I’ll Always be With You

I looked up at the long, twisting road that lay ahead of me and then down at the precious item I held in my hand—that beautiful little flag—the reason I was making this trip. Wiping the tiny sweat droplets from my forehead with my hand’s backside, I took a deep breath and continued onward. The memory of that day propelled my now lead filled limbs ahead step by step.
….

It had been a cold, wintry afternoon. The frozen rain fell steadily nearly all day. One would have never known that the now ice covered ground was once home to luscious greenery. The whole world, it seemed, was content to hibernate until the devilish monster that is winter finally released its grip. Not me. I was a fidgety little eight year old who resented the cold and its ability to trap me indoors. I had my pudgy nose pressed firmly against the icy window pane and was gazing wistfully at the forbidden outside world.

“Daddy,” I whined, “I’m so bored! Am I ever going to be able to go outside again?”

“Of course you are, sweetie! Before you know it, all this nasty weather will be long gone, and you’ll be frolicking in the pretty spring flowers.”

“But I’m tired of being inside; there’s just nothing to do,” I said petulantly.

“Well then we’ll just have to think of something to do!”

He rose up from his spot at the desk and grabbed me up in his strong, protective arms. I felt so safe there, as if nothing in the world could harm me. Walking across the room, he grabbed some paper and colored pencils; I didn’t like the looks of this. I was too old to color; that was for babies.

“We’re not going to color, are we?” From the way I inquired, coloring might as well have been the equivalent to running a marathon with shackles on your ankles.

“Not quite! We’re going to go on an adventure!” His eyes twinkled as he said this, something they always did when he got excited.

“An adventure!” I said, my interest growing rapidly, “Where are we going?”

“Why, we are going to climb a mountain!”

My eyes narrowed; he was tricking me.

“I don’t believe you! You already said we couldn’t go outside!”

“I said you couldn’t go outside today, but in a couple of months it’ll be spring time, and you and I are going to climb up to Katahdin peak!”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My dad loved hiking; he had taken on some of the world’s most treacherous mountains and succeeded. He had never, however, taken me with him, except on a few local trails, but that didn’t count in my mind. And now to think, I was going to get to go on his next adventure with him! I had heard him talk of Katahdin peak before; he said it was a long but scenic route. It looked out over the gorgeous Rainbow Lake. My mind was full with thoughts of anticipation as I pondered about this glorious voyage we were going to take.

“Really, Daddy? Do I really get to go this time? Oh, I can’t wait! This is going to be so much fun! Just you and me, Dad, we’re going to take on the mountains, and conquer it!”

“You bet on it, kiddo! But before we even think about the climb, we’ve got to make our flag. See, when we reach the top of the peak, we’ll stake a flag in the ground to show the whole world we were there; to show them that we have overcome this dangerous feat!”

And so we set to work on the flag. Our first draft was on paper, and once it was perfected, we transferred in to a thick cloth. I beamed with pride as I looked at that little flag. It was simply perfect.

The rest of the cold, dreary winter was spent with my dad and me, side by side, planning our trip. I thought it was odd my dad wasn’t working anymore like he used to, but I didn’t pay much mind to it, because it meant more time to be with him—more time to plan our journey. We researched places to stay and where to stop. We talked for hours about every detail of the trip, from mapping our route to what we would need to bring along—nothing was left out of the discussion.

As spring grew nearer, my anticipation grew bigger and bigger each day. My father, however, seemed to be getting sick. I noticed he stayed in bed more and was becoming thinner and paler. The only thing about him that didn’t change was the sparkle that would twinkle in his eyes every time we’d talk of Katahdin peak. So whenever reality would try and creep in and warn me that my daddy was not okay, and things were much worse than I would allow them to seem, I’d just start talking about the trip, then the gleam in his eyes would reappear, and I assured myself everything was going to be fine, that my daddy was fine. But he wasn’t.

