The Living Legacy
A Touched By An
Angel story
Written in
dedication to Charles Rocket
By: Yvette
Jessen
The wind blew through the trees, the
rustling sounds could be heard all around, the resonance giving off an
autumn feel reminiscent of a Halloween night. Yet, instead of the
scene being filled with the happy cries of children, the air carried a
literal heaviness that seemed to swallow any sounds, thus leaving an
indescribable grief in its wake. These peculiar cadences sounded
as though someone had taken an empty bottle and had blown across it as
though playing a flute in a band. This sound continued for much of
the evening, even after the sun had vanished behind the trees, and
darkness had surrounded the wooded park.
In the middle of a clearing near a group
of wooden benches, a lone figure walked, his steps slow and in a
precise rhythm. Reaching the benches and instead of sitting down,
the man remained standing, his hands digging in the pockets of the
matching trench coat that he wore over a light gray suit.
As he turned, light fell upon his solemn
face as a gust of wind blew his graying hair, thus ruffling it
somewhat. Regardless, his head remained bowed, his worn suit
hanging lifelessly from his slumped shoulders. He must have been
standing there for some time, his dejected silhouette somehow standing
out, yet the overall feel in him seemed void of any sort of life.
He began to rub his cheeks, thus trying
to put some life back into his numb hands and face. What good
would it do for him to show the rest of the world the deplorable
sadness that encased him? How would he be able to continue to do
the work that God asked him to do? The questions ravaged his
shattered spirit one after the other as he shook his head solemnly,
trying without any success at concealing the utter heartbreak that
blanketed him. How could he ever find the courage and will to go
on? Things had changed, in only a split second, a solitary
heartbeat; one event had changed everything and this night his hope had
all but dried up.
The wind continued to blow against him,
the hollow sounds of it now being replaced by the chirping of crickets
as he started to walk slowly in the direction of a clearing and away
from the benches. Beneath his feet, he could hear the crackle of
dead leaves filling his ears and momentarily making him stop walking
and stand completely still.
His eyes were scanning the horizon, and
in the depths of his being, he somehow was expecting to see another
person coming towards him. Was it to offer their comfort during
this difficult time or was it simply a figment of his
imagination? He did not know either way, instead, he recognized
that his friends were not around and somehow; he was left standing
alone in his grief.
“I am an angel,” he whispered under his
breath to no one in particular. “This should be so easy for me, so
defined, yet there is so much inside of me that I don’t
understand.” He shook his head, but instead of hearing the sounds
of the wind as it continued to blow, a tiny voice emerged, thus making
him whirl around only to look into the eyes of a small girl who
couldn’t have been much older than five or six-years-old.
“You’re an angel?” She asked him, her
voice filled with the simple innocence reminiscent of one who was too
young to logically interpret or comprehend the words he had been
speaking. It was this child who spoke straight from the heart, and
these words literally pierced his consciousness.
Instead of immediately responding, the
man lowered his head for several seconds all the while hoping that one
of his friends had come to offer their comfort, and not have to answer
to a complete stranger. Seconds slowly ticked by and he regarded
the sweet, innocent face of the child. Her face was muddy, as
though she had played in a large mud puddle for much of the
day. Her hair hung in clumps down over her shoulders as though she
had allowed the caked mud to dry out. He could not make out her
hair color because it was dark outside, but he guessed that it was a
dark brown, almost black, color. Strands of it seemed to find
their way against the sides of her face, but with a pudgy hand, she
moved it aside, her soft eyes illuminated by the light that was cast by
the nearly full moon.
“Am I what, sweetheart?” He eventually
found himself asking, hoping that this distraction would divert his
focus from his otherwise miserable contemplations.
“Are you really an angel like you said
just now?” She repeated her question in a different manner, her
words soft, but it did not emerge filled with wonder or happy cadences,
instead it came across matter-of-fact, as though this little girl had
been waiting for him to appear and speak to her.
Instead of contemplating or waiting for
the answer to come as he usually did, he simply nodded
numbly. “Yes, my name is Adam.”
