We're Golden

In times of tragedy, it is the simplest mechanisms and mundanity of life that can ruin a mourner's facade. Quiet moments alone, confronted by the absence of loss in the context of a simple task or oft repeated habit, can elicit the cruelest pain. It is akin to a sharp and sudden strike of agony that floods the soul with anguish that seeps into the bones. The sort that cannot be held at bay by stoicism and composure. The kind that stops all thought, dims the light and breathes power to the darkness.

Such a moment had struck down the robust defenses of a son, sat in a dull room and bathed in the cold light of his fathers computer. The room was still and silent save for the ambient thrum of technology, and his shuddering breath. Incredulity cast him in a catatonic state, the message that blinked on the screen was seemingly impossible to comprehend. In faded gray italics it simply said, ‘reset your password’.

Long moments had passed since the message first appeared on screen and still Aiden found himself unable to accept what he had read. Logically of course it made the utmost sense. His father’s computer had not been switched on for almost a month. The device had been used for both personal and professional tasks. As such, a regular change of password kept the device safe and ticked important boxes on myriad non disclosure agreements his father had signed. Functioning within expected and desired parameters, the device awaited a new password and would not function until one was provided by its owner. Unbeknownst to the inanimate object however, its owner had died.

This was not an unexpected death, Aiden’s father had fought hard against a malignancy that would inevitably claim him. Gallant in his struggle and fearless in the face of death, his only thought had been for his family. It was remarked well at his funeral that when given the tragic news that his disease was terminal, Aiden's father simply sighed in frustration. This was followed with a question in his typical, pragmatic manner, as to an estimate of time. He asked not to prepare himself, but merely to ensure that he would see his beloved team finally win a damned trophy. Even on that mournful day, Aiden had laughed in spite of himself. His father worked the room even from beyond the grave.

Those days were always easier. There were relatives to console, friends to converse with and children to shield from the worst of the grim business. Something to do, always something else to be done, a number to call or a cheque to be canceled. A merciful gift of duty that could provide a safe mooring for a reeling soul adrift at sea. It was easier to busy oneself with the processes of death than to allow the quiet to settle in. Aiden had done so well, had persevered through it all and remained steadfast for those around him. Now however he found the dam breaking and the cold calculus that had cast his heart in stasis now beginning to thaw.

Perhaps if the demanded change was replacing an irrelevant series of numbers and letters, he would have been fine. Anger born of loss welled up inside Aiden as he continued to stare at the request. The machine of course did not possess the sentience to empathize with its new owner about the consequences of the reset request. This also meant that it could not, by any logic, mean to cause harm or be cruel to anyone. Despite these obvious truths the sentient, vibrant and heartbroken individual before it grasped the table with both hands. His fingers curled into clenching fists, all he could do to not hurl the device across the room.

How dare it ask that of him, how could the universe allow such a thing to happen, on today of all days! Today, when he finally sat down to begin the colossal task of pursuing his fathers dream. There was great work to be done, understanding the complexities of the vision and how to execute the convoluted plans his father had revealed to him. He had expected it to be arduous and all consuming, and for that he was completely prepared. During long conversations, when his fathers illness would allow, Aiden listened dutifully as the plans were laid out. Before the man had passed, Aiden knew at the core of his being that continuing his fathers work would be the best balm against the torment of loss. That the work could not begin until he discarded something as disposable as a password shouldnt’ have deterred him, but it was still a blow too harsh for him to suffer without pause.

Leaning forward in his chair, shoulders slumped, Aiden tried to relax his jaw and let his shoulders settle back, but he simply could not. Tears ran and his breath was ragged as he tried valiantly to not give in entirely to grief. Feeling himself overwhelmed, Aiden rose and kicked the chair back, crossing the darkened study and standing by the glass of the window. His breath was steadier now but the sobs broke through and he leaned against both glass and frame, lost in the moment. He stood for a while, eyes closed, unwilling to open them. So many days and months bearing the burden of duty and the burdens of others. Now he was alone and confronted with the impossible, and the time for strength had passed. He gave in to his long suffocated vulnerability and collapsed within it, genuinely unsure that if he gave voice to a scream, he could ever stop.

