The white light gradually dissolved, and the scene resolved to a different
hospital room, in a different place and time. Scarlett and her guardian
angel stood in front of a door to a patient room on the maternity ward, and
the door was slightly ajar. Scarlett gazed down the length of the hallway
as a nurse wheeled a patient, presumably a new mother, to an unknown
destination, the nurse not even acknowledging Scarlett's presence as she
walked past.
"She walked right through me," Scarlett said in surprise. The nurse had literally rolled a patient in a wheelchair straight through Scarlett's immaterial body, and Scarlett had not felt a thing.
"Of course, my dear," Clara explained, "you are here to see and not be seen."
"I recognize this place," Scarlett said, the light dawning on her, "this is an Atlanta hospital."
Scarlett turned back to the open door. "This is the hospital where I was born."
Clara gestured toward the door.
"Won't you go in?" she asked.
The room was faintly lit by the evening sun, which sent its last rays through an uncovered window. Scarlett adjusted her eyes and heard the sound of a baby crying. She heard a woman's voice as well, talking to the infant, in the unique way that a mother talks to her own child, gentle, loving, and childlike.
"That's me?" Scarlett said, in shock. She was not prepared for the sight of herself as a newborn child, and for the sight of her mother. Her mother, Kathleen O'Hara, held the child in her arms, while her husband Patrick watched at her bedside.
"Mom," Scarlett said numbly.
Scarlett had no memories of her mother, who had died of a brain tumor when she was only three years old. The photographs, home made films, and stories told by Scarlett's father and older siblings constituted the entirety of Scarlett's knowledge of her mother. To hear her father tell it, as he often did, her mother was the sweetest, gentlest creature who had ever walked the earth. How many endless nights did Scarlett dream of meeting her mother and speaking with her? How often had she dreamed of interacting with her mother and of expressing her love and gratitude for her? In a way, the memories were so powerful that Scarlett felt as if she really did know her mother.
Now, for the first time, Scarlett was observing her mother in flesh and blood, not as a memory or a dream, but as a real, living being.
"Our little darling Shana," Kathleen said tenderly to her infant. The infant Shana looked into her mother's eyes with an innocent expression on her face.
"She's beautiful… just like you are," Patrick smiled.
Kathleen turned to her husband and smiled. It seemed to both parents, at that moment, that they had reached the pinnacle of happiness.
"She has your eyes," Patrick said, leaning over the bed rail to kiss his beloved.
The kiss lingered as the happy parents held onto their tender moment together, all while Shana lay in Kathleen's arms, watching but not comprehending.
Scarlett felt her heart ache at the sight of her parents expressing their love for one another. It was a strange sight, seeing her father as a young man. Patrick O'Hara appeared a different person, younger and happier, than the man Scarlett called her father. Scarlett thought she always detected a note of bittersweet sadness in her father's eyes. She loved her father who had always cherished her as long as she could remember. As much as she longed to see her father happy, she felt a mixture of sadness and satisfaction that he had never remarried. It was not a sense of misguided loyalty or devotion to a deceased loved one as much as it was a testament to the rarity of the treasure Patrick had found in his one and only Kathleen.
"Mom," Scarlett called to her mother in vain. "It's me, it's Shana!"
Scarlett ran to the other side of the hospital bed. Kathleen and Patrick showed no sign of having heard Scarlett as they finally broke their kiss.
"Shana," Clara said softly, "please. You know they can't hear you."
"There must be a way," Scarlett cried, fighting tears, "there must be a way for me to speak to my mother. Please, can't I speak with her, just for a moment? You don't understand…"
The angel stood by Scarlett and put a hand on her shoulder. Scarlett continued to look at her parents, not averting her eyes. Eventually, Patrick made ready to leave, promising to come back soon, along with their other children, Sean, Mike, Frank, and Siobhan. Scarlett sat at her mother's bedside, watching her mother, who remained blissfully unaware of her otherworldly presence.
"Just let me stay with her, for a little while longer," Scarlett begged the angel. "Then we can go."
Clara said nothing and remained behind Scarlett, watching her. Scarlett would stay with her mother as long as she so desired.
Scarlett watched her beautiful mother sing a lullaby to the new infant, Shana. She had no memory of her mother, but now she had this image to carry with her forever. All her life, ever since the nascent days of her consciousness, Scarlett had dreamed of speaking with her mother. She had dreamed of seeing herself through her mother's eyes. Scarlett could not help wondering, what would her mother say if she could see her now? Would she approve of the woman that Scarlett had become?
Would she still love her?
Scarlett reached out with her hand to caress her mother's cheek. At the moment of contact, Kathleen closed her eyes serenely as if she had felt her daughter's touch from beyond the sea of time…
* * *
Patrick and Shana O'Hara sat together on the front porch of their suburban Atlanta home, watching dusk slowly descend over their street. It seemed that twenty-one years had evaporated in the span of one heartbeat. The seasons changed one by one, all the trials and tribulations of growing up and growing older passed, until both of them had lost track of how long they had lived together as family.
"You're joining the army," Patrick repeated slowly, trying to grasp the significance of Shana's decision.
