Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: The Game of Life (09/11/08)
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TITLE: The Ride | Previous Challenge Entry
By Craig Lankford
09/17/08 -
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“Come on, Honey!” I call up from the middle of the staircase. The only response is an incoherent murmur from my daughter's room. I sigh and climb the rest of the way to the top of the stairs. I gently try again from her doorway, “Come on, Hon. It's time to go.”
A deeply muffled, “I don't wanna go,” rises from beneath a pile of pillows on the bed. Well, at least I know she's alive.
“Cass, we need to go or we'll be late.” We have been having the same discussion for most of the morning. Sometimes I feel like I am trying to reel in a huge marlin, no, more like Moby Dick. Just call me “Ahab.”
Black stockinged feet begin to emerge from the sheets and pillows. The feet are connected to two legs and, ultimately, to the rest of my little girl. Two shoes later we are on our rumpled way.
I turn the oldies station on as we back out of the driveway. With any luck, the music will help pass the time and fill the awkward silence that is likely to descend upon our ride. Dark, cloudy and gloomy weather would fit the mood, but it is a bright, clear day. Cassie doesn't see any of that as she stares out the passenger window.
“It isn't fair,” she flatly states. Her words surprise me -- not the sentiment, simply the fact that she is speaking at all.
I could slip in the line about “fair is where old men in overalls throw cow chips for distance.” I settle for, “It rarely is.” I don't need Madame Olga's crystal ball to know that this isn't the time for my sense of humor.
“Why?” comes out in her small voice.
I pause for a moment, unsure. “Why what?” I respond.
“Why did it happen? Why did it have to happen to him? He was good and nice – he didn't deserve to die.” I can hear the sniffles that I can't see.
“Death comes for all of us sooner or later. Jesus told us we don't know when our time will come.”
“Oh, sure. Bring Jesus into it.” She hurls the words at me with her back turned.
“At least we know he is with Jesus.” My own grief makes my words sound hollow to me.
“Lucky Jesus.” Her words have a bite. I understand how she feels. So much for Daddy wisdom.
The ensuing silence is too hard to bear. I try again. Falling back on a bit of verse I wrote some time ago, I quote, “Despite these times so filled with strife, This is the way, the Game of Life.”
She snorts, “Thanks, Poomba. I know -- the Circle of Life.” She pauses and then adds, “I don't like the rules in your Game of Life.” I almost don't hear her say “Hakuna matata” into her sleeve as she wipes her face. The Disney approach strikes out too.
Time passes -- so do the trees on the side of the road. I can't even tell you what kind of trees they are.
“I didn't get to say goodbye.” Her words aren't really a complaint. They are more of a lament. “He came by last week to see if I wanted to go for an ice cream cone but I was too busy with Jenny and Emily. I promised him we'd go later.”
Anything I might say to that would come out wrong or, worse yet, like a critical “I told you so.” Silence stinks when you can't find the words needed to bring comfort. Once again I wish Cassie's mother were still alive. Even when Beth didn't know what words to say, she knew how to say them.
I offer what I can. “He would be happy that you came . . . came to say goodbye.” More time and trees pass.
“Is Ben really in heaven with Jesus?” Cassie's words mask an unspoken plea.
“Yes, Honey. Jesus promised so.” This truth is central to the hope He left us. The Word of God.
“I miss him.” She words are a simple statement. It may not seem like much, but it is the beginning of acceptance. It is the beginning of saying goodbye.
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