“Like the story of ‘Adam and Eve’, in the
Bible?” The child asked as she looked up into the eyes of the tall man,
her innocence seeming to literally knock the downtrodden angel from his
feet, and leaving him literally gasping for breath.
“Yes, I’m actually named after him,” he
whispered.
“My name is Amy,” she said softly, but
noticing his face, she backed up somewhat uncertain if her introduction
was even welcomed by him. She could see that he appeared to be
just as miserable as she felt, but why that was the case, she did not
trust herself to inquire.
“What are you doing out here all by
yourself, Amy?” He found himself eventually asking, his words
soft, but filled with curious and concerned undertones.
“I always come here alone. It was
the last place that I could remember my dad coming to when he was
alive,” the child said softly as she pointed to a crop of trees some
distance away. “My mom said that he was ready to go see the angels
in Heaven. I started coming here hoping that I might actually meet
an angel and that they would be able to tell me that my dad is happy
there.” She shook her head as she looked out across the meadow;
her gaze seemed to lock on one specific place and that being the trees.
“Did your father really say this about
the angels?” Adam asked.
The child nodded. “Yeah, he believed
in angels and my mom said that he wrote about them in a note that he
left for her. I didn’t see the note, because I can’t read yet, but
she said that there was a lot of stuff in the note that I wouldn’t
understand. I don’t think he wanted to live anymore.” She
shook her head sadly and looked down at her hands. “She said that
when I’m older that I would probably be able to understand, but I don’t
think that she even understands herself and she’s really old…like
thirty something.”
Adam nodded and smiled slightly at her
last words. “To be honest, I don’t think anyone is ever really
able to fully understand why this sort of thing happens. Whether
it is children or grown-ups. Even being an angel doesn’t make me
fully understand it although I try, but I’ve been an angel for
centuries, and still I don’t. For what it’s worth, I think you may
be right about your mom, but I believe that given the situation, she’s
trying to do her best to help,” Adam said and watched as the little
girl started to walk towards the trees and after hesitating, he slowly
began to follow her.
When they reached the group of trees, Amy
reached her tiny hand out towards it and touched the rough uneven bark
that covered it.
“Mom doesn’t know this, but Dad said that
he was ready to go Home to meet God, but he hoped that an angel would
come and take him there. I think that he was scared that God would
not forgive him for wanting to give up.”
“Some may say this, but God loves your
dad without any condition, Amy, and the Father would forgive him,
because He loves him so very much,” Adam said softly as the tears began
to flow freely from beneath his unhappy grey eyes. “He loves you
as well, and He knows that this is not easy for any of you, but did you
know that the Father will strengthen you in ways that you cannot even
imagine? It happens when people least expect it. The comfort
will come to you.”
As he finished speaking, the angel
swallowed unconsciously as he felt the truth in these words literally
encase him, but still the tears were uncontrollably streaming down over
his face and leaving red and puffy skin in their wake. This, if
anything left his face even more worn and haggard than before.
Although he did not say everything he
knew, the Angel of Death had known the child’s father. It was
impossible for him to be mistaken; she looked just like him, the
structure of her face, a younger version of the man whom he had taken
Home. Adam had seen the extent of sadness that enveloped the man,
it had been reflected in his eyes, but now dwelled in the eyes of his
daughter, and this broke the angel’s heart.
The issue of suicide was one that he knew
did not just affect the one who went through with it, but it affected
the family and friends of the person as well. Through these
experiences, the angel knew beyond a doubt that people didn’t end their
lives to fall out of favor with God. How could it, when he himself
knew that God was unconditionally loving and the message he had shared
was one of a Creator embodied in love?
Adam looked down at the child as she
continued to stroke the bark of the tree, as his own thoughts seemed to
be a thousand miles away. He recalled all the times when he had
been assigned to those people who had simply lost all hope, and had
been in prolonged state of manic depression.
