Cars streamed the full length of the dusty Alabama back road. The porch was clamoring with a hushed and holy tension. Inside, Gilbert Green fought for his final hours upon the earth he so loved. His family swirled around his bed in the swampy July humidity. Just six hours earlier, Gilbert wrote something astounding, “I will speak my last words on this day.”
The fact that he knew death was near was unsurprising. The fact that he was going to speak was utterly shocking. Gilbert had not uttered a single word in 23 years. Oddly enough, nobody could recall why he stopped speaking. He never mentioned it to his beloved wife Julia and didn’t let out a peep to anyone else. Everyone who had gathered, from his children and grand kids to second and third cousins, listened in whispered anticipation. The only occasional sound besides Uncle Elton’s smoker’s cough was the whiff and smack of a flyswatter.
The local pastor sat near the head of the bed. He would occasionally break the silence by reading a Psalm. This was always met with a smile and nod from Gilbert’s thin, wrinkly face. Near the end of the 23rd Psalm, Gilbert grew anxious, and stopped the pastor. He then started flipping through the pages until he got to the book of James. He knew the Bible well, especially that one. It was his Bible for the past 20 years. Its pages were worn. Gilbert flipped one last page, then pointed his finger down to a slip of paper taped to the onion-skin sheet. It was then that Gilbert’s eyes grew large. He smiled and then winced once. With the crumpled brow he let out his final word, “Ouch!”, then passed away in the next breath.
The people were at once bewildered, perplexed and speechless. Was this it? His last word was “ouch”? Many waited for several minutes, thinking he would resuscitate and speak a sentence with more meaning or richness. “Ouch” the pastor repeated. “Our dear brother has been freed from pain.” His eyes fell down toward the small slip of paper. It was a 23-year-old slip of paper from a fortune cookie. The words were astonishingly harsh. “The next words you speak will be your last.”
“Holy cow,” the minister whispered under his breath. Then he continued to read where the slip was taped. There were circles and underlines all around James 1:26-27. The pastor read aloud “Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless. Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”
“Holy cow,” he said again. He stood up and walked through the crowd and onto the porch. He looked out at the long line of cars full of folks hoping to see Gilbert before he passed. “Ouch.” There were so many strewn all over the yard in huddles, so many orphans and men and women who had lost their spouses. Gilbert Green, without ever speaking a word, turned the county upside down with love and practical care. He split wood, mended broken bones, chipped in change for school lunches, carried groceries and mended hearts. He helped kids with special needs who didn’t seem to need words to communicate.
It would be three days, four hours and twelve minutes before the pastor would give his most unique funeral message ever. He never spoke a word. He took passages from Gilbert’s Bible that were underlined, circled or highlighted and quietly handed a different one to each who had gathered. In the final moments of quiet prayer, the pastor touched the coffin and then rubbed his hand over his own heart, “ouch.”
Though his final words were probably not the ones Gilbert would have chosen, the word blossomed with new meaning for everyone in the county. Some people would see injustice and say ouch in their minds before stepping in to help. Some people took comfort that the final pain of life will dissipate in a single word. One thing is for certain about the last awkward word of Gilbert Green, it wasn’t what defined his life of humble service.
Copyright Jimmy Sadler