Chapter Thirty Three Heart by Heart
The old man sat at the front of the church, hands clasped, head bowed. His cane rested next to him against the pew where he sat as he mumbled a few words under his breath to himself, his gaze focused on the ground.
All around him people whispered and pointed at him as if he was an ancient relic of days gone by. They all gave him sympathetic looks which made him slightly angered. He didn't need sympathies, contrary to what they all believed about him.
It annoyed him.
"Dad," his son said, putting a hand on his father's shoulder and looking at him with his grey eyes. "The ceremony's about to start."
The old man made a grunting sort of sound as he reached for his cane and pulled himself up off of the pew. His bones creaked with age as he shuffled toward the bench designated for his family.
"How you holding up Dad?" His other son asked him as the old man settled into his designated seat and set his cane down, looking straight ahead.
"As well as can be expected," he grumbled, running a boney hand through his pale hair. His once raven black hair had now lightened to a near snow white color.
He felt his daughter take his hand and squeeze it, giving him a small smile. Her sea grey eyes, so similar to his own, were red and puffy from crying. In her other hand she clutched a wad of used tissues. Her husband, an attorney she had met at school, wrapped his arm around her shoulders to give her comfort.
The old man craned his head back to look at the rest of the church where hundreds of people crowded the sanctuary, all crammed into pews, trying to catch a glimpse of his family and him. Cameras and video recorders were all out, causing the old man to grumble again.
"I don't recognize any of these people," he told his children. "Why are they all here?"
"It's open to the public," his eldest son said slowly, reminding his aging father. "We wanted everyone to be able to come. She was a hero to so many different people and they wanted to pay their respects."
The old man huffed in indignation at this comment. "She hated large crowds," he said.
"I know Dad, but lots of people loved her," his son explained.
Before the old man could retort with his comment he had made about how they didn't actually love her, they just liked her stories, the pastor went to the front of the sanctuary and the crowd of people grew deathly silent. As he began to speak, the old man looked down at the pamphlet his daughter had slipped onto his lap.
His heart lurched as he looked at her familiar face and smile, at her brilliant eyes. It all was sinking in now. What had once felt so far away, had now become reality.
Reality about how fleeting life was. She was the first. How many of his friends would soon follow?
When was it his turn?
After the pastor delivered his normal drone about life and Heaven, his younger son got up and told a story about his mother which had the audience laughing. He always had been the comic one.
The sang a song.
The pastor spoke again.
Her best friend, just as old as he was but who still insisted on spiking up her hair, read one of her most famed passages from one of her books.
Excerpt from To Be Loved (part of the Spellbound Series)
"I do not say weep," the old grandmother said as her granddaughter sat at her bed side, watching with wary eyes as if her grandma would disappear at any moment, as if at any moment she would fade away into sparks of death just like everyone else had. "For not all tears are bad."
"You're dying though," Aries Hart pointed out.
Her grandmother laughed. "You're very observant," she said, her blue eyes sparkling. "But I'm not really dying Aries."
"You're about to stop breathing Gram, I'm pretty sure that that constitutes as being dead," Aries said rolling her eyes. She wanted to pretend that this wasn't happening. Gram was a fairy tale character! Fairy tales weren't supposed to end, Sleeping Beauty was supposed to wake up from her sleep and live happily ever after, not die.
"That is the definition of death I suppose in this day and age," her grandmother said, tapping her jaw. "But I've been around for hundreds of years, you have to remember that Aries and death has never been defined as 'stopping to breathe'. Death has been considered being forgotten, never being remembered in someone's heart and mind. But you'll still remember me, I'm sure of it. And if I've changed just one person's life, then I've done my job."
"But I don't want you to die!" Aries complained. "It's not fair! Fairytales are supposed to be immortal, the princesses aren't supposed to die!"
Her grandma laughed. "I've never been a normal princess have I? And neither have you," she pointed out. Aries snorted at this comment. "And there comes a time when we all have to die. Death is inevitable. But we don't have to be afraid."
"Why Death is scary," Aries admitted, her voice shaking as she said it. Yes Aries Hart feared Death.
