The Rowing Boat

The keys hung from the lock of the heavy wooden door. It was the entrance to the boot room. Much in the old house had not changed. As I opened the door I smiled but then I blinked back a stray tear. I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand, as my eyes caught sight of my fathers wellington boots. My father had passed on, but he had had a good long life.

I was still dressed in my Sunday suit; the others had now left the wake, so the house was quiet. I felt sad but at the same time I knew a peace within my heart. My father had been a vicar so I knew that he now rested in a better place. I suddenly heard voices, my wife had returned from her walk with our children. On impulse I shut myself in the boot room. I took off my shoes and put on my fathers wellingtons. I just needed to get away.

I opened the back door and walked purposely across the lawn. Mud stuck to the soles of the boots, then a few leaves started to collect as I walked. I suddenly knew where I wanted to go, to say my final goodbye to my father. I walked out of the back gate at the bottom of the garden and turned right into the little dried up stream.

I followed the course of the dry river bed as it widened until I came to the boathouse. It was old and dirty now, the door was rotten, but I remembered it as a child, brightly painted. My dad used to store his rowing boat here. As I remembered I found myself smiling. Dad always used to lift me into the boat and he would push the boat out into the river with me in it. He used the oar to help it rest against the bank, and tied the boat to the little tree. The tree was gone now. My dad used to wade back to the boathouse door to close it.

I never once saw my dad fall in the water but I used to tease him. My dad would smile and wink, and then he would grab the side of our rowing boat and rock it gently to get his own back on me. My dad used to loosen the rope and then climb into the boat. We would ride down the river for a while until it widened further then he would stop rowing and we would both drift with the slight current. Many times we would feed the ducks together.

Tears suddenly gushed from my eyes as I looked at the old boathouse. The rowing boat was gone now. The course of the river had been diverted due to a new road being put in that bypassed the town. I wandered slowly along the dry river bed unaware of my surroundings for a while until I suddenly became aware of a strong pair of arms holding me in my pain, though I could see no one. I knew who the arms belonged to because I had faith too; just like my father.

God blesses those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Matthew 5:4