He continued to watch the child as she
sat down underneath the tree, and he eventually got down on his knees
next to her, his memories returning him to a time when he had met with
his angelic friend, Andrew and had heard tell of a rancher who had
ended his life on his fortieth birthday, thus leaving his wife and
child alone. Adam himself had wrongly judged the situation, but at
the same time, realized that he had experienced cases of this kind as
well. Yet, no matter how many things he had experienced as an
Angel of Death, each time it was new and different.
Ever since meeting Amy’s father, Adam had
realized how wrong it had been for him to judge anyone who had such a
cross to bear, and from this moment on, he would never do such a
disservice to another person again.
In truth, his own assignment had not been
all that different from the one Andrew had described; in fact, both
paralleled in a great many ways. The man had not been all that
old, perhaps in his mid to late thirties, his words similar to that
which Andrew had described, right down to the depressing undertones of
the man’s voice, which had literally filled him with absolute
sadness. It had happened often with men, and depression among men
was a growing problem in society. This the angel had learned the
hard way, but it seemed overlooked.
Shaking his head, the angel tried without
much success to block the feelings that emanated his heart and
mind. After what seemed like an eternity stuck in his own
contemplations, he looked down into the innocent eyes of the child, and
in those eyes, he saw something he had not seen anywhere since that
fateful night. He could see the living legacy that the man had
left behind in her, and although he was still filled with sadness, a
spark of hope began to show itself in the depths of the child’s soft
gray eyes.
After sitting in companionable silence
for some time, the child innocently reached over and pulled on the
sleeve of Adam’s trench coat, thus seeking his attention. Upon
feeling this, he looked down into her innocent eyes; her next words
tearing at his already tormented spirit.
“Adam, I miss my dad,” she whispered.
“I know you do, sweetheart,” he said
softly, the empathy taking hold of the unhappy angel and literally
jolting him away from his own sadness for a moment as he regarded her
before gently helping her back to her feet and leading her over to the
bench so that the two of them could sit down. He watched as she
began to wring her hands together.
Adam seated himself next to the little
girl, and at that moment, the angel could see that she probably felt
even more lost than he was. Explaining suicide to a small child
was close to impossible, he knew this because he had experienced it for
years, centuries even, and each time; it had become harder and harder
for him to try and put this into a perspective that the child could
understand.
His thoughts continued to drift as he
contemplated all the times he had unwittingly joked about death, and
although the angels in his company thought he was insensitive with his
blunt and sometimes disinterested remarks, internally, this sort of
thing tore at him every time and on top of those feelings, he was often
asked to bring those lost and lonely souls Home.
It was never an easy task for an angel,
but it was especially hard for an Angel of Death. The trouble that
seemed to fill his heart and mind was that most of the angels figured
that he didn’t understand the pain at all, but the truth was he had met
so many people during his time on earth that emanated this. Yet,
through it all, the job had somehow hardened him about the topic of
death. It was, after all, the most tremendous honor that the
Father could have bestowed upon him and he could not imagine being
placed elsewhere.
Tragically, the suicide of Amy’s father
was the event, which had done the angel in. The man’s untreated
depression had been what had led to his death, and those around him had
not taken that sense of hopelessness seriously. He had literally
been left laughing on the outside and crying on the inside, yet trying
to explain that to family and friends was never easy and now he felt as
though he would eventually have to explain that to this little girl.
His eyes returned to Amy, the child had
pulled a small package out of her pocket and he recognized the yellow
packaging as peanut M&M’s. The little girl popped a piece of
the candy into her mouth and began to chew almost automatically.
“Adam,” she whispered between bites of
the chocolates and the angel turned, but instead of speaking about her
father, she extending the package to him. “Want some?”
He shook his head, “no, thank
you.” He rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his
head. It was in this stance, he remained, the tears still
streaming down over his cheeks, but after a few moments, Amy looked
over at him and once she had stuffed the now empty package in the
pocket of her coat, she pulled out a crumpled up tissue and set to work
at wiping the moisture from the angel’s face.
“Why do you cry?” She asked.
“I don’t really know, I suppose it is
because I feel for you and your mother, for how hard this is for you
both,” he whispered.
