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There is an old vintage stone building in Dresden, Ohio. A large stone sign reading...VENSIL & ORR funeral home stands proudly, in the lee, stating its purpose setting it apart from just any home; but that of the last you will share a presence with the one you are there to call on. That building I have walked by, sat in front of, and even stepped into many times, only I did it with my father. Together he and I would accompany each other to a day of sadness and morn for a loved one that had gone on. Time after time I walked the carpets, sat on the sofas, stared at the walls, yet I could never tell you anything of it till the day I walked up to that building alone.

My head was silent, only the sound of my heart filled my head. I heard no passing cars, nobody else talking, children playing...nothing but my own silence. Standing in front of that place I suddenly realize the stone is gray with white stretch mark-like streaks, due to age, flowing down them with ivy dancing across without a pattern to fallow. As I draw near the threshold I stand watching my reflection closing in upon the window. It was like watching myself willingly walk into the blackness of a cave, as the mouth welcomes its next inhabitant. My pale-skinned hand reached out to open the door as a sudden chill overcame my arm from the smooth brass handles that hugs your grip back as you tighten to open the door. As I entered two men wearing black suits, one with a red tie the other with white gracefully greeted me. Offering their hand I pause to glance up in acknowledgement but failing I quickly looked away to avoid any tears making their presence known.

With wandering eyes I cased the rooms, those that you would think to have been engraved into my memory yet only now meeting my mind as if it were the first time. The carpet grew redder with each step to the wooden stand that cradled the guest book for all to sign. As my signature spilled across the white paper I notice my name was the first. Moments passed by and still I stand there as if not to know what to do next. Family approaches me with loving embraces and worm osculation and still I’m lost and empty headed. I take a few steps down the two stairs that lead to the viewing area searching for the furthest seat from the front to avoid any visual encounter of the deceased. As I sat upon the cream colored couch and grabbed a tissue to hold as my hands became restless. I rolled the softness between my fingers as I always do in uncomfortable situations till noticing the pieces crumbling around me.

The room quickly filled and the time came to take our seats as a family. Wanting to walk with my eyes shut I stared straight ahead as all at once it slowly revealed a familiar ball cap only worn by one man…my father. With each step closer to the front row I saw more of him leading my mind in explosive thoughts. Without any warning I ran to his side weeping uncontrollably, shaking relentlessly, and shouting…”DADDY…don’t leave me alone, not now…Daddy…Dad.” Not caring who saw me or what they thought, I threw myself over his sleeping body gently grasping his hand as I faltered to my knees in painful sorrow. Only in reality, I took my seat and waited for Rev. Larry Stitt to begin. He saunters to the stand and announces that the daughters of John A. Cullins had made a tape singing together for their father one last time. As the music filled my ears my voice was first to be heard as we all sang Daddy’s Hands, one of his favorite songs. His memories flooded my mind as the words of the song rushed with them. Leaving me with no choice but to accept the reason I was there. As the service went on I finally studied the man peacefully resting an eternal slumber just a few feet from me. That man who was dressed as my dad didn’t look at all like him really, which made it easier to approach him in saying my goodbye before leaving him forever. It had been so long since I had not seen him in pain. The days, before, drug on with torturous suffering from cancer that caused prayers of peace for him. Not wanting to let go I looked upon him and seen that he didn’t hurt anymore and that was a true peace. As I walked out, I did so alone. Many times before it was my dad’s arm I hung onto as we left that place of silent parting, yet that day it was his memory that comforted me and has done so to this day.