Shana leaned in closer to her father, who put his arm around her shoulders.
"You know I raised you as best as I could, alone," Patrick said. "I tried to treat you and your siblings equally. But they didn't always see it that way."
Shana nodded. Her sister Siobhan in particular resented the special treatment that Patrick seemed to have reserved for Shana.
"You're the baby of the family, you always have been," Siobhan once said bitterly to Shana, when they had shared a moment alone. "Out of all of us, you are the closest to mom. That's why he loves you the most…"
"I brought you up to run with the big boys," Patrick said, referring to the black belt in karate that Shana had earned at age fifteen. "I wanted everything for you. I wanted more than anything to be close to you and share common interests with you."
"Your mother…" Patrick began, unable to finish.
But Shana understood. All her life, her father had treasured her. Shana was Kathleen O'Hara's last gift to her husband, and so Patrick had never stopped seeing her as just that, a gift. She remembered the many times that her father had told her what it had been like when Kathleen had died. The story had ingrained itself so deeply within her that it seemed as if Patrick's memory had been her own.
"Ashes to ash, dust to dust…" the priest intoned solemnly… The sunny afternoon sky belied the sorrow of the occasion. The crowd of mourners gathered together in the cemetery, which to Patrick was so ironically verdant and full of life… And Patrick could not take it any more. He covered his face to stifle his sobs, which sounded out loudly, all the same…
"Not fair," he said, "oh God, not fair!"
Around him, the family members watched him silently… but he felt a gentle tug on the edge of his coat. Looking down, Patrick saw little Shana, innocent and not comprehending. Shana had not been walking for long, and she had yet to say a word. Her eyes gazed at him questioningly. In Shana's large, round, glossy eyes, Patrick saw for a moment the soul of his beloved. Then Shana's lips quivered hesitantly.
"D-d-daddy…" little Shana said softly.
Sitting on the porch, Patrick smiled at the memory of Shana's very first words.
"I wish I could know I was doing the right thing," Shana said. "It just feels the right thing to do, but what if I turn out to be wrong?"
"You don't know what kind of people you'll meet when you join the service," Patrick said. "Your life will change in amazing ways you never imagined."
They were both silent for a time.
"Promise me you'll take care of yourself," Patrick said. "Don't do something crazy, okay? I don't want to lose you."
"I will, I promise."
Shana kissed her father on the cheek.
"I love you, dad."
Scarlett and Clara watched this scene from a spot on the porch. Scarlett turned to the angel.
"Why are you showing me this?"
"To show you the ways you affected the lives of those closest to you," Clara said.
Clara smiled, gesturing toward the street, and Scarlett followed her as they walked away from the porch of Scarlett's house.
"This is only the beginning," Clara said.
"She walked right through me," Scarlett said in surprise. The nurse had literally rolled a patient in a wheelchair straight through Scarlett's immaterial body, and Scarlett had not felt a thing.
"Of course, my dear," Clara explained, "you are here to see and not be seen."
"I recognize this place," Scarlett said, the light dawning on her, "this is an Atlanta hospital."
Scarlett turned back to the open door. "This is the hospital where I was born."
Clara gestured toward the door.
"Won't you go in?" she asked.
The room was faintly lit by the evening sun, which sent its last rays through an uncovered window. Scarlett adjusted her eyes and heard the sound of a baby crying. She heard a woman's voice as well, talking to the infant, in the unique way that a mother talks to her own child, gentle, loving, and childlike.
"That's me?" Scarlett said, in shock. She was not prepared for the sight of herself as a newborn child, and for the sight of her mother. Her mother, Kathleen O'Hara, held the child in her arms, while her husband Patrick watched at her bedside.
"Mom," Scarlett said numbly.
Scarlett had no memories of her mother, who had died of a brain tumor when she was only three years old. The photographs, home made films, and stories told by Scarlett's father and older siblings constituted the entirety of Scarlett's knowledge of her mother. To hear her father tell it, as he often did, her mother was the sweetest, gentlest creature who had ever walked the earth. How many endless nights did Scarlett dream of meeting her mother and speaking with her? How often had she dreamed of interacting with her mother and of expressing her love and gratitude for her? In a way, the memories were so powerful that Scarlett felt as if she really did know her mother.
Now, for the first time, Scarlett was observing her mother in flesh and blood, not as a memory or a dream, but as a real, living being.
"Our little darling Shana," Kathleen said tenderly to her infant. The infant Shana looked into her mother's eyes with an innocent expression on her face.
"She's beautiful… just like you are," Patrick smiled.
Kathleen turned to her husband and smiled. It seemed to both parents, at that moment, that they had reached the pinnacle of happiness.
"She has your eyes," Patrick said, leaning over the bed rail to kiss his beloved.
The kiss lingered as the happy parents held onto their tender moment together, all while Shana lay in Kathleen's arms, watching but not comprehending.
