The Invisible Choir

by Tessa Lynne

  Sweetness, I have pictured myself holding our babies in the same way as the man on this card. I think of you as the mother of all of our children—Callie, Kenna, and Vince. You are the woman I would have loved to make our babies with, the woman who has given me many lovely children, past and present. I loved you then and I love you now. Happy Mother’s Day

  Vince took me down to the gift shop in a wheelchair to look for something special. I saw this card and couldn’t resist it. Now I have to go for another walk around the corridor. Every step I take brings me closer to you.

  My mother has been helping me with some painting around the house. As we relaxed this evening, I told her about you, starting with the more ordinary, but inaccurate, version of our story. Then, out of the blue, she started talking about guardian angels and past lives, which I took as a cue to tell her more. She asked if “all of this is a New Age thing.” I told her that I don’t consider it to be, but that that term is an umbrella for a wide variety of beliefs and practices. Amelia said she has reservations about some of them. “It is always good to explore possibilities, to seek truth, but the best intentions can go awry when leaders demand unquestioning followers. It has never been the Creator’s intent that unthinking obedience be a part of belief. Inquiry brings about dialogue. The Creator wants mortals to question and thereby to learn.”

  Amelia also shared that the Council, when they met in November, considered allowing us to meet immediately, but their eventual consensus was that the needs of others outweighed ours. If we had met then, you likely would not have contracted the virus. To dwell on that is to be torn apart by the anguish in my soul.

  My love, I am recovering from the chemo, but my attitude has deteriorated. The cardiologist was in earlier … I will never again take to the ski slopes. I can’t write now.

  I must apologize for my poor mood this morning. When he told me of my limitations, I focused only on them. I had to know if I will be able to make love to you. The answer is yes! When he asked what activities I had enjoyed—shook his head to skiing, racquetball, and tennis—I got a mental image of myself as a vegetable. He said I will be able to go for walks, ride a bike, swim, and play golf, all within reason. He didn’t say that I had to make love within reason, and I wasn’t about to ask him.

  Michael, I do wish for your sake that you will be able to resume your favorite activities, but I have had some qualms about my ability to keep up with you. I will take you in any physical condition. I prefer that you be able to walk and talk and make love to me.

  Could you possibly be any more dear to me? Kenna shared the letter you sent her, and I have read it twice. It is just right. The card—the big bear holding the hand of the little one—prompted tears of loss, then joy. She has needed someone to hold her hand, to be there. To read the words “your mother and I” brought more tears and the knowledge that I am no longer alone as a parent. Callie is looking forward to her letter.

  Your beautiful letter is finally here, and you have told me exactly what I wanted to hear—we were in sync Wednesday night. Sweetness, when it comes to making passionate love to you, moderation is not in my vocabulary. If my doctor insists that I take my time, I promise you will not be disappointed.

  Amelia was here but she had to leave abruptly. I want to ask her a question, but there is never enough time. Would you ask her this for me—what lessons are to be learned from all of this pain and suffering?

  25. Eli Visits

  6/1—6/24

  Sweetness, I spoke to Amelia about my recovery. She said, in that more serious tone we both have heard, “Michael, you are the master of your destiny.” I promise to do whatever I can to secure our future—it is almost close enough to touch.

  J.T. was just here with good news/bad news. The good is that I can be discharged soon! The bad is that they are getting some flak from the insurance company. He asked how I would feel about returning to the hospice or going to a convalescent facility. I can’t go back to the hospice, sweetness. I don’t want to be surrounded by death again.

  Mon cher Michel, I felt you close as I was lying in bed this morning after a restless night. The girls were at the lake with friends, got stuck in the mud, and couldn’t get back until after daylight. I fell asleep waiting for them but woke up in the middle of the night. Wanting to feel you close, I took down the box that holds your letters and started at the beginning.

  My sweet love, our life together defies description. Yes, we did think it surreal, beyond our imaginations, but those first weeks brought their own truth. This is what I wonder—if we had met years ago, under more ordinary circumstances, would we have experienced the full power of our love? Would we have recognized the presence of our spirits? I will reflect on that as I drive to work.

  What wonderful news, but it should be me caring for you when you leave. Amelia said you are more in touch again with your healing powers. I will be optimistic and think you will be able to fend for yourself until you can come to me.

  I’ve been on the phone to both computer software companies this morning. My attorney has been handling things, but they want my assurance that I’m improving and that we can still negotiate.

  More great news! My attorney just called to say both companies want me to sign a letter of intent. They have their offers ready and want to send reps here to the hospital to negotiate. J.T. said an emphatic no, and my attorney agrees. If they are this anxious, they will wait until I can talk to them on my own terms. I will be out of here in no time—the future will be ours.

  Sweetness, it thrills me to read you felt me near the other day and to learn you were in the sun as I had known you were, but I hadn’t pictured you on the beach in your swimsuit. I used to have a man-type bikini but always felt self-conscious in it. What do you prefer? If you want me in something skimpy, it will be on a secluded beach for your eyes only. Our meeting is once again imminent—we can plan and picture events just weeks from now.

