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The Goldsmith and the Stone Pg. 15

The Goldsmith and the Stone Pg. 15

Goldsmith story by Rachel Walker
The Goldsmith and the Stone Pg. 15 2

Matt ran as fast as he could. Memories he had stored and blocked in his mind began to flood in like a rush of frozen air. He had forgotten, pain too unbearable had blocked these feelings and memories. “What did Mother give me? ” He thought to himself, “A letter?” He tried to recall where he had placed this item, it had all come so suddenly, her death, and previously father’s. Why hadn’t he noticed all the activity, he had just been surviving, living like today was all he knew. He opened the door to his small bunker, very little furniture and just enough of a wood stove to keep him warm. It was tidy and put in place, order was what made him feel in control. “Where did I put the letter?” He had never opened it, too full of pain at the time. He began to search his small room, pacing back and forth, beginning to feel a bit unhenged. He sat down on his single bed and looked around the room. One piece from the wood paneling looked a bit off. He went over to take a closer look and there it was, a trim of white, a letter in an envelope. With trembling fingers he pulled off the panel as the now aged white envelope dropped to the floor. Sitting down, he opened his letter from his mother, many years of grief later, to finally read her dying words. 

‘My dear Matthew,’ she started, ‘I find these words hard to write, let alone believe. It was not too long ago, so it seems when father said his last goodbye, and now here I am doing the same. Forgive me if I can only write for a short time, as I am very tired and weak now. At this moment, you are playing at the river with some friends. I want to share with you a few thoughts. 

To live in this life is a gift, I know it has been a struggle so far, hard work and very little to show for it. These are the mysteries. The checks and balances in life, some are weighed in wanting. Still it is more important to be grateful, not bitter. I am dying, but death is not a permanent ending. More of a carrying, a departure from one world to another. To leave a perishing body and to enter a new dimension. More of a door, my dear son. To find comfort in the days to come, find comfort in the One who stands at your door and knocks. For our spirits live on. I love you more than words. All my love, Mother. 

The papers that come with this letter are the deeds to the mine. I know your father worked very hard with no results. He said all the gold is gone. But you must carry on and discover for yourself. I am very tired now, all my love to you! Mother.’

Matt didn’t know what to do.  He felt his body begin to shake, fear, sorrow, anger all pulsing through his veins. He suddenly began to sob, for all those years he hadn’t. After what seemed like a lifetime, his body slumped onto his bed, with one thought, “how can you be grateful ,mother, how can you say there is a God who cares.”

The Evening’s curtain pulled softly over the sun’s bright rays. All seemed quiet as if in honor of Matt’s deep sorrow.  Matt’s mind moved from memories to a hazy sleep and night took over.

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