-Blessings-
He sat back in a chair beside the white bed where his wife lay. The upholstered
seat was more comfortable than he'd expected, and it rocked. The private
hospital room was dimly lit by a light on the wall at the head of the bed, and the
woman's young face, sweet in exhausted sleep, was illuminated by its golden
glow. He carefully watched a long, pale lock of hair that fell over her cheek to
see that it still stirred with her every breath, as an I.V. ticked off time with each
drip.
Labor had lasted a grueling thirty-six hours, and she’d spent another eight
hours in the recovery room. Eight long hours while he held her limp hand,
staying by her side in silent encouragement, while elsewhere, four
grandparents took turns holding their first grandchild. The love and awe on his
mother-in-law's face when he'd handed her the baby and quietly said, "your
granddaughter" was a long way from the hardness with which she'd regarded
him on the day that he and Rachel had told her parents that they were
expecting.
"Already?" she had raised her voice, shocked. "After only 3 months of
marriage?" She'd shaken her head in approbation. "Rachel is too young for
this."
He'd exchanged a look with his young wife, unable to keep carnality from
his gaze. His father-in-law, upon intercepting the glance between them,
jumped up from his chair and jabbed his watch repeatedly, threatening, "If that
baby is born one minute before two o'clock on November 28th, you are in big
trouble, mister!"
Later, when they had pulled away from the curb on their way home, Rachel
had poked him in the arm with one well-manicured finger and smirked, "You're
in big trouble, mister!" She'd lapsed into a fit of giggles that had drawn from
him an answering smile. He smiled now at the memory of her telling him, "Just
having you around makes me stronger with them."
A tiny sound from across the room returned him to the present. He stood and
leaned over the little bundle in bed beside his wife. His little daughter had lain
there for a couple of hours, asleep in the same position. That couldn't be
comfortable. Carefully gathering the baby into his big hands, he cradled her
closely, trying to imitate the way that the nurses so casually held her. After
making two little moans with no dire meaning that he could discern, she
settled down against the warmth of his body. He sat gingerly on the edge of
the chair, and after a moment of watching her red face to make sure that he
wasn't doing anything wrong, he slid back in the padded seat, and began to
rock.
It was getting late. He turned his head to the clock on the wall. Eleven
thirty-two. They’d been surrounded by doctors, nurses and family since the
moment they’d arrived at the hospital. Though Rachel was asleep, he felt as if
they’d finally been left alone together. Just the two, no, the three of them. He
looked down at the baby and her curly wisps of pale hair, and dropped a
feather-light kiss on her head.
When he was small, his mother had rocked him in the big maple rocker out on
the veranda that wrapped the entire house, the place where he had played with
his trucks and toys. The spring sunshine had been warm on his arms while
she hummed softly until his eyelids lowered gently over sleepy blue eyes.
Growing up, he’d had even older memories, older than he could express, of
his mother and father, and being raised by them long ago. He didn’t think too
much of it when he was small. No reason to think that everyone else didn’t
have the same experience. Most of what he knew came from within his
dreams, and he felt no need to comment upon them. But one night, when he
was eleven, he did something that he hadn’t done for years. Dragging his
blanket and pillow into his parents’ room, he'd asked tearfully to be let into bed
with them. His dad’s broad shoulders and his mother’s gentle voice hadn’t
quite driven away the horror of the images that had branded him, but he’d
soon fallen asleep, safe and warm.
Many more nightmares followed, and he soon stopped recounting them to his
parents; they weren’t exactly good for sharing. There came a day when he
knew that these were more than dreams, and he thought for a couple of years
that he might be losing his mind. It wasn’t until he dreamed of seeing this
world in Tomo's shin that he was sure that these were memories of another
life, and not a dream. He still thought that he might be losing his mind.
When he'd dreamed of Soi's death, he'd awoken with the tears that he’d been
unable to shed before, in his other life. He'd gone around peering into the face
of every red-headed woman who crossed his path, and had pulled out all of his
high school and college yearbooks, leafing through them, looking for her face.