  I am sitting in my corner chair where I usually write, but it feels as though I’m lingering in bed with you, wrapped in your arms and in your love. I have been listening to “Running on Faith,” remembering how I would listen to it every night when your condition was first so precarious. I could not write, then, of my anguish, my helplessness, how it felt to not be able to go to you. I was told you weren’t likely to survive, might manage to hold on for another day, maybe two. I still can’t write of it, except to say that I continued to reach out to you, seeking the Creator’s blessing and a miracle.

  I will change the subject, to Amelia’s answer about the lessons you might learn from these last two months of illness. She said that the virus, and all that followed, was not destined but due to your chance encounter with it. As to what might be learned, she was not as direct as you might have expected. “It is not for me to answer. There are many lessons possible in these circumstances. When Michael someday returns to the spirit world and processes this experience, it will be in relationship to the lessons he had chosen for this lifetime.”

  I mentioned what seem like two obvious lessons, those of maintaining one’s faith and hope. “Those are certainly possibilities but Michael, during his previous lifetimes, may have already learned them sufficiently.” When I told her I had hoped for something more specific, she said, “I will tell you this: Michael changed a great deal after the onset of his illness. That is perhaps one lesson he has learned, the importance of finding time for the type of self-reflection he has lately engaged in.”

  Amelia went on to tell me more about her conversations with you. “Michael wants closure with every topic he brings up, and he questions me to that end. He is reluctant to have me go, but it is important that I leave him with questions, that he reflect and work things out for himself.”

  I asked Amelia to explain the difference between destiny and fate. “Fate is the intended end point of a life, absent the effects of reckless behavior or unforeseen circumstances. It is an approximate time within a span of several years. Alexander knows the time allotted to
Michael. He will be alert for any circumstances that might lend themselves to the lessons yet to be learned.” I take hope in the phrasing of Amelia’s answer—there are still lessons for you to learn here, with me.

  Just a few words before I go to sleep—it has been a long and trying day. They came early to get me for the bone marrow test. I felt your kiss upon my brow, or was it the touch of your beautiful spirit, Mahalia?

  I am feeling much better this morning. The catheter is out, the monitor is gone, and I am going home soon. J.T. made a convincing case for keeping me here until then. I am fortunate to have him as a friend and look forward to the day that I can introduce the two of you. I hope we have a chance to get together soon after we meet, before our wedding day.

  You weren’t kidding when you said I had a surprise coming. I couldn’t imagine what Maeve was bringing me and then noticed the box looked familiar. It was Amelia, saying you had asked her to bring your letters to me. Sweetness, I have to go take my walk, and then I will meditate for a while before reading some old love letters.

  Like you, I picture us together within weeks. I even called the lodge to see if they have cabins available about six weeks from now. Only a few, so we may have to change our plans. Also in anticipation, I am cleaning out my closets to make room for your things and working on getting in the best possible shape.

  My love, your words of longing and desire touch similar chords within my heart, my soul. Do not be concerned whether you will elicit a response from your woman. That you will satisfy my every need and desire is not something I question. Were you here with me in the last half hour? I felt your presence and knew the sweet, rich promise of your love.

  A positive sign! Tara is going to my apartment today to clean and air it out, ready for my discharge. She is a very thoughtful person and a take-charge one. You will like her. I already think of my home being with you—my apartment will be just a stopping place for a few weeks.

  More good news! I can go for a drive with Vince and Tara tomor-row. J.T. said the nurses won’t be happy about it, but they will cap off the IV with a heparin lock. I am sick of looking at these four walls s, and my daily walks around the corridor leave a lot to be desired.

  The drive yesterday was perfect; today has been another one of good news/bad news. The good is that the virus has been defeated. The bad is that my heart valve has not healed as much as they had hoped. I have tried to write several times today but have not found the words. To try to explain how I feel is too depressing to contemplate—suffice it to say that I’ve had better days.

  Have you been trying to reach out to me? I know you can’t begin to imagine what it is like for me here. I have to sometimes weigh carefully what I write so you don’t realize how depressed I get. I want you here. I need you. Sweetness, I love you with all that I am.

  How do I love thee … let me count the ways. Michael, one of the many things I love about you is that you have been such a wonderful father and that you will be still to the girls. I look forward to knowing Vince, in part, because so much of who he is has come from you. I want you to know Kenna and Callie and they want you in their lives. Together, we will be the family that all of us have wanted. Happy Father’s Day

  I’m glad you had the same experience of us being together the other night. It reaffirms my faith in us, in our ability to connect. It is a great comfort to let our love, our spirits, surround me—almost like a shield, secure and protective.

  We went for a drive again today, followed the river and stopped where I have felt so near to you. It was a spectacular, sunny day and I was able to walk around a bit. I am filled with hope that soon we will walk together.

  I showed Vince your card. He got tears in his eyes too, a chip off the old block. They gave me a new putter I’ve been