Life After Death: A Story of Love, Loss, and Living

by Jamie Hitchcock

  “They’re in the back. It’s lucky I even found the bike seat that your dad wanted. Who knew all the shops would be sold out four days before Christmas? I had to sweet-talk a girl behind the counter at BikeCo into digging in their storage room for the last one.”

  Cece nodded quietly and humored him with a pat on his forearm, her bright eyes still fixed on her skirt. A Christmas song started playing on the radio, and she began to sing along softly.

  Halfway out of town, Cece let out loud scream, causing Nathan to slam on the brakes in alarm. “What’s the matter?” he asked, frightened.

  “Oh my God, we need to turn around!” she cried.

  “Honey, honestly, you look great. And we didn’t forget anything, I swear! Stop fussing. We don’t have time to turn around now.”

  “No, Nate, it’s not that …” She turned to him stiffly, her eyes as wide and unblinking as an owl’s. “I think my water just broke!”

  Nathan whipped the truck into the closest driveway and turned to Cece. “Are you sure it broke? You aren’t due for another two weeks!”

  Cece bent forward, clutching the base of her protruding stomach.

  Nathan’s shaking fingers swept over the car ceiling between them as he fumbled to turn on the overhead light.

  “I’m pretty damn sure! We need to go to the hospital, now!” Her face flashed with panic as blood began to pool visibly between her legs.

  “Right … uh, okay.” Nathan tried to steady himself. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. He couldn’t think. “Okay …” he said slowly and decisively, willing his body to move as quickly as his thoughts.

  The truck slid angrily in reverse. Nathan stomped the accelerator hard as they barreled down the dark, winding road back into town.

  Normally, this was one of his favorite roads to drive. It was a long, two-lane highway that spanned the coastline as it cut across the side of a mountain, exposing stunning views of the bay through the breaks in the tree line. Tonight, however, the bends felt excessively sharp and the branches hung low, grabbing greedily at his windshield.

  The road ahead veered radically to the right, hugging the side of an uneven cliff. A feeble railing on the left marked the edge of a 200-foot drop into the ocean. Taking the blind corner with speed, the truck deviated across the yellow midline in a wide berth, avoiding the jagged rocky outcropping on the hill side.

  Nathan corrected manically as the road straightened out. Cece gripped the overhead handle with all her might.

  Around the upcoming turn, a single headlight came speeding down the road directly toward them. The light bounced off the fog, creating a blinding spotlight that shone dangerously through the windshield. The motorcycle swerved back into its lane just in time to avoid colliding with the truck’s driver-side bumper.

  Nathan, anticipating a collision, panicked, slammed on the brakes, and threw the steering wheel to the right. All four tires screamed in protest and smoked with rage. The unweighted truck bed stuttered and skid, throwing the truck around the bend and narrowly missing a jagged outcropping. The truck spun sharply and halted within a foot of the mountainside as the brakes finally caught.

  Nathan whipped around in his seat to check on Cece. Her hair was wild and her complexion was frighteningly pale, but she was otherwise unharmed. Nathan heaved a sigh of relief and reached for her hand resting on her belly.

  Out of the darkness, a bright white light flared in the fog outside the passenger window as another car came barreling around the corner. He heard the desperate scream of the car’s brakes as the driver saw, too late, what lay around the corner. The car crashed into the corner of Nathan’s back bumper with full force.

  Everything happened in a flash. The impact propelled Nathan’s truck forward, and it smashed into the rock wall. Its occupants continued in motion momentarily until their bodies slammed against an unyielding dash.

  *18*

  In his final week, Henry could barely stay awake for more than an hour at a time, and only got out of bed when he desperately needed to use the bathroom across the hall. Even that small act of normalcy took the help of both Emily and Amara to keep him steady on his feet.

