Breathe
They are in a church, kneeling before God.
Our Father, who art in heaven
,They have been here many times in the past ten years, hoping, praying for the miracle of a child. They fear that it is too late, has been too late for a long while now.
He is forty-seven, she is thirty-nine.
Their friends have been urging them to adopt for years.
Hallowed be thy name
.A sudden wail, a piteous cry.
Breathe—in and out and in and out…
They are smiling, crying, laughing. The reverend is there to share their joy. He smiles fatuously down at the newborn.
Our God is a prayer answering God, he says.
Later he blesses the baby, baptises her.
They name their daughter Angelica. Like an angel.
Thy kingdom come
She is beautiful, the light of their life, the apple of their eyes. Blonde like her father, blue eyed like her mother, features a perfect blend of both parents'. But she could have been ugly as a gargoyle for all they cared. Her looks didn't matter. They loved her.
Seven years old and running wild. Living life, truly alive. Golden hair streaming out like a banner behind her, rosy cheeks and dimpled smile, parents wound tight 'round her little finger.
Ten years old and once long hair is now cropped short, a flyaway cap of curls. All skinny too long limbs, made bratty by parents who bowed to her every whim.
Fourteen now and just back from boarding school, so much nicer natured then before. With unruly curly hair swept back into a ponytail, spectacles hiding her eyes and braces over her teeth, she despairs of ever being even remotely attractive.
Thy will be done
Eighteen and beautiful, breathtakingly so. Kind, gentle, with amber hair and honey brown skin, she is her parents' golden girl.
Perfection personified.
On earth as it is in Heaven
She lies on the bed, sleeping.
See the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes—in and out and in and out……So innocent, like an angel.
Tubes run across her body, drips pumping saline into her veins. A monitor is clipped to her index finger, wires connecting it to a LCD screen by her bedside. All around her machines softly beep and whirr.
An oxygen mask is taped to her face; she needs it to breathe.
A needle in her wrist delivers morphine to keep her pain at bay. The nurses no longer limit the dosage she receives. Addiction doesn't matter any more.
Her mother keeps vigil by her bedside, eyes and nose red with tears.
She prays for another miracle.
Give us this day our daily bread
Her father works hard to pay her hospital bills.
He is not young anymore, and constantly feels tired and strained. He seldom has the time to visit his daughter anymore.
He has been snappish and short with his colleagues, rushing through work so as to have more time to spend with his angel.
Yesterday he found himself screaming at one of his best friends. He later apologised.
It's the stress, he said.
Relax, he tells himself; take deep breaths, in and out and in and out……
BEEEEEEE
……Machines whine, they do not stop.
Her mother stares at the screen, this has not happened before…… the horrifying reality sinks in and she starts crying hysterically as nurses swarm into the room.
Breathe
, she tells her daughter, lying still and pale on the bed. Breathe…in and out and in and out…breathe, you must breathe!Angelica—like an angel.
Someone has the presence of mind to call her father and he rushes to the hospital, but there is nothing that he can do but hold his wife as she sobs. He doesn't realise that he is crying until a tear runs off the end of his nose, quickly followed by another, and another after that.
They fall silently, his expression wooden. He hasn't cried for years.
Angelica—now truly an angel.
They sell their house, move to another town. Their home holds too many memories, too much pain. Their friends call, they visit the wake.
Why didn't you tell us? They ask. Is there anything you need?
We are here for you, their friends say.
She smiles, he nods.
We know, yes, thank you, they answer.
Their private world of grief is too small for anyone else.
And forgive us our sins
The reverend tries many times to see them,
I need to speak to you, he says.
They refuse to speak to him. They have turned their faces from God and take out their anger on His earthly representative.
As we forgive those who sin against us
She has gone back to work. There is nothing to keep her at home, and it is a way to keep her mind occupied, to forget, even temporarily, her loss. She had always wanted children, but now she will never have another.
It is just as well, she thinks. There will never another Angelica.