"Death is only scary because we make it scary. There once was a man who said 'We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that death will tremble to take us'. We let Death get the upper hand over us when we shouldn't let it, Death is not the end and it never will be," her grandmother said, taking the seventeen year old's hand. "And the sooner you realize this, the better off you'll be.
Aries you're about to go into a war and in war there are casualties. People die in war. But you have to make sure that no one dies without a reason. You have to make sure that you die with purpose and without fear. We cannot fear Death. And when you're on the front line with nothing but your bow and Ancer's somewhere fighting hoards of darkness, you can't break down and you cannot fear because fear is the opposite of trust. And what is life without Trust?"
"I don't want you to go," Aries said, squeezing her grandmother's hand.
"I know. But there comes a time when you have to grow up Aries. Fairytales can only get you so far. You have to create your own fairytale and your own happily ever after, not live off of someone else's. Can you do that for me?"
Aries nodded and for the first time in her life since her father had Faded, she lost her calm appearance and her stoic face and broke down crying. "I love you Gram," she said.
"I know Aries, and I love you as well," her grandmother said. Aries stood up, kissed her grandmother on the cheek one last time and then exited out of her room. When she closed the door, she turned to see Ancer staring at her, a questioning look in his eyes. She shrugged.
"All good stories must come to an end at one point of time or another."
End Excerpt
The crowd of people all clapped appreciatively and there was sounds of sobbing but the old man wondered if they were sobbing for her or if they were sobbing for the death of a fictional character.
His daughter cried.
They listened to a song he had written for her all those years ago.
All around him people were crying as if the world was ending, as if they weren't going to live another day, as if they were professional mourners or something like that. It made the old man feel a little cranky about it all. Why were they all crying? They didn't know her like he did.
No one did.
He could almost see her laughing at them all. He wished she would.
When his son, his eldest son got up to share, the old man was ready to leave. All of the tissues, tear filled eyes, running mascara, it was all too… fake for him.
This wasn't her.
And then his son had to open his damn mouth.
"A lot of you have read my mother's first work which she wrote when she was in her early twenties. It was called the Letter Writer and told the story of a boy who found letters a girl left in library books. Through those letters the two fell in love. The Letter Writer has sparked a movement across the world which involves people leaving encouraging letters in library books and even gaining friends through conversing through letters left in books. But what most people don't know is that The Letter Writer wasn't a story my mother came up with, it was actually the story of my father and her."
That was the last straw.
The old man stood up, making the only sound in the whole sanctuary. He gripped his cane in one hand and then turned, looked at the large crowd of people who were all staring at him as if he had committed a most heinous crime. The old man had to resist cursing at them all.
None of them deserved to hear their story. Maybe he was selfish but they weren't good enough to hear about how amazing his wife was. He knew his son meant well, but this was their story. It was his to remember and only his. Those letters weren't someone else's. They were his. And he wasn't in the mood for sharing.
The old man shuffled out of the service, leaning against his cane. He managed to push the large doors open and headed outside of the church, a mass of heads all staring at him, confused looks on their faces.
He found a nice bench outside under a willow tree where he sat down and looked at the sky, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Some service isn't it Wise Girl," he said out loud. People walking by would pity him and call him an old man who was losing his mind. But the old man knew that his wife would hear him. "So many people there… there wasn't that many people at our wedding."
He left out a soft sigh. "They said that it would get easier with time but it sure as hell isn't. In fact I think it's getting worse." He took a deep breath, his once beautiful voice now old with age. He was tired. "I miss you Wise Girl. Miss you so much that it hurts whenever I think about you. And all those people in there think that they loved you but they don't love you like I do. Because they loved you and yet I still love you."
The old man closed his eyes, remembering the last night he had with her. She had gotten extremely ill in her old age and had forgotten who he was. She was in a nursing home and he had visited her with flowers just like he did every day, roses of course.
Roses had a special meaning to the both of them.
He was prepared to be greeted by those faded grey eyes who looked at him confused whenever he tried to talk to her. Those eyes that couldn't even remember his name.
The old man knocked on the door, letting out a heavy sigh. He just had had a meeting with the doctors. She wasn't getting any better and they didn't expect her to last the night. He prayed to whatever God was out there that she would remember him one last time before it was all over.