Time ceased to hold meaning, the night had long settled in and there were many hours until sunrise. There was no prompt of nature to remind Aiden of how long he had stood in his painful repose. Eventually after some time, Aiden found his breathing eased and his face was cold with slowing tears. Not without some effort he forced his eyes to open and took in his reflection. He had a stern countenance and soft opal eyes. His normally broad shoulders still sagged in the aftermath of his breakdown. Futilely, he stared over his shoulder, willing some welcomed specter of his father to appear and place a reaffirming hand on his shoulder. Never before had he cared for such fantasies or ever bothered to engage with them. Yet if he was honest with himself, he found it impossible to do anything else.

Eventually he turned, eyes falling back on the computer that had prompted his anger. The vehemence of his fury had faltered now and gave way to numbness. There would be no apparitions of certainty here nor a voice unbidden to give guidance. He was alone in the room where he and his father had talked at length. Conversations that ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous, from the metaphysical to the personal and political, were held in the space. Many moments were etched in the dark oak of the walls with the indelible ink of memory. How he wished he could have such conversations again. Aiden thought, not for the first time that day, that the universe was being particularly unfair. He had valued every moment with his father, never missing an opportunity to learn from him and appreciate their time, especially in those final days. Despite this he now felt all the heavy meaning of that old truism, ‘you don’t know what you have till it’s gone’. Why should he have to learn that lesson, when he never once took a day with his father for granted?

Anger threatened to swell again and so he took a few steps forward from the window, trying to breathe deep and clear his thoughts. Sadness weighed heavily upon him and it was no mere struggle to fend off the tendrils of rage that were so easy to fall into during times of grief. Shaking his head and looking around the room, his eyes fell upon an oval coffee table in between two twinned leather back chairs on the opposite side. It was an unremarkable piece of furniture in an otherwise beautifully curated and elegant space. Four pillars of a caramel coloured wood upheld a false marble shelf, large enough for a scotch glass or two. Aiden hadn’t noticed previously, but a black diary was placed upon the table, obscured slightly by the arm of the chair his father favored.

This discovery elicited a stuttered scoff from Aiden, who had been searching for that diary all throughout the funeral preparations and for weeks afterwards. It was intended as a year long diary, but was now considerably out of date. His father had employed it as a way to keep the most important thoughts, plans and dreams safe and close to hand. Without realizing, Aiden smiled at the memories of his father suddenly going quiet as his family spitballed foolish ideas around him. Groaning would build from around the dinner table as his Dad left to procure the special black diary. Everyone realized that their playful banter and nonsense day dreaming would now result in a deep dive into an old lightbulb moment from a single note in that book. Sentimental echoes reverberating in his mind, Aiden found himself reluctantly chuckling. His Dad really loved any excuse to dive into that tattered book of random notes.

Moving slowly, Aiden moved over to take up the book, eventually resolving to sit across from an empty chair. The familiarity mixed with absence and he allowed himself a moment of pause, staring at the vacant seat for a long moment. Eventually he ran his thumb over the lip of the diary cover and began to open it, taking in the smell of the pages and the rush of nostalgia that was tinged with sorrow. His eyes were met with swiftly scrawled notes, annotations on stapled papers and eureka moments in oversized capitals. Smiling as he flicked through the sporadic notes, he almost forgot the computer with its still blinking demand. Without realizing he relaxed back into the chair and took his time with every page. For the most part he laughed and became lost in thought, remembering how the half baked ideas often became grand successes when his Dad pursued them hard enough.

Eventually he reached the end of the book, and went to close it and place it back upon the table. Upon doing so a note that must have been tucked into the letter slip, fell out onto the chair. Frowning at the unexpected item, Aiden inspected it curiously, not believing that anything else was bound inside except the hilariously mad scratchings of his father. The paper the note was written on was not as old as the book itself, and though it was written with a slightly shaky hand, it was unmistakable as his fathers writing. Aiden’s breath caught in his throat and once more the tears began to well up in his eyes.

