ENJOY!
Endings.
He'd always hated them when it came to books - well, good books at least. The stories that were good, the research books that made him leaf through the footnotes for more information, those were ones he never wanted to end.
The stories he'd read - where the characters spoke for themselves, led honorable lives, and, to the best of their ability, did everything they could to make their world a better place - those were the ones he'd loved. Sure, there was beauty in Shakespeare's tragedies, a sort of capital P poetic justice laced through the falls of men brought down by their tragic vices. But there was nothing aspirational to live towards. Intellectually, he grasped the concept of allowing evil to work itself out to teach the world of the depravity of humankind, and that without that, the world wouldn't see the triumph over the darkness.
But.
The faith he'd lived by, whenever living began or ended, seemed to never leave him - despite sometimes how much he tried to push away from it. But here, in the darkness, in the midst of inescapable pain, his faith called him, speaking in words he'd read, written about, and lectured about. They spoke in a way that he knew down to his soul. St. Francis.
"Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy. O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen." - St. Francis.
That was the aspiration. He'd tried, and failed at times, but then tried again and again, to make the world - the world currently out of his grasp but somehow not yet lost - tried to make it a better place. Tried to love when others couldn't show love. He'd tried.
And, at the moment, he existed or didn't exist in a space between worlds - the world of pain, unbearable pain, and he desperately wanted to be consoled, he wanted to be understood, but the only thing left was the past - the past that came in shorter bursts, a short reprieve from what felt to be torment and loss overwhelming him.
Then, the past surrounded him again, a short respite he clung onto.
"You think you could've picked a hotter day to have us install a new gate?"
"Wait, you mean you're not having fun?" Elizabeth mocked as she dropped the post for the new gate fence a few feet away from where Henry stood, the post hole digger in his hands. "I thought for sure the ex-Marine would love getting away from the old dusty books on the weekend."
Henry chuckled, standing up and dramatically wiping the sweat away from his eyes with his gloved hands, "Of course I do, but do you remember what you said when we bought this place?"
"You mean when I said, 'Look at all the places we could have sex?"'
"Babe, the kids!" Henry's eyes shot to Elizabeth's, then, out of habit, looked around them, desperately hoping no little ears had been there, listening. He could feel the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks when he met Elizabeth's eyes.
"Oh, how I love to make you blush, Henry McCord." Elizabeth jested, in the waspy accent she loved to mock people with. Henry loved the way her eyes lit up and matched her wide smile. Standing there, in the coveralls she kept in the mudroom of the house for any outdoor chores she suddenly got the mind to do, her feet in the ratty tennis shoes that he could've sworn she'd had back in college, her hair hastily pulled back in a knot at the nape of her neck - Elizabeth never ceased to amaze Henry, and who always seemed to be able to wrangle him into a host of chores at the drop of a hat.
She playfully rolled her eyes at him as she tossed another post towards the pile, "You and I both know the only kid who might be out here is Emma, who…" Elizabeth surveyed the area, squinted into the sun, and pointed over the fence next to them and across the pasture, "... is probably over there."
As he looked out into the field that rose and then slowly sloped downhill, he said "So, probably over there? Wasn't Jase just out here too?" He absentmindedly asked as he continued digging the hole. "Actually, didn't we tell all the kids they needed to be outside?"
Elizabeth shook her head, "You're giving our children too much credit - the minute we looked away, the older three ran inside to watch something on the TV." Then she added, "And don't pretend you wouldn't be right in there with them if I wasn't watching you like a hawk."
"Hey!" He protested, "That's not fair. I'm such a great outdoorsman, you're just…"
"DADDY!" Emma's screams from across the field sent chills up his spine.
He locked eyes with Elizabeth. His heart started pounding, but he moved within milliseconds, throwing the tool down in his hand. Throwing himself over the fence, he landed hard, landing on his feet. And took off running, the dirt from the dry, fall ground kicking up behind him.
Why was she so far away?
He could hear Elizabeth's frantic pace, right on his heels, and she yelled out, "Emma, where are you?" Each word laced with only the panic a mother could have. Short words, loud enough for Henry to hear. "Not a hurt cry." No, he silently agreed. Not hurt.
He could tell from the shrieks that something was horribly wrong. He just needed to get to the crest of the hill. Just a few more paces.
"MOMMY!"
Elizabeth, now right next to him, said, "Scared cry. Animal?"
He willed his legs to run faster, willed his mind to stay focused as he rounded the top of the hill. But he agreed, this wasn't the cry she'd had when she'd skinned her knee falling from her bike. She'd barely cried.
Top of the hill,
He didn't stop running, but scanned, finally seeing Emma 80 feet away, down towards the bottom of the field. Down by the old watering trough.
Emma's tiny frame next to the trough that was almost as tall as the six year old, and she was backed up against the metal, her mouth open as she screamed out, "HELP!"
He was side by side with Elizabeth. They were about 40 feet away from Emma when she saw them.
"What is it?" Elizabeth yelled out, "Em what…"
As if willing them to get to her sooner, Emma stretched her hands out, still screaming, but this time, Emma shrieked, "Snake!"
Henry shot Elizabeth a quick look the second they both heard it.
Rattles.
And in that short look, he knew she knew the game plan.
From what he could make out, there was one snake coiled tightly on the ground, half a foot away from Emma's bare feet.
And he pushed his body harder than he had before, sprinting the last few feet.
Emma still screamed, the air mixed with terror and rattles.
Everything slowed.
Elizabeth's hands reached between the snake and Emma, with a motherly force, she curled her arm around Emma's chest. Henry's hands, like talons, gripped onto the body of the brown and black patterned attacker. At the same time, Elizabeth scooped the little girl up to her chest. Henry, using the force of his gloved hands and the speed of his body to pull the snake's lunge away from Elizabeth and Emma, turning his body before throwing the venomous animal across the field.
Henry could feel the pain coming back. Pain in his chest. No. Not back to the darkness. Not back to nothingness.
Henry could still see Elizabeth shielding Emma with her body.
He wanted to see them again. There was another part of the memory - the past.
He wasn't ready to go.
He could see himself outside of the memory, watching as Elizabeth had ran her hands all over Emma's feet, and then up into her hair, making sure Emma was …
No. There was more. He needed to see… They had to be ok… He couldn't go.
Every fiber of his being, wherever he was, screamed out. Begging.
He knew they were. He knew that Emma had been fine that day. He knew that Elizabeth had threatened to superglue Emma's boots to her feet if she wouldn't wear shoes. Elizabeth had cried that night in bed, from the relief that Emma hadn't been hurt and the fear of what could've happened. He'd held her tight, and reminded her that nothing bad had happened, and that they'd made sure nothing…
He knew.
But at the same time, he didn't.
Because somewhere the shrieks from the child had turned to the cries from a young woman. The pain was back, but this was different. Something wasn't right. He wanted to go back. It wasn't time.
It couldn't be.