Before their story was finished.
He pushed the door open and saw his wife sitting in her favorite chair, her once golden hair now faded to white. But she was still as beautiful as the first day he had seen her.
The day he had fallen in love with her all over again.
"Annabeth," he said slowly, putting the roses in a vase on the small table where she ate in the mornings. She always had lunch and dinner in the dining hall with some of the other residents. Everyone loved her even though she tended to make snide remarks to everyone.
The old man was prepared for his wife to ask the question she always did: "Who are you?" And then he would have to explain that he was her husband and they would spend most of the time trying to remember.
But she always forgot the next day.
The old woman in the chair turned around and his heart caught in his throat.
Her grey eyes were sparkling.
"Hello Seaweed Brain, I was wondering when you'd get here," she said.
And the old man could have cried.
In fact he did cry.
"Hey Wise Girl," he said, coming and sitting next to his wife. Over fifty years later and he still thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
"The doctors say I'm dying Seaweed Brain," she said. The old man nodded slowly. She sighed. "Well then…" she paused for a moment and then turned to look at her husband. "Do you think I did it?" She asked.
"Did what?" He asked.
"Do you think I became a Legacy?" She asked, her voice weary. The old man paused for a moment and then slowly nodded.
"Of course you did Wise Girl," he said. "You're my Legacy." And he kissed her.
That night when the doctor and the nurse entered her room they saw husband and wife lying together on the bed, the old man's arm wrapped protectively around his wife as if he was still a young man. "Should we tell him?" The young nurse asked the doctor in a quiet voice.
"Tell him what?" The doctor asked, watching the couple and absentmindedly rubbing his own finger where his wedding ring was.
"That she's… well sir that she's not going to make it," the nurse whispered.
The doctor shook his head. "No…. no let them have this night together. Come on we've got to see to the next patient." And they closed the door behind them.
The next morning the old woman had died.
The old man leaned back against the bench. "I wrote a little letter to you Wise Girl," he said. "You made me promise that I would when you died." He reached into his jacket's pocket and pulled out a white envelope that had been clutched so much in his hand that it was wrinkled.
He wasn't sure he wanted to let it go.
"Dad." The old man looked up to see his eldest son walking towards him, his hands in the pockets of his black jacket. His dark hair was swept back from his forehead and his eyes were slightly red. He came and sat down next to the old man. "Sorry about telling that story, I didn't know that it meant so much to you. I just always loved it and I wanted other people to love it too."
The old man shifted in his seat and then patted his son on the back, smiling at him. "It's okay Perry, I'm just a selfish, cranky, old man who doesn't want to admit that this is all real."
The younger man took a deep breath and then let out a sigh. "It was a nice funeral," he said. The old man nodded in agreement.
"They're letting people walk by one last time. Do you want to go and see?" The old man stood up, his legs shaking. See her one last time?
He had to.
"Let's go," the man said heavily.
The father and son walked into the church and back into the sanctuary where a long line of people were passing in front of the casket which held the famous author. The old man sat back down next to his daughter who gave him a sad smile and patting his hand. "I miss her too," she said, her eyes watering.
When his friends had finished walking in front of the casket the patted him on the back and gave him sad smiles. A sad smile would be what his wife would have called an oxymoron. How can someone be sad and yet smile? The world would never know he guessed.
After everyone but his family had exited the sanctuary, they closed the doors. And then all of his children stood up and together looked into the casket. The old man noted how they held hands with each other, just like they had done when they were little and were about to jump off the pier into the ocean.
He smiled a little at that.
When they had finished the old man stood up.
His legs were shaking.
His breathing was fast.
When he got up front he gave his wife a small smile. "I love you Wise Girl, present tense, past tense and future tense," he whispered. And then he slipped the crumpled envelope into the casket.
o.O.o
Wise Girl,
You know that I'm not one for words, I've told you so many times before. And I find while I write this it's even harder to use my words because I am at a loss for words which would be a problem for someone who's trying to compose a letter.
Because for once you're not here.
