The Quest...Concluded

For the first part of The Quest, see here.

Straight forward...down the hi-way...beautiful day...destination, known...
Frantam Chapel...Eros, La.
How many Sundays, during the wicked heat of summer, I'd spent there!
Men, in their seersucker suits, and women, in flowery hats and frocks, waving hand-held fans, embellished with scripture. Staving off the oppressive heat
and the annoying buzz of the ever-present wasp colonies that infiltrated the belfry... we fanned. Windows open, kissed by few breezes, we children squirmed, itching, in our "Sunday best".
"Ahhhhhhhmazzing Graceeeee, How sweeeeeeeeeet tha sound...."
Across the lane from the clap-board chapel was a 2X6 that the men-folk had positioned between 2 massive pines. After "meetin'", this makeshift table was laden, pregnant, with the fruit of the female parishioners; fried chicken with golden skin, 'tater salad, slabs of ham, sliced, vine-ripe 'maters... red fruit glistening in the sun, jars of apple butter, icy, juicy chunks of watermelon, sweet pickles, and other "put up" goodies, biscuits and cornbread, slathered in butter....
"Thaaaat saaaaaaaved a wretch, liiiiiiike meeeee..."
Gazing back across the lane, to the left of the chapel, was a neat, fenced -in cemetery. Parishioners took turns manicuring the lawn of the dead. Maw- maw pushed a mower at times, while my brother and I, always alert for snakes, picked wild blackberries, barefoot, in the woods beyond......
"Iiiiii once, waaas loooost..."
I hadn't been here in ages, but nothing had changed, 'cept for maybe the window units jutting out here and there; country folk don't abide by change very easily....
"Buuuuut, nooooow I'm found....."
I took a deep breath, gathered my composure, walked towards it, and opened the gate to the cemetery.
SIMULTANEOUSLY, the sky darkened, the wind began to blow, the towering pines bowed, so much so, that I thought SURELY they would break.
I was alone, and I was afraid.
I had never been to my father's grave-site. I wasn't allowed to attend his funeral. As a ten year old, I was deemed (by the maternal, parental unit), "too young" for such things. Bitch.
"Was bliiiind..."
I'd entertained an idea for years that...well...I'd never SEEN him dead...
I glanced down, to my left, and, well...there it was...
"Harold Wayne, Beloved Father, Husband, Physician".
He was, indeed, dead, and buried.
The caduceus lapel pin that I'd collected from his brother earlier in the day was in my pocket. Hermes had carried his staff with pride, and Daddy had earned his.
I laid it atop the cold marble, and turned to head home.
The sun began to shine again...
"...but noooow, I seeeee."