Scarlett felt her heart ache at the sight of her parents expressing their love for one another. It was a strange sight, seeing her father as a young man. Patrick O'Hara appeared a different person, younger and happier, than the man Scarlett called her father. Scarlett thought she always detected a note of bittersweet sadness in her father's eyes. She loved her father who had always cherished her as long as she could remember. As much as she longed to see her father happy, she felt a mixture of sadness and satisfaction that he had never remarried. It was not a sense of misguided loyalty or devotion to a deceased loved one as much as it was a testament to the rarity of the treasure Patrick had found in his one and only Kathleen.
"Mom," Scarlett called to her mother in vain. "It's me, it's Shana!"
Scarlett ran to the other side of the hospital bed. Kathleen and Patrick showed no sign of having heard Scarlett as they finally broke their kiss.
"Shana," Clara said softly, "please. You know they can't hear you."
"There must be a way," Scarlett cried, fighting tears, "there must be a way for me to speak to my mother. Please, can't I speak with her, just for a moment? You don't understand…"
The angel stood by Scarlett and put a hand on her shoulder. Scarlett continued to look at her parents, not averting her eyes. Eventually, Patrick made ready to leave, promising to come back soon, along with their other children, Sean, Mike, Frank, and Siobhan. Scarlett sat at her mother's bedside, watching her mother, who remained blissfully unaware of her otherworldly presence.
"Just let me stay with her, for a little while longer," Scarlett begged the angel. "Then we can go."
Clara said nothing and remained behind Scarlett, watching her. Scarlett would stay with her mother as long as she so desired.
Scarlett watched her beautiful mother sing a lullaby to the new infant, Shana. She had no memory of her mother, but now she had this image to carry with her forever. All her life, ever since the nascent days of her consciousness, Scarlett had dreamed of speaking with her mother. She had dreamed of seeing herself through her mother's eyes. Scarlett could not help wondering, what would her mother say if she could see her now? Would she approve of the woman that Scarlett had become?
Would she still love her?
Scarlett reached out with her hand to caress her mother's cheek. At the moment of contact, Kathleen closed her eyes serenely as if she had felt her daughter's touch from beyond the sea of time…
* * *
Patrick and Shana O'Hara sat together on the front porch of their suburban Atlanta home, watching dusk slowly descend over their street. It seemed that twenty-one years had evaporated in the span of one heartbeat. The seasons changed one by one, all the trials and tribulations of growing up and growing older passed, until both of them had lost track of how long they had lived together as family.
"You're joining the army," Patrick repeated slowly, trying to grasp the significance of Shana's decision.
Shana leaned in closer to her father, who put his arm around her shoulders.
"You know I raised you as best as I could, alone," Patrick said. "I tried to treat you and your siblings equally. But they didn't always see it that way."
Shana nodded. Her sister Siobhan in particular resented the special treatment that Patrick seemed to have reserved for Shana.
"You're the baby of the family, you always have been," Siobhan once said bitterly to Shana, when they had shared a moment alone. "Out of all of us, you are the closest to mom. That's why he loves you the most…"
"I brought you up to run with the big boys," Patrick said, referring to the black belt in karate that Shana had earned at age fifteen. "I wanted everything for you. I wanted more than anything to be close to you and share common interests with you."
"Your mother…" Patrick began, unable to finish.
But Shana understood. All her life, her father had treasured her. Shana was Kathleen O'Hara's last gift to her husband, and so Patrick had never stopped seeing her as just that, a gift. She remembered the many times that her father had told her what it had been like when Kathleen had died. The story had ingrained itself so deeply within her that it seemed as if Patrick's memory had been her own.
"Ashes to ash, dust to dust…" the priest intoned solemnly… The sunny afternoon sky belied the sorrow of the occasion. The crowd of mourners gathered together in the cemetery, which to Patrick was so ironically verdant and full of life… And Patrick could not take it any more. He covered his face to stifle his sobs, which sounded out loudly, all the same…
"Not fair," he said, "oh God, not fair!"
Around him, the family members watched him silently… but he felt a gentle tug on the edge of his coat. Looking down, Patrick saw little Shana, innocent and not comprehending. Shana had not been walking for long, and she had yet to say a word. Her eyes gazed at him questioningly. In Shana's large, round, glossy eyes, Patrick saw for a moment the soul of his beloved. Then Shana's lips quivered hesitantly.
"D-d-daddy…" little Shana said softly.
Sitting on the porch, Patrick smiled at the memory of Shana's very first words.
"I wish I could know I was doing the right thing," Shana said. "It just feels the right thing to do, but what if I turn out to be wrong?"
"You don't know what kind of people you'll meet when you join the service," Patrick said. "Your life will change in amazing ways you never imagined."
They were both silent for a time.
"Promise me you'll take care of yourself," Patrick said. "Don't do something crazy, okay? I don't want to lose you."
"I will, I promise."
Shana kissed her father on the cheek.
"I love you, dad."
Scarlett and Clara watched this scene from a spot on the porch. Scarlett turned to the angel.
"Why are you showing me this?"
"To show you the ways you affected the lives of those closest to you," Clara said.
Clara smiled, gesturing toward the street, and Scarlett followed her as they walked away from the porch of Scarlett's house.
"This is only the beginning," Clara said.