“But you didn’t do anything,” she
whispered innocently. “You helped him.”
“I tried,” he whispered, but looked into
the eyes of the little girl.
“I’m cold,” the child eventually
whispered, instead of offering some sort of response to his words.
Without thinking about his actions, Adam
pulled the trench coat off and wrapped it around the child. “Is
that better?” He eventually asked.
“Yeah,” came the answer as she tried to
wrap the large jacket around herself. When she started to warm up,
she looked at him. “Are you going to take me to Heaven tonight,
Adam?” She asked softly. “Is that why you’re here, to take me to
see my dad?”
“No, sweetheart I cannot take you there,”
he responded, but put his arm around her and pulled her into his
embrace, her tiny body still chilly from the cool night air. “You
have your life ahead of you and the people who are here still need you.”
“But what about my dad?” She asked.
“Perhaps it will help to know that your
dad can see you from Heaven, and he is very proud of you,” he said
softly.
“But I can’t see him,” she
whispered. “And I want to so badly.”
“I know you do, and whether you believe
it or not, he’s still with you in spirit,” the angel cajoled her gently.
The little girl shook her head. “But
it’s not the same.”
“I know it’s not, and perhaps it won’t
ever be the same, but I think that one day, when you stop feeling the
pain of the moment, you will come to know that your father is with you
and he loves you,” Adam said softly.
“Then why did he go away?” She
whispered. “Didn’t he love us anymore?”
“I don’t know why he left, sweetheart,
but don’t ever believe, not even for a moment, that he didn’t love
you. You are, after all a living legacy of your father, of the
love he shared with your mother and held for you. Even if the time
he was with you was short, the love still exists and will never
die. That same love is what God holds for you.”
“I only feel sad,” she whispered
honestly, her tiny voice cracking.
“I know and today, it may not feel as
though my words mean very much. It may seem more like an excuse
from a grown up because it sounds good, but it is the absolute
truth. No matter where your father is or what he is doing, you are
a mirror of the love that he is, you are his daughter and thus are a
reflection of the love that made him who he was. I know that it
may seem hard, and even unbelievable to you, but it is the
truth. Your dad loved you, just as the Father loves you.” As
he spoke, the light of God’s love surrounded him and he looked at the
little girl who was resting in his arms with love and gentility in his
eyes.
Amy did not move, instead, she sat and
listened attentively as he continued to speak. “I know that you cannot
always hug or embrace this idea, but I can tell you that your dad still
loves you and that love will always remain.”
“He still loves me?” Amy whispered as the
tears streamed down over her face and she regarded the angel, the light
that surrounded him eventually fading.
“Yes,” he said gently. “He does
still love you, and he will for all eternity.”
Amy nodded and after a few moments, the
little girl turned when she heard someone calling her
name. “That’s my mom.”
“Go to her, then,” he said
softly. “She needs you.”
“But then you’ll be alone, Adam,” the
child whispered.
“No, Amy, I’m never alone. Even
during the hardest moments of my existence, I will never be alone,
because God is always with me,” he said softly as the little girl
released her hold on him, returned his jacket, and with a final look
into the eyes of the angel, she turned away from him before running
over and joining her mother.
Once the two of them had disappeared in
the distance, Adam put his jacket back on and sat down on the bench and
stared out across the meadow.
Seconds passed and Andrew appeared next
to him. “Adam? The Father said that you were here, are you
alright?” He eventually asked, the blonde headed angel regarding
him with concern in his compassionate green eyes. He sat down on
the bench next to his friend and waited for an answer.
“I think so,” Adam
whispered. “Somehow, the things that I have been able to tell her
have really helped.”
“I believe you,” Andrew said with an
unhappy sigh. “The Father’s inspiration somehow works that way
when we need it the most.”
Adam nodded, his thoughts returning to
the conversation that he had shared with Amy. “She’s truly a
living legacy of her father, he would be proud.”
