Violet stared down at the tombstone

Drake Mallard's Final Bow

This story is largely autobiographical, only instead of my father, it deals with my Grandfather in reality.  He was one of the best, wisest, and most wonderful men I have ever known, and will ever hope to know.  He was 65 when he died suddenly of some kind of stroke.  With that sentiment in mind, this story is dedicated to my Grandfather, Vaughan.

I just wrote this story on a whim, and it is really hardly even long enough to call a story.  Mostly, I wrote it to clarify my feelings about my Grandfather and my young nephews.  And to clarify thoughts to myself about why it feels so right to visit his grave as often as I do.  This is not a wonderful piece of writing, and should probably be severely overhauled, but I'm not going to do it.  This story served it's purpose for me, and I think it gets my sentiment across as well, if not better for it's simplicity, than a more polished and correct work.  Sometimes you just have to know when to leave a work well enough alone.  Well, enough from me, I hope you enjoy my sad little story. 

The title is a take off from a Sherlock Holmes work, titled "His Last Bow" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Violet stared down at the tombstone.  It was located in a beautiful cemetery, filled with ancient trees, green grass, and a few gently sloping hills.  One corner of the cemetery was cordoned off with a dilapidated iron railing the rusting iron was falling to bits, but parts of it still stood, as a seeming testament to history, and the passage of time.  The cemetery was not a large one, but well taken care of, with huge trees in the center.   The cemetery had been established in the 1700's, and contained some of the oldest graves in the area.  And this beautiful place of sunshine, green grass and birdsong also contained the final resting place of her father's body. 

The stone was a simple mounument, engraved on the left with her father's name and his life span, and the other side, as yet unoccupied, bore the name of her mother, Rose.  Drake had been an older man even when Violet was born, and he had survived through all of her childhood, and well into her adult years.  At the age of 87, Drake Mallard, Violet's father, died quietly, sitting in a chair, looking out at his beloved bay from Darkwing Tower.  He had died in December, shortly after Christmas.  Violet had known that her father was growing older, and that he wouldn't live forever, but he had always been so vital, so alive, even at his age, he could easily pass for 65.  Violet thought back about the way he had played with her children, his grandchildren.  Elliot and Clara.  Elliot was only a few months old, and Clara was just three.  Violet wondered if they would remember their grandfather with any degree of clarity.  She hoped so with all her heart.

"He was such a wonderful duck.  He loved us so much, and his greatest joy in life was to make Mother happy.  He loved to see her smile.  I miss him so much."

Violet's mind began to wander, thinking about what could have been.  She wondered if they would have done anything differently had they known that this was to be their last Christmas with her Father. 

"I wonder. . . no, I think it would have been the same, only with a sadness that shouldn't have been there.  It is better that we didn't know, that final Christmas will always be tinged with sadness, though not the sadness of the past, rather, the sadness of memory, and of the present."

"It was so seldom for Dad to be sick, I suppose it was better that he died suddenly as he did.  It would have been so painful to see him linger, knowing he was only waiting for death, and we standing by, unable to do anything but love him.  Yes, that would have been worse."

"I never got to say good-bye.  Because he was gone so suddenly, I never got to say good-bye.  I know he isn't gone, he's still here, watching over us all, and yet I want him here so bad I almost can't stand it.  It is so painful for me to see the tears in Clara's eyes when anyone mentions her Grandfather, and also painful to think that in not too many years she will have so few memories, and Elliot will have even fewer, if any, as young as he is." 

"We do have video from family vacations, and family get togethers, but video has so little of the vibrant lust for living life that Dad always had.  It is a pale imitation of a copy compared to my father." 

"Sometimes I lie awake at night, waiting for sleep to come and I wish so hard that I could just wake up, and everything would be right again.  Robbie is a wonderful husband, and I couldn't love him any more than I do, but I still wish I had my father.  He was so wonderful, and he knew so much about life.  Robbie doesn't know that I know, and I don't think Dad did either, but I know how Robbie often went to Dad to ask his advice about problems."

"I remember how Dad used to play the piano, and Mom would sing with him.  I guess that is the end of that family ritual.  I haven't heard Mom sing in the year since Dad's death.  I know she misses him terribly."

"I remember how Dad tried so hard not to cry at my wedding.  He was like a little duckling.  He was trying so hard to be happy, and yet he knew he was losing his little girl.  Gosalyn told me that he acted the same way at her wedding to Honker."

"Honker is so unlike Dad, and yet in some things he does it is startlingly like Dad, and if that isn't a confused thought nothing is.  I guess it was all the time Honker spent with Dad when Honker and Gos were growing up.  He was almost like a part of the family, long before he asked Gos to marry him."

"I know Dad is fully aware of what is going on with us, even though he is no longer physically 'here', but it is just nice to come here sometimes and talk to him.  It just makes me feel better."

"Bye Dad.  I love you, and I miss you so much.  I'll be back soon."

With that, Violet leaned down and placed a dried flower and a small wax birthday candle next to the monument, both having come from the Clara's fourth birthday.  

As Violet walked away to her car, she wiped her blue eyes on a Kleenex, as the wind ruffled her shoulder-length, strawberry blond hair, and pulled at her burgundy and green scarf, her father's last Christmas gift to his youngest daughter. 

Disclaimer:  Drake Mallard, Darkwing Duck belongs to Disney, and is used without permission.  Violet, Charley, Elliot and Clara are mine.

Rose is Angela McDermott's and is used with her permission.  From her work titled "A Rose is a Rose" at the St. Canard Asylum.