And I don't want you not to be here. I never thought that there would be a time when you weren't here with me. I know that one day it would come but I didn't want it to come. I tried to deny every single thought of it. Because love can't be tamed as you said. It lasts through the decades, through the storms, through everything.
And you can't be dead.
You can't.
We've been together for so long and yet it's hasn't been long enough. There is not enough time on this earth when you're in love. Which I still am. I am deeply in love with you even though you're not here with me.
And when they lower you into your grave I will still be in love with you.
I can't stop loving you.
You asked me if you were a Legend, a Legacy, if you completed what you wanted to do when you were in highschool when you wrote that first letter. And the answer is yes. You have changed my life in so many ways, you have changed other people's lives even though you did not know what you were doing.
You are my best friend, you are my love, you are my Light.
And you always will be.
You wanted to create your own Fairytale, you wanted to make your own life. And you did. But in the process of doing that you also created a fairytale for me. Life was never the same when I was with you. And every day I fell in love with you all over again.
I don't really know what I'm writing, I'm more pouring my soul onto this flimsy piece of paper which I don't think is capable of holding it but I'll try to write what I can. I'll write because I promised you that I would. You have done amazing things Annabeth Christine, amazing things. People wonder if it's possible to live a life like a story and I say yes. Because you have created the most amazing story and I am happy to be a character in it.
I try to think about what would have happened if you had never left those letters in the library and I find myself unable to even begin to process what would have happened. Because I think that fate had it in for me and you, fate wanted me to find that letter. Because you and I… we were meant to be. There are times when your soul finds the soul that you've been looking for and there's no going back.
And I found you.
So thank you for leaving that letter in the library.
Thank you.
Because without you, I don't think I would be alive. And even though people are saying that our story has ended, I don't believe it, I don't believe that a love story like ours can end.
It's impossible.
I love you Annabeth Christine Jackson.
I love you.
And our love will last through the ages and people will write about us and even if they don't, our love will still live on. A love like ours can't be stopped. It's a fire that won't end even in death.
I love you.
And as one of your characters once wrote: You were my forever. You will always be my infinity. You were my rock in my hurricane of troubles.
So this is our final letter in our story, you began the Legacy and I suppose I'm somewhat ending it. But our Legacy won't end completely. It will still pulse and thrive, and live infinitely.
I love you Annabeth, my Wise Girl
With all my Love,
Your Seaweed Brain,
Perseus Erik Jackson
Words for the Wise: Death is not the end. Life is not the beginning. Our story as long as there is love, there will be no ending, it will always be there, living in hearts, in souls, in minds. Death will not stop true love.
o.O.o
"Dad do you want to leave?" The old man's younger son asked after the old man had stood in front of the hold in the ground, staring at it as if it might disappear if he took his eyes off of it. "Or do you want to stay a little bit longer?"
"Just a little longer Skip," the old man said. His son nodded and then went off to stand next to his wife, the pretty French whom he had met when he was traveling the world.
The man looked at the hole in the ground and then smiled.
He smiled because sometimes life does throw us curveballs, sometimes life can be cruel. But it's when we're broken, it's when we have the most problems, it's when we just want to give up and let go and stop trying, that's when we have to push throw, that's when we keep going. Because you never know who you're going to meet, you never know who will change your life, you never know whose life you will change. And that's the magic of it all, the not knowing, the wondering and questioning about what will happen. But knowing that there will be a plan for you.
Since the day that you were created, you have been fearfully and wonderfully made. And there is someone in the world that is waiting for you. That loves you without knowing it. That will change your life. And you'll change their life.
And life will never be the same.
Change is good. Daring is good. Chance is good.
"I love you Annabeth," he said and then he turned his back and walked with his family to the path that led out of the cemetery.
And as they climbed up the hill, the old man paused for a moment, smiled as if he heard something that no one else could hear and then headed down the hill.
Percy Jackson didn't look back.
"Death isn't the end, it's the beginning."
"Ends are not bad things, they just mean that something else is about to begin. And there are many things that don't really end, anyway, they just begin again in a new way. Ends are not bad and many ends aren't really an ending; some things are never-ending."
"Endings are better than beginnings."
~Ecclesiastes 7:8a