Last Words | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Last Words | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
08/08/23
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His caress was as gentle as the flutter of a butterfly wing in passing. The tear, brushed away, was not the first as the rays of dawn shimmered from morning dew drops sprinkled on finely cut grass and carefully placed flowers. Roses, nearby, wafted fragrance worthy of a deep breath. A swishing river of traffic noises muffled into the sanctuary as songbirds filled the space.

Glancing around, he leaned in close. “I looked through all your pictures yesterday.” A jogger passed as he waited. “I’ve been saving them in a file since the first time we met. Do you remember when you stood up in our youth group and declared you wanted to be a nurse in Africa? That was my first image of you.”

A shiver raced up his back as the wrinkles in the red plaid blanket were flattened and as an underlined passage was laid out. “Many waters cannot quench love…” The edges of his mouth couldn’t hinder the smile. “I remember every note I dared to write while you were away studying. When you sent your first response I was smitten. Even if it was that prayer letter to announce your short-term trip to Kenya.”

The rubber band slid easily off the thick sheaf of letters. “I’ve kept every word we shared. I’ve treasured every adventure. I can still see those little orphans longing for love, the Maasai struggling with their cows through drought, the lions charging down those buffalos in the hunt.” A cyclist swished by. “I bet you couldn’t believe how I invited myself over to your home and almost convinced your parents to adopt me. I didn’t want to miss a single moment of what made you who you were. They were only too happy to share, much to your chagrin, I’m sure.”

A landscaper sauntered by, paused, then moved on. He leaned in again. “I bet he’s wondering why I had to meet you so early in the morning. It’s what I’ve been doing for years, every day, getting up to greet the morning, to thank God for you, and to share everything in my heart.” More tears soaked into a Kleenex. “Don’t worry. You’ve been worth every tear. God knows that what I’m saying to you today is what I’ve been telling him every day.”

Another missive was raised into the growing light. “I’ll admit right now that sharing your dream wasn’t easy. Fears were strong on days when I felt helpless and out of control. When you had malaria, or those unknown fevers, and doctors didn’t know how to save you, I spent so much time on my knees.” The band was removed as more letters were released to cover the blanket. “I was so proud of who you were, willingly taking those safaris into the unreached areas so you could deliver babies, give vaccines, and assist in minor surgeries. Thanks for sharing your own fears and struggles after each trip. Knowing you were no robotic missionary traipsing into chaos and danger made it so much easier to love you.”

Holding his hands out, palms up, he sank onto his haunches. “I want you to know that I’m here, open to whatever is ahead. I’m holding nothing back. I realize that when you are on this side of the world there’s a part of you that no one else knows. I want to keep sharing that part with whoever else will listen. But I have so many questions which have no answer.”

The landscaper stepped closer. “Are you okay?”

A reassuring nod kept him at bay. “They think I’m crazy, coming here, talking to you so early. It’s light enough, now, and the pictures here make you seem so full of life, so filled with joy and hope and dreams for what God could do through you. I am still one of your cheerleaders because I know your work isn’t done – even if you are.”

“This picture of you by the Cessna with those doctors flying into the desert tribe was the last I got. The night before the accident. I’ve rubbed your last line so often it’s almost faded.” He squinted as he brought the smudged print closer. “You said when you got back you wanted to meet with me and talk. I’ve been here every week talking, waiting. The number on your headstone tells me it’s been ten years.”
Another caress of the name so carefully engraved. “I see your last words and I love you too.”

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