  Since Henry could rarely make it out of his room anymore, Emily had suggested putting the Christmas decorations in his bedroom instead, which Amara kindly obliged. In truth, she thought it to be a wasted sentiment, since Henry didn’t plan to make it to Christmas anyway. Nevertheless, the task gave her mind something to do without physically removing her from Henry’s side.

  Emily cooked almost nonstop, though Henry rarely ate more than a few bites of anything, and mostly preferred yogurt or ice cream to avoid any unnecessary effort involved with chewing or swallowing.

  His words came out jumbled and halting, with long pauses where he tried desperately to make his mouth articulate the thoughts being held hostage in his head. Aware of his imminently short time in this world, Henry became progressively more frustrated when he couldn’t collect himself to express even the simplest of sentiments, which he so desperately longed for both women to hear.

  Through it all, Amara stayed dutifully at his bedside or cuddled next to him on the narrow twin-sized mattress, leaving only to allow privacy for his increasingly rare visitors.

  In his health, Henry’s warm personality attracted numerous and diverse friends. Many of them had graced him with a visit to offer their subtle condolences about his illness. But as the holiday season entered full fray, his companions grew sparse. Henry's only true, constant companion was the clumsy, oafish mastiff, who took up command as a tireless, melancholy sentry at the foot of Henry’s bed.

  When she could bear it, Emily visited with Henry as well, kneeling uncomfortably at the bedside. She reminisced over old photo albums and trinkets from his youth, and told stories of Henry as an adventurous young boy who enjoyed jumping off the tallest rocks he could find and constructing shelters in the shallow pools of the stream to safely harbor tadpoles when they hatched in the spring.

  Amara yearned to hear these intimate stories, but tried to grant them some semblance of privacy, as Emily had allowed her on many occasions. She wished to recount every tale over and over again as she grew old with him, hearing them retold at parties and on lazy afternoons until they practically became part of her own history. But no matter how deeply she longed for it, Amara would never get to hear these stories, except for the short fragments that escaped through the closed door. Amara was left with only the memories they’d made together over the last six months, which, in truth, felt tragically insufficient.

  On the afternoon of his twenty-first birthday, Henry woke from a nap to the sound of Amara’s voice softly reading to him.

  It was also his last day, Amara knew, as Henry had planned it to be so. Though the prescription only took a few days to fill, Henry, as promised, had held on for nearly another month. Emily had initially pleaded for him to stay with them through the holidays, but as his strength faded with each passing day, it became clear that even making it to his birthday a few days before Christmas would be a blessing.

  After seeing how exhausted he was in the last week, Amara felt a deep sense of guilt for making him promise to give her more than he could. She knew deep down that he was holding on for her, even though those words would never be acknowledged aloud. Because of this, Amara was almost relieved when his day finally came.

  Henry’s eyes rolled open to watch her mouth move gracefully as she spoke, listening to her words as they drifted musically from her lips. Sensing him stir, Amara paused and lowered the book to rest on her lap.

  Emily had spent the early morning hours baking Henry’s favorite chocolate cake, which he had tried earnestly to eat but had only managed to swallow a few small bites of frosting. The uneaten slice of cake sat next to a glass of water and a prescription bottle on the bedside table.

  Henry stroked her hand lovingly, then gestured toward the bottom drawer of his desk.

  “The thing, in there,” he started, then shook h
is head and sighed. “For you.”

  Amara carefully crawled out of bed and headed across the room.

  “In here?” she asked, tapping the bottom drawer.

  He nodded weakly.

  The top layer of contents inside the drawer consisted of limited edition Major Xtra comic books, Henry’s favorite superhero. Amara pushed the comics aside. Below them she found stacks of loose papers, beautiful sketches and watercolor paintings that Henry had carelessly stored, randomly strewn atop one another. It had been at least a month since Henry earnestly attempted to draw anything since his vision became progressively shakier.

  “Bottom … you,” he directed.

