the casket and took out a cardboard box that contained her brother’s ashes and once more faced the group now sitting in stunned silence. Wheeling over to the woman with newly applied lipstick, she extended her hand.

“My brother wanted the two women in his life to spread his ashes to the wind and over the mountain. Will you help me? The woman nodded, now shamelessly crying but smiling back. They went to the side of the hill past the other headstones, where she opened the box, and together, they let the remains of the man they both loved to blow away in the wind. Then, they returned to the onlookers.

“As you all know, my brother was never materialistic; he believed in giving back to those deserving. I have given a sizeable contribution to specific charities of his choosing: the homeless shelter, the park conservation effort he loved, and the research foundations he requested. So here, resting in this casket, is an envelope for each of you who has meant so much to him in life and deserves his memory in death. He asks that you use this gift wisely. There is plenty to keep your families comfortable and to help others.” Everyone was silent, remembering their part in this man’s life.

The man felt a welling up in his eyes and a lump in his throat and sighed, thinking, True friends; if a man is lucky enough to have one, he has more riches than money could ever buy. He silently watched as the people returned to their vehicles and headed down the mountain. The minister spoke to the woman as he, invisible to all, walked over to the car the sister had arrived in and leaned on the door, waiting for her. Her driver had gone over to the site to help her back to the car,

“Give me a minute, will you, Charles? I will meet you at the car in a bit.” Understanding, he walked away to give her some privacy.

After a few minutes, she wheeled herself back the short distance. The skies had begun to clear, yet fog clung to the passenger side windows. As she approached, she finally looked where Jack was leaning. Then, through him to the car window, and there, on the fogged glass, was a circle with a smile. Under it was the initial J. She smiled and, with her finger, made a face with a smile right next to it and added under it her initial… K. She looked up at the clearing skies, and as the drawings began to disappear, she whispered,

“Tears of joy, Jack; I love you, now rest in peace.”

The End