A Faithful Heart by Kimberly Fancher-Tribble
The stark white walls of the hospital’s family gathering room seemed to sedate me, clouding my vision. A featureless man appeared to me and tried to engage me in conversation by introducing himself as the Chaplin. I couldn’t see clearly and had no interest in speaking, unable to even comprehend his presence…
It was an April night, and the rain pelted down as I paced the halls of the hospital. I needed to go outside and feel the rain soak my face but I was unable to leave, something just wouldn’t allow it. The Chaplin tried to approach me several times over the next few hours, but I wanted no part of him. I wish I would’ve given him a chance then, as the words he gave me later that night, sustain me to this day.
After what seemed like an eternity of frantic pacing, a blonde detective took me by the elbow and led me to a dark corner of the hallway. “We’re going to need you in the morgue to identify the body,” he said. I felt a shiver somewhere deep inside. He put his hand on the small of my back as he led me through doors that took us down another long hallway. He briefly paused before almost pushing me into a small, dismal room. He directed me to a table that held something I didn’t want to see. It was a table that seemed too big and too cold. He saw a corpse, but I saw my Mother.
She was lying on a slab of steel, with a sheet pulled up above her chest. My throat fell into my toes and all of my other senses seemed to fail. A high pitched sound was piercing through my ears and assaulting every fiber of my being. It was all I could do to keep my feet under me. This sound lingered for what seemed to be an eternity. It was echoing off the steely walls and back into the depths of me. I could hardly believe when I realized that sound had been coming from me.
I ran out of the room, through the familiar hallway, out the mechanical doors, into the cold air outside. I needed air, I needed to gulp the brisk taste of chilling nothingness and fill my lungs with it. I remember thinking, “How can I escape this?” as I paced in the rain until settling on a concrete bench to catch my breath. Suddenly, the Chaplin that had been trying to corner me earlier appeared beside me and sat down.
Everything was a direct assault to my senses now. Movement was in slow motion and thought was excruciating. I only wanted to get away from him, this place and this pain. That is, until I found the courage to look into his eyes and see the compassion he held in his heart. I was a terrified young girl sitting on a bench with my knees under my chin and my arms wrapped around my legs, hugging myself into a tight ball. I was someone who didn’t have the knowledge to know how to deal with this trauma and he saw that. He saw me, and for some reason, I let him enter my crumbling world.
“You’ll see your Mother again.” His voice was soothing as he put his hand on my shoulder and repeated the same thing, “You will see her again.” It took me a moment to process his words, to even begin to understand. And then he made it clear to me, “All you have to do is believe and it will be so.”
I found something in that moment, there on that concrete bench, out in the chilling night. It was the faintest glimmer of hope, a fragment of faith, and he had shown it to me. Despite the fog that had settled on my mind, I saw what he was trying to show me. This idea was all I could focus on. My core had to resolve in my mind that my Mom was still tangible, and I would have her comfort and love again. I had to believe that God was holding her in his hand and that someday in the distant future, after I had lived a life that she would be proud of, I would be with her again.
Now, 20 years later, I still thank God for sending that Chaplin to me. I’ve not seen him since, yet his words continue to help me combat the sorrow I feel deep in my soul. I’m thankful that God allowed the Chaplin to come back to me, after I’d so adamantly avoided him in that hallway. His persistence personifies God’s faithfulness to me, in spite of my attempts to hide from His love, allowing hope to linger in my heart, forever.
____________________
Kimberly Fancher–Tribble is a full time mother and student, majoring in web design with a minor in English. She has a deep love of writing and has been doing so since she was able to hold pen to paper. Her main focus of prose has been poetry of which she has been published 7 times with credits going to: National Library of Poetry, Poets Guild and Sparrowgrass Poetry. She grew up in the small town of St. Joseph Michigan, where she still lives with her husband, son, two dogs and one very old and cantankerous cat! Her daughter, husband and 2 grandchildren currently reside in Arizona, where she tries to visit as much as possible. She adores writing and hopes to touch others with her poignant and touching journey that brought her to find hope and eventually a firm foundation in Faith. This particular short story is dedicated to her Mother, Harriet Cheryl Walls.