  She dug around the papers, looking for what he could possibly mean. Then she spotted it. Clearing the drawings above, she carefully removed a single sheet, wrinkled with moisture where the watercolors had saturated the paper. Staring back at her was a portrait of herself, encased in a misty blue cloud. Her brown eyes sparkled on the page, even in the dim afternoon light. Speechless, she sat down on the edge of the bed.

  Henry mustered all his strength to sit up behind her. He kissed her cheek, then patted the picture. “Beautiful,” was all he said as he pushed the paper toward her chest.

  Amara burst into tears and buried her face in his chest. Together, they collapsed back onto the bed in passionate sorrow.

  As the sun set on his final day, Amara and Emily sat together quietly at the edge of the bed. Henry lay propped against the pillows. Bo rested next to him on the bed. Nobody said anything, as everything that needed to be said had already been shared before now.

  A mug of liquid rested in Emily’s hand. As directed on the bottle, she poured a small vile of powder into the mug and stirred. The spoon clanked against the ceramic mug as her hands shook. They all watched as the liquid swirled counter-clockwise until all the powder dissolved. A tear rolled from Emily’s cheek and fell into the mixture. Her hands trembled wildly, almost spilling the contents of the cup.

  Henry lifted his arm to steady her hand but was too weak to reach her. Amara clasped her hands around Emily’s instead. She looked to Henry for guidance.

  He spoke with great effort to ensure his words came out right. “I’m ready.” Henry reached for the cup, this time reaching his target, and took the mug from their hands. Though he didn’t speak, Amara felt his gratitude as his fingers swept against her own.

  He stared deeply into the shallow mug. A twinge of hope flickered across the corners of his mouth. With one last look to the people he loved, Henry lifted the mug to his lips and drained its contents. Then he rested his head against the pillow and closed his eyes. His breath became slow and hollow, then stopped altogether.

  Bo whimpered quietly as he rested his head gently on Henry’s unmoving chest.

  *19*

  Nathan and Cece stood barefoot on a platform. White mist whirled languidly around them, slowly billowing off the edge of the dock. Nathan looked around suspiciously but couldn’t distinguish any landmarks. He turned the other way. On his left, a pillar rose sharply out of the mist. A rope dangled loosely from an eyelet in the top of the piling. Where are we? He thought. How did we get here?

  Cece stared at him blankly.

  He couldn’t remember what they were doing before this moment and had no idea what he was supposed to do now.

  Cece walked past him toward the post, then grabbed the rope and began pulling.

  “What are you doing?” asked Nathan. She didn’t answer. For lack of any other direction, he walked over to face her and began pulling the rope too. He could hear a faint twinkling sound that grew gradually louder, carried across the water.

  “What are we doing?” he inquired again.

  Before she could reply, Nathan saw a dark silhouette floating in the distance. With each stroke, the object drifted gently closer until it bumped softly into the wooden dock where they stood. In its wake, tiny glistening lights swirled under the surface of the black water, a galaxy of constellations dancing in the current.

  Confused, Nathan tried again. “Cece, what is this place?” His voice was shallow and small, muffled in the fog.

  Cece bent mechanically to steady the vessel. She motioned for him to get in.

  Nathan didn’t move. “Where are we going?” he persisted.

  “Home,” she finally spoke.

  “Home? Well, where are we now?” Nathan surveyed the scene again. The dock looked eerily similar to the one at his parent’s house. Weren’t they already home?

  She motioned again. “It’s time to go.”

  Nathan turned back toward land, or at least, where the land should have been. The wharf continued a ways before disappearing into the mist. Straining his eyes against the blanket of white, he thought he saw a shore, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “We need to go,” Cece urged, her gaze fixed on the craft.

  That didn’t feel right to him, not yet. He still had so many questions. Nathan spun back to the boat and peered inside. A white knit blanket lay crumped under the seat. His eyes widened as they turned to Cece.

  “Where’s the baby?” he asked fearfully.

  Cece spoke calmly. “He’s coming.”

  A soft cry carried through the cloud, coming from the shoreline. Nathan grasped her hand and pulled her toward the sound.