She withdraws into herself, and no one can reach her through her despair, not even her husband. She would do anything to see her daughter again.
Anything.
Lead us not into temptation
She toys with the idea of how it would be like not to breathe….…
The reverend has managed to track them down. She shuts the door in his face. Or rather, tries to. He wedges a foot between the door and the frame and catches her attention with her daughter's name.
Angelica wrote you a letter…
Slowly, she turns and he offers her an envelope.
Hesitantly, she takes it, staring at the paper as if she has never seen a letter before. She looks down, avoiding eye contact.
Do you want to come in? She asks, barely audible.
Aware that he was not welcome, he shakes his head.
No, I have other business elsewhere…
The door is shut immediately.
The reverend blinks.
Poor woman, he thinks, her daughter's death has really unhinged her……
But deliver us from evil
Dear Mum and Dad,
If you're reading this, it means I'm in heaven now. To put it bluntly, I'm dead. I don't want to be dead—who does? But I have accepted it, and I hope you will, too. Don't be sad for me. I'm in a better place now. I know you'll be grieving and I'd tell you not to cry, but there's no point as I know you will anyway, regardless of what I say……
For yours is the kingdom
…… and I don't want you to be sad, so I've included some pictures of us as a family together in the envelope. Remember the happy times, and smile! When it's your turn, I'll be waiting at the pearly gates to welcome you into heaven.
I love you both.
Hugs and kisses,
Angelica.
She reads and rereads her daughter's letter—again and again and again. Her face is contorted from crying and the ink of the letter is smudged with tears. At last, emotionally worn out, she curls up on the sofa and stares blankly into space.
The soothing tick, tick, tick of the old grandfather clock on the wall is the only sound besides the soft sound of her breathing…in and out and in and out…
Finally, face set, she reaches for a pen and scrawls a something on the letter before rising stiffly from her seat. Letter clutched possessively to her chest, she slowly drifts up the stairs.
The power and the glory
Her husband is at work and she knows that he won't be back for another three hours at least.
He knows that there is something wrong as soon as he steps into the house. The lights are all off although it is already dark, there is nothing cooking in the kitchen and his wife has not come to greet him as she usually does. He is worried, but not overly so…she often be found in the cemetery—she says that she feels closer to Angelica there.
He walks upstairs to his room—it has been a long and tiring day and he wants to rest. Flicking on
the lights he abruptly stops short, then forces himself to calm down…take deep breaths…in and out and in and out…before gazing wearily around the room until he spots an envelope on the bedside table.
Opening it, he reads quickly, eyes lingering on the hasty scribble at the bottom of the last page.
" When it's your turn, we'll be waiting at the pearly gates to welcome you into heaven. "
I'm sorry.
Love,
Dawn
There is blood all over the floor. Expressionless, he calls the police to report that his wife has committed suicide.
He can't really claim to be surprised.
He drives himself hard, seemingly uncaring about anything that was not work related.
Gossip spreads.
That poor man, both wife and daughter gone…
His family tries to reach him, but he tells them that he is fine, tells them not to worry. They ask him to sell the house and move in with them…he refuses.
Seldom at home, when he is not in office he can be found in the cemetery, beside his wife and daughter's graves. He misses them terribly, and finds himself remembering happier times, brighter days when they were together…
Now and forever
Absently, he wonders when he will join them.
In memory of Peter Lantrier, a beloved brother and wonderful uncle.
For the peace of God passes all understanding …
Amen
Author's notes: This story had a totally unexpected development. I actually intended for the story to be about a dying girl and her last letter to her parents. The original is here…
Angel
There is a girl. She lies on the bed, sleeping.
See the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, in and out and in and out……So innocent, like an angel.
Tubes run across her body, drips connected to her veins, pumping saline into her body. She hasn't eaten for three days.
An oxygen tube is taped to her face; she needs it to breathe.
A needle in her wrist delivers morphine to keep her pain at bay. The nurses no longer limit the dosage she receives. Addiction doesn't matter any more.