Vigil
Meg adjusted the sheet covering her daughter, careful not to disarrange the tubing that kept Missy alive. It was bedtime.
A kiss, butterfly light, on the rose petal cheek. Meg took one of Missy's hands in her own and sat beside her. The bedtime prayer was a nightly ritual. Meg needed some semblance of normalcy.
"Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake...."
Meg stood, brushing back the curtain of the bedside window. Twilight announced itself with the solemn glory of springtime. She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come.
A cautious knock.
"Meg? Meg, honey, the nurse is here."
She looked up to see Jeff, casually handsome, dressed for the midnight Mass. For the briefest of moments, she remembered why she had married him.
"I'm not going." Her voice seemed too loud in the stillness of the room.
A worried frown clouded his features for a second before it was replaced by an assumed nonchalance. He gazed across the room to where their daughter lay.
"Any change?"
"None." Some remote part of Meg's mind noted the almost imperceptible sag of Jeff's shoulders as, fists shoved in his pockets, he stared with defeated eyes at their dying child.
"Right. Well, there's nothing you can do for her by staying here. The hospice nurse'll look after her. She'll be all right, you'll see."
"Fine." Meg let the curtain fall from her hand, looking past Jeff, looking through Jeff into emptiness. "I'll drown my sorrows in sacramental wine instead."
"Meg...."
She shut her eyes tightly, refusing to allow herself to respond to the plea in his eyes and voice. "I'm staying, Jeff."
"All right." Defeat in his voice.
Something within her thawed slightly. "Please close the door."
"Meg, the nurse...."
"Tell her to make herself at home. I'll call her if we need her."
Jeff hesitated at the door. "You're sure you'll be all right? I'll stay home if you want me to."
"No."
"I love you, honey."
"I know. Run along now. Happy Easter."
The door closed silently. The life support equipment hummed quietly. Meg smiled and stroked Missy's hair.
Meg dozed in the bedside chair. In her dreams a laughing, golden-haired child played.
"Betcha can't catch me, Mommy!"
"Bet I can!" They raced across the playground until Meg swept Missy up in her arms and held her overhead. Missy smiled down at her mother, shadowed face silhouetted against the sun, the sunlight turning her hair into a halo of fire. Blue eyes effervesced with joy.
"I love you, Mommy."
"Love you too, sweetheart."
Another vignette. Missy a year older, her face pale, her body ravaged by the cancer.
"Will I get a new body?"
"Someday, honey."
"Soon?" Blue eyes pain-haunted in a gaunt face.
"Maybe. I don't know."
"Why did God die, Mommy?"
Meg stared out the window. Are you dead, God? "I don't know.
"I do. God died so that He would understand how much it hurts. Isn't that right, Mommy?"
The silent tears slipped down Meg's cheeks.
It was the shriek of the life-support equipment that woke her.
Missy?...Oh God, no!"
She could hear the nurse running up the stairs.
"No, baby, you can't....I'm not ready yet. There's still so much...."
The door flew open. The nurse was brisk, efficient, exuding a detached competence. Meg turned away and slumped to the floor in a corner of the room, eyes squeezed shut, fingers pressed tightly to her lips, trembling.
"Mrs. Sadler?"
No response. The silence roared.
"Mrs. Sadler, I'm sorry."
Meg opened her eyes, stared stonily up at the white-clad invader. "No."
"Why don't you sit in the chair, Mrs. Sadler. I need to call the hospital, but I'll be back…."
"No. Just leave. Leave us alone."
"I'll be downstairs if you need me." The door whispered shut. Outside, the church bells began to ring.
"Missy, damn it, you can't die. It's Easter."
The Mass would be over by now. Jeff would be home soon, the music of the dismissal chant lingering in his memory.
Let us bless the Lord, Alleluia.
Thanks be to God, Alleluia-Alleluia.
"Oh God-why?"
Meg stood and walked to the bedside. Lovingly, she stroked her daughter's arm. "Sleep tight, baby. I love you."
I love you, Mommy.
She sat in the chair, holding Missy's hand. When Jeff came home fifteen minutes later, she was still there.
Meg nodded.
Jeff lay a hand on her shoulder. "Looks as if she might wake up at any moment, doesn't she?"
"No." Her voice caught.
"Meg?" In the moonlight he could see the moisture glistening on her cheeks. "Honey, the doctor's downstairs. You have to let her go now."
"What the hell kind of unnatural father are you? Don't you even care?"
He recoiled from the verbal slap, his eyes swimming with helplessness. "I....Meg, sweetheart...."
She shook her head, averting her eyes. "Just one more minute."
"All right." He studied the tops of his shoes, afraid to look at his wife, afraid of feeling.
Outside, a bird caroled.
Meg sniffled slightly, wiped her cheeks, and smiled. "That bird should be in bed." She looked at Jeff. "You think they might want some coffee downstairs?"
He attempted a return smile. "They might."
"They can have the eggs too, if they like."
"What eggs?"
"The ones I decorated for Missy yesterday."
Jeff glanced at his daughter's still form, lifeless but no more still than it had lain for the last awful week. "Why did you do that?"
I am the Resurrection and the Life....
Meg took a deep breath, released it. "Because it's Easter." She released Missy's hand and stood. "Minute's up. It's gonna be a long morning."
Together they left the room. The door remained open, but Meg didn't look back.