  “He’s over there!” he shouted. “We need to get him.”

  Cece didn’t budge.

  “C’mon Cece, we need to help him.”

  Her hand slipped from his grip. “It’s time to go,” she repeated coolly. “The baby is coming.”

  Nathan was horrified by the scene. Clearly their baby was on the shore, and Cece was trying to leave without it.

  “I’m not going!” he said firmly. “Our baby is over there, and I won’t leave him.”

  “We can go together,” she urged.

  Nathan collected what little confidence he had. Again, he firmly declined. “No, I need to go get him.”

  Cece looked pained, just for a moment, before her features smoothed back into tranquility.

  “Then I have to go,” she said softly. Her foot was already over the edge of the boat. “It’s too late for me to turn around.”

  This somehow made sense to him. He kissed her gently on the forehead, pausing briefly to admire her beautiful green eyes one last time, then turned to the shore and took off at a run.

  He ran and ran for what seemed like hours, until a dark mass of land emerged out of the mist. A small bundle lay in the middle of the path, crying forlornly. He scooped it up in his arms and hugged it tightly to his chest. The bundle was shivering faintly.

  One last time, Nathan turned toward the lake. The boat had departed and was floating serenely across the night sky. Fog dissipated around it. On the horizon, a full white moon crested into the water, so large that it engulfed the entire sky. The two halves created a perfect circle, connecting above and below the waterline.

  Cecelia’s boat sailed quietly into the pearly astral gates, fading into an indistinguishable speck on the horizon.

  Winter

  *20*

  Every molecule of Nathan’s body was floating. Not floating in space exactly, but more like water being poured slowly into the ocean. He was still himself, but the lines of his form were blurring into space, the surrounding particles gradually permeating his shell. It took all of his painful concentration to maintain connection to his substance. He was melting, dissipating into a puddle of blackness, until, suddenly, a bright spotlight captured his body, containing his parts loosely in the shaft of light.

  Nathan struggled against the weight of unconsciousness as his eyelids fluttered open. A large, flat white beam seared into his eyes. He winced in pain, squeezing his lids tightly closed against the brightness. Faint, rhythmic beeping pulsed in the background. He tasted metal and bleach. Small particles of himself still swirled outside his body, threatening to escape beyond the boundaries of his earthly being, but his senses slowly grounded him back into existence.

  T
hrough heavy eyes, he saw his parents resting against each other in the corner of the sterile room. They looked haggard. He opened his mouth to speak but was blocked by a plastic tube in his airway. His mouth was dry, and the corners of his lips felt excruciatingly chapped.

  An alarm sounded on the machine to his left. The noise abruptly roused his mother from her restless sleep. She darted to the bedside.

  “Nathan? Oh, praise the Lord! Mark, hurry, he’s awake!”

  Nathan’s father rose drowsily from his seat. For once, the state of his clothes matched the worried lines in his face.

  “Son,” he said somberly, “thank God you’re okay.”

  Nathan’s mind whirled as he tried to process all the information flooding his senses. He was obviously in the hospital, but he couldn’t remember why or how he got there. He had so many questions. Motioning to the tube in his mouth, he tried to sit upright. A flash of pain stabbed through his ribs and shoulder.

  Sylvia held him gently down against the mattress. “Wait,” she instructed. “We need to get the doctor. He’ll want to look at you.”

  Nathan complied readily, not out of conscious decision, but because he already felt the darkness of sleep gripping him again. He willingly closed his eyes.

  When he awoke an hour later, the tubes in his mouth were gone and the head of his bed was inclined slightly. His mother was perched in sentinel duty at his bedside, her keen eyes fixed on his rising chest. Noticing him stir, she clutched at his hand dramatically.

  “Nathan, can you hear me?” she asked loudly.

  He nodded, though his eyes couldn’t quite focus on her amidst the glaring lights in the room.

  “Good. That’s good. How are you feeling?” She petted the back of his hand with her thumb.