The Frozen Pond

So much loss.

The old man sat in silence, back pressed against an old hickory tree. His legs stretched out; In front of him, the pond was frozen solid. The world was an icy, white death, shrouded in mist. Each one of his breaths was painful, ragged, as though they were dragged through the teeth of some winter monster. “This will be as good a place as any to breathe my last,” he thought. The pressure in his chest was heavy, but the pain had ended, and only peace remained.

He remembered the springs of his youth, and a smile almost touched his lips. He could feel the warmth of the sun cut through the frozen mist of clouds to touch his face… or was that the touch of Mary’s hands on his cheek? He wasn’t sure. Mary had been gone many years, but he could see her as clearly as though she were there with him now, holding his hand and laughing. She was always so gay, laughing even as her hair silvered and her hands slowed with age. Her laughter and hands stilled for the last time some years back, leaving a lonely void in his life. Now, so near the end, was she really there?

“Time passes too quickly,” he thought, “and youth is wasted on the young.” The old man chuckled. He could see a figure at the edge of the pond, with a distinctive, jaunty stride. He thought of his son, John, who died in the war. John had that same stride- proud, but so much like his mother- always laughing. He had loved the pond- for swimming in the heat of the summer, for skating in the winter. He had taken his girl to the pond when they were courting. He was buried close to the pond when his body was returned after the war. The figure came closer, and it was John. The old man should have been surprised, he knew, but instead, he just felt peace. There was no fear.

John was soon joined by a second, and then third figure- this one, smaller- a little boy.

It was Mama. Oh, Mama. The old man recognized the second figure instantly, and tears sprang to his eyes. No one ever forgets his mama, and beside her, the smaller figure was his little brother, Henry. He was unmistakable, holding his mother’s hand, skipping as a 5 year old boy will, pulling his mother in excitement. As they came closer, the old man tried to speak, but found he had no strength left to do so.

“Well, William,” said Mama. “We’ve sure missed you.” Mama smiled.

“Yes, Billy! We’ve missed you!” Henry echoed, jumping in place. He was wearing overalls, one shoulder strap unfastened and flapping around his ankle. His feet were bare, but he didn’t seem to mind the cold.

“Daddy, are you ready?” John grinned, his rakish, lopsided grin. He needed a haircut and a shave.

The old man realized he was standing, and the hand that was still just moments ago was holding Mary’s hand. She looked up at him, young and laughing, and smiled. A gust of wind caught her hair, blowing a strand into those sparkling eyes, and she gracefully swept the hair out of her face with her beautiful hand. The gust of wind should have been freezing, but it felt like summer’s kiss. It was the deep of winter, and the old man and the loved ones who had come to take him home crossed over- not around the frozen pond, but this time, across it, and into the silvery, frozen mist.