It stood to reason that if he looked the same, and his parents looked similar to
their previous forms, that she would bear a resemblance in this world to the
woman that she’d been in the other. Another thing: he knew his parents by
more than their looks. He knew them by how they felt to him. Not in a tactile
sense, but by who they were, how they interacted with him and each other. He
prayed that he’d be able to find Soi the same way. And he had.
He’d known the moment she’d turned to him, asking his pardon after bumping
into him in the department store. Though at first startled by the sight of her
blond hair and angelic features, he knew he'd finally, finally found the woman
he'd sought for so long. There had been no answering gleam of recognition in
her gray-green eyes, but he’d expected that; his parents had never responded
to any if his careful hints about their past. Their courtship had been swift, and
its end, as far as he was concerned, a certainty.
He thought of the delivery, and of how she'd moaned his old name during that
most difficult period of labor: transition. Her character had flared up on her
thigh, where he was the only one positioned to see it. She had called him by
name, and he had called her by hers, and given her his chi, the first time he had
ever been able to return the favor. In that moment, eye to eye, their former
selves had connected, the baby slipped from her, and she had closed her eyes
and gone lax, unconscious. An alarm had gone off, her blood pressure was
dropping swiftly, she was bleeding dangerously, and the room turned into
chaos. For a terrible moment, he thought that he'd killed her, until he heard the
words "ruptured placenta."
Her concern for him in the delivery room had been touching, even to the
nurses. They had later told him so. Through all but the worst part of labor, she
had reassured him over and over that she was doing fine, that the baby would
be fine, that God was with them, and that they would be blessed by their sweet
baby very soon. Once she'd awoken in the recovery room, he tried to talk to
her about what had passed between them during delivery, but she had been
confused. She no longer remembered.
He lifted his eyes from the baby’s tiny fingers to where Rachel lay. Her hair was
still moving with the slow rise and fall of her chest. Yesterday he’d braided her
waist-length golden-blond mane to keep it out of the way during labor and
delivery, but neither one of them had counted on just how strenuous that
would be. The curling and escaping strands enveloped her head and shoulders
in a nimbus of light.
Rachel was the most wonderful woman he knew, and the depth of her faith
never failed to amaze him. He even envied her the daily opportunities to
deepen her faith that life brought her. "Blessed are those who have not seen,
and yet have come to believe."* He didn’t have faith, but knowledge. He knew.
Not long before he’d found his Soi in this world, he'd dreamed of his own
death, his own deliverance. Tamahome had charged at him, his fury blended
with the power of Suzaku, even as he’d felt his own power flicker and fail. The
boy’s hand had passed right through him, and he’d felt Tamahome’s sorrow
and pity. He'd never had the courage to kill himself, to end his own suffering,
because he knew that the mother he loved, the mother he’d killed, waited for
him. Facing her before he’d repaired the world and exacted revenge for her
death was impossible. But when his power was sealed along with Seiryuu’s,
he was almost glad to have that decision taken from him, to just be able to let
go... Tamahome had done him a favor, and in the end, the boy knew it.
After the pain, and the words with the boy, there was an endless field, and
flowers, and his mother and Soi, and a brilliant light that warmed him like the
sun, all the way through his chilled soul. He was then given the chance to live a
real life, one with the opportunity for grace. He remembered wondering at the
time, why was this chance given to me? Someone who had failed at
everything? A man whose terrible means had never found justifiable ends? He
was then made to understand that there is no way to earn this grace, and there
was nothing that he could ever do to deserve it. He needed only to extend his
hand, open his heart, and receive it, this gift that was bought for him so long
ago.
"Nick."
Rachel’s soft whisper pulled him out of his reverie and drew him to the side of
the bed.
"How are you feeling, Rache?" He cradled the sleeping baby with one arm like
an old pro, and gently tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his wife’s ear.
She captured his hand and kissed it.
"Let me see our baby." She reached out to stroke the angel-soft hair on her
daughter’s head. Carefully placing his daughter beside her mother, he bent
down, kissed Rachel softly on the temple, and counted his blessings.
The End.
Jill James December 29, 1998
j_djames@pacbell.net
*John 20:29
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