‘My son, my best friend, my hero!

Throughout my last fight, you were always by my side.

I don’t know where I’ll be, but it won’t be far from you.

I did not entrust my plans to you so that you might follow them to the letter.

I entrusted them to you because I believe you can do better than I did.

I trust you, I trust your mind, your heart and most of all, I trust the changes you’ll make.

Don’t be afraid to do what you know is right, no matter what happens.

I love you, son.

We’re golden.’

Shaking with emotion, Aiden read and reread the note again. With the same masterful planning that had built his success, his father had planned for him to find this, to come across it, likely when he needed it most. The impossibility of it, to have happened in this moment, and not when he was cleaning or meandering around idly, was almost laughable. He reached for some deeper meaning, some cause his father would have had, beyond leaving a final word for his son. It seemed to be a desperation of the mind, to draw more of a beautiful moment when so many moments were dark. Smiling gently, he shook his head and looked about the room, and went to thank his fathers memory, before his eyes fell back upon the computer.

Still there, blinking, the request remained. ‘Reset your password’, flashing in a dull repeat, indicating the act that must be performed before the work could begin. Without anger now, Aiden held his head in his hands and wept honestly and truthfully for the first time in months. Acceptance did not necessarily walk hand in hand with pragmatism, often the latter demanded an avoidance of the former in order to function. After the fact it was sometimes the case that a pragmatic soul became an accepting one, when the dust settled and there was time to reflect. That time had now come, for a son who could not rationalize what he felt to be the cold maliciousness of the universe.

The simple act of discarding the password, the phrase, the saying that his father and he had shared since he was old enough to remember, was too much. The admittance that in discarding the password and replacing it with something else, that his father would not work at his desk again. Above all else it was the bruning guilt that he felt the moment the prompt appeared on screen. The simple fact that as his first act in charge of his fathers legacy, he was going to change something, was crippling. It was, to him in the immediate emotional furore, at best a sign that he was already moving on with life and at worst a betrayal of his father. Just as before when the words appeared on screen, he recognised the illogical nature of his anger. It was after all, just a password. Changing a password would not disregard his fathers memory or somehow diminish his fathers time and place in the world.

Initially it had been impossible to accept such truths and allow such revelation, but at last he could accept and understand precisely why a mundane action had caused him such pain. He scoffed and shook his head, his response was all very daft really, yet he felt it all the same. Now, with his fathers last note in hand, he drew himself up and walked over to the desk. Standing over it, he slowly and deliberately dragged the chair back over to its usual space, and sat down. Taking in deep breaths, he turned towards the screen and read the demand once more.

‘Reset your password’.

The note from his father gripped tightly in one hand, Aiden moved the cursor over the flashing text. Clicking once, the screen transitioned from a pristine, cold white, to a soft azure blue. There were now two instructions; first to enter the old password and the second to enter a new password. Placing the slightly crumpled note next to the keyboard, he moved his hands across the letters and typed in the old password.

‘WeRgolden!,’ appeared as he typed. Another unbidden rush of emotion swelled, and he allowed it to. He no longer felt like a betrayer and a fraud. He felt like a dutiful son who was loved by an incomparable father. Pushing back from the desk slightly, he smiled through the tears and looked around the room. He no longer looked for distant specters, he was content that his father was precisely where he said he would be, not far at all.

Moving the cursor again and entering a new password, he hesitated over the confirmation button. It was the last moment before the real work began, but it was not now laden with sorrow or burdened with fears of tarnishing a legacy. Aiden was sanguine now, the trust his father placed in him written out in tangible proof beside him. Attaching his fathers note to the bottom right of his monitor, he took a deep breath in and sighed and this time it was one of contentment.

Clicking once, he confirmed the new password and his commitment to the work to come. As the screen dimmed and then bloomed with color and the flashing of startup programming, Aiden smiled. He shifted his weight in the chair and leaned forward, determined and ready.

“We’re golden, Dad,” he said at last.