“He is, and the Father is as
well. But all children are, and the Father’s message to you is to
remind you that even though tragedy sometimes comes and people go Home
before their time, the knowing does help those one leaves behind,
specifically when it comes to grief.” Andrew took a deep breath
before he continued speaking. “Adam, God knows and understands
your pain in having to do all of this, that’s why He gave you the right
words at the right moments, and what you told Amy, she desperately
needed to hear.” As the younger of the two angels spoke, he leaned
over and put his arm around Adam’s shoulder. “It doesn’t always
make things easier at the time, and healing will not always be
immediate, but somehow it does give us the strength when we need it the
most. And you know that the Father doesn’t always give us what we
want, but He will always give us what we need.”
Adam nodded sadly as the tears streamed
from beneath his eyes and he allowed himself to cry in the arms of his
friend.
~~~~~
The topic of suicide is never an easy one for anyone to write about,
much less try to grasp. When someone’s life ends tragically, then
I cannot hide the shock that tends to encompass and fill my
heart. I know that it is very important to remember the life of
those who have touched our lives and not their death, but it is never
easy. It no longer matters to me if we know this person, are
friends with them, or have never met them. Somehow, when death
happens, we are reminded in a very profound way of our own
mortality. However, I have also learned in a very profound way
that every person has the potential to leave a legacy behind, whether
it is in the eyes of their children, or those whom they meet or
indirectly inspire, and this is the legacy that Charles Rocket has left
with me.
The title of this piece came about because during the time that I had
heard of his passing I had been listening to the music of Dan
Fogelberg, and one of the songs, ‘Leader of the Band’, stood out in my
mind as a poignant ideal. As I listened to this song, the words ‘I
am a living legacy to the leader of the band’, somehow captivated me
and left me to realize that not only am I the living legacy of my
deceased father, but that we are all living legacies of love from those
who came before us. This will remain even after our days on this
earth are through. Thus, the lives of another, even if it is
someone we admired, but never knew, can leave us inspired and changed.
I will say this honestly; the death of Charles Rocket has hit me rather
hard on a personal level, and not just because he was one of my
all-time favorite actors, but also because during the last year, my
life has been haunted by others who have attempted suicide, some
succeeding while others failing. I have discovered that most of
the people who have gone through with it have suffered from one form of
depression or another and have seen no way out of this virtual dark
tunnel. This is the angle my tribute story has taken, and although
it may not be accurate, it does depict a truth that I have experienced
first hand when I heard that this had happened in the lives of people I
knew personally. Charles Rocket’s tragic passing has only
reaffirmed the feelings I carry about the topic of
suicide. Depression that goes undiagnosed or untreated can lead to
suicide, and telling a manic-depressive to ‘cheer up’ is not a workable
solution or treatment for said person. It is for that reason that
I will never judge another person for their choices, but my heart did
break when I heard that Charles Rocket had left us.
The greatest legacy of Charles Rocket’s work was, in my opinion, the
character of Adam. He has always been one of my favorite
characters, and I still consider myself one of Adam’s biggest
appreciators. Adam always had a different way of looking at
things, whether it was death, life, or even angels. His kindness,
but sarcastic demeanor made him a character I could strongly identify
with and thus, understand. My favorite moment of Adam was when he
was with Serena during the episode ‘Fear Not’ as well as him and
Alexander in ‘Unexpected Snow’.
It was through these characterizations that I longed to show a side of
Adam through my writing that gave him a more developed role in stories,
and thus helped to develop me as a writer. The opportunity to
write his character more intensely provided me the stepping stones to
moving into the realm of original writing. For me, Adam was the
most real of the angel characters, he was the one that had the most
potential as a developing character and if given the chance, then he
could have been the endless source of surprises. No, he was not
perfect, he did not convey that, but he showed me something about God’s
love as well as His/Her sense of humor. It is for this reason that
Adam remains one of the most wonderful characters I have ever seen and
the man who brought this unique character to life will be sorely
missed. His talent and humor were unprecedented.
Charles Rocket, you have left us a legacy, you may not have known this
in life, but it exists and will remain a source of inspiration to us
for years to come.
Namasté,
Yvette Jessen
October 19, 2005
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