I of V. Goofy Goof
Walt Disney was not his creator, but that does not lessen his pain. He was not there in the precise beginning, but does that matter either, should that make his tears any less heavy? No–that little fact does not make Goofy any less devastated, nor does it anybody else. From the start, Walt was there, all ideas and dreams. Goofy remembers the stories Walt would tell about a magical place, a bridge for parents and children. It wasn't until Goofy had his own son that he realized how precious a place that could be–and, then, it was. They two, father and son, Walt and Mickey, made it against all the conventions set out against them. And Goofy was there to see it all.
Goofy glances around the memorial, at Mickey and Minnie and Donald, all of them, and sighs out into the frigid air. It is cold in more than one way and such a tragedy – Goofy retracts that last thought. For even if Walt is gone from them in physical way, his imprint in them is everlasting, hiding there in their hearts and minds. Goofy eyes the sky, calls to God and then cries. A part of him will be gone forever.
He can only cry, cry, cry as he takes one last peek at the tombstone of Walt, other mourners still sprinkled among his gravesite.
"Oh, Goofy," says a clad-in-black Kairi, small tears painting her pink cheeks. She didn't know him, but she sees the love they all have for him; that is enough to be sad for. "Come here."
Kairi spreads her arms around Goofy, embracing the lanky dog who sees no need to hide his tears from her. He takes one careful hand and pats her titian hair before stepping away and finding his son.
Precious indeed.