It was the first day of spring, and all the flowers were beginning to bloom, and the birds were coming out to sing their beautiful springtime melodies. All of creation was coming to life. I awoke that morning to the bright and warm sun shining on my face. Hopping out of bed, I rushed to my dad’s room to inform him that it was indeed spring and hence time for us to go on our voyage. When I entered his room, I leapt onto his bed to wake him up, but he didn’t make a sound. He must be playing with me, I thought.

“Daddy, daddy, wake up! It’s springtime! Look outside; you’ll see it!” I cried with excitement heavy in my high pitched voice.

Silence. I shook him, and he murmured some incomprehensible utterance. Reality and fear set in; I grabbed the phone beside his bed and quickly dialed my aunt’s number just as she had instructed me to do if something ever went wrong when she wasn’t there (she usually stayed with us during the day). She answered, thankfully, and I hurriedly explained what was going on; she said she’d be right over, and not to panic. How could I not panic? There was something terribly wrong with my dad, the one man I depended on for everything. Looking into his ghostly white face, I was frightened by how much it reminded me of the way my momma’s face had looked when they put her into a wooden box then stuck it deep in the ground. I didn’t want my daddy stuck in the ground too.

Soon, my aunt arrived and shortly after her, the paramedics. They hoisted my dad into the ambulance and drove him away from me. I turned to my aunt and demanded she tell me what was going on. I was nine now, which was basically a grown up, and I ought to know. My aunt Shirley explained to me that my dad was very sick; he had a disease called cancer. It was then I knew my daddy was going to die; he would go in the ground with my momma just as I had feared. My mind simply couldn’t wrap itself around the fact that both my parents were to be taken from me. How could fate deal such a cruel hand to an innocent child such as me? I cried uncontrollably.

My father did not die right away—the cancer was not merciful enough; it slowly sucked the life out of him until there was none left. I visited him every day in that hospital room. Hopping onto his bed, I would lay beside him; his frail body was always so cold, and I wanted to make it warm and full of vitality again. We talked often, but all he wanted to talk about was our trip to Katahdin, which angered me. I knew he was dying; he knew he was dying; so why did he make a point to keep talking about this journey we were never going to take? I decided to ask him about it.

“Dad, we can’t go on that trip anymore. You’re too sick. Why do you keep talking about it as if it were possible?”

I think the question took him aback, because he paused a moment before answering. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything; maybe I had upset him.

“Honey, listen to me. We both know that I am very sick, and I probably won’t be alive in this body for much longer, but I will always be with you in your heart. I want you to promise me right now that no matter what, one day when you’re old enough, you will go and climb to Katahdin peak and plant our flag in the prettiest spot you can find.”

He looked into my eyes as he spoke, and I understood what he was saying. That little flag was to serve as a memoir of him—a memoir of us and all our time we had spent together making it and planning our trip. I blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill over; I wouldn’t cry now. I never cried around him when he was in the hospital; I always waited until I got home to do that.

“I promise,” I vowed solemnly.

He died the next day.

….

My mind was instantly snapped back to the present as I felt the sting of what I supposed was some pesky insect having a go at my bare skin. I wiped the tears brought to my eyes by the recollection of that tender memory and looked up again and knew I was almost there; the end was in sight. With new vigor and strength, I quickened my pace. It was only just a short time before I was standing on the very same place my dad and I had talked and dreamed of so long ago.

My eyes scoured the area seeking to find the perfect spot for our flag. And then I saw it. A little area that was full of meadow roses—my father’s favorite flowers. Walking over to it, I took out the flag and pole to attach it to. As I planted that flag in the ground, I thought of my daddy, the twinkle in his eyes, his laugh, the way he made me feel safe, and the grief hit me all over again. I just wished he was here to share this moment with me. “I will always be with you in your heart;” his words echoed in my mind, and I knew that he was here, enjoying this glorious moment with me. I lifted eyes to heaven and whispered, “We did it, Daddy.”