“Obligation.” The term had weight. Meaning. It had always represented an honored principle. But in recent years, its sway, at least regarding social circumstances, had grown tenuous. As Phil debated attending the funeral, it weighed heavier than ever.
He pictured the inevitable eulogies: “Such a kind soul,” “Always willing to lend a hand,” “A pillar of the community.” Lies. Or at least, exaggerations. Self-serving embellishments to make the mourners feel…whatever.
In truth, the man was as flawed as anyone he ever knew.
A cloud of guilt settled. Why not let it go? But the converse echoed with persistence. Why endure such a charade? Why bear witness to these manufactured tributes for someone so undeserving?
He didn’t want to go. Even if his absence would bear such finality. It was the “obligation” that weakened his resolve. Regardless, the debate was futile. Despite every reason he could formulate, he acquiesced to the recognition that it was as equally a burden to abstain as it was not to.
And so he went.
The voice of the minister filled the chapel, “He continued to help those he could, even through his final days, despite failing health.”
A woman, her voice thick with tears, spoke next. “While growing up, he was my favorite teacher. He always encouraged me. And everyone else. It occurred to me that I never told him how much his words meant to me. Because of him, I try to do the same for my kids.”
Fred, the music teacher, was next. “Just last month, he brought in two more used trumpets he purchased as another band donation. Apparently, it wasn’t enough that he taught for thirty years. He has continued to contribute to the school ever since retirement.”
Mrs. Emerald, representing the foodbank, discussed how he had been a steadfast volunteer and his smile was just as valuable as his labor. Phil’s neighbor, Mrs. Hartford, recounted the times he drove her to the store and back home when her car was being repaired. Jonesy, the last of his surviving close friends, stood up and leaned on the chair for support so he could add, “He never really thought much of the goodwill he created. He always felt it wasn’t enough.”
Phil reflected on the statements. Each expression was genuine. He could feel it even among those not offering a verbal tribute. The shortcomings haunting him started to fade. A more objective view began to surface. He questioned his grievances: in the big picture, were they merely pettiness? Despite cherishing them for so long, inexplicably, he relaxed and let go.
A lightness within grew, a sense of peace replacing the resentment. He was no longer just a spectator, a cynical observer. He was part of it all, a witness to the enduring power of human connection, a silent testament to the fact that even the most flawed can leave a legacy of kindness.
He lingered after the service. When everyone was gone, he took in the moment: the faces he had observed, the words, the feelings, the memories. He paused at the wall of flowers and reviewed the notes. He was particularly drawn to a card written in the distinct handwriting of his ex-wife, whom he had not seen in years. “For Phil, a man who honored obligations.”
The words touched him profoundly.
A sense of presence and space expanded infinitely.
Before departing, Phil vowed to himself that next time, he wouldn’t be so harsh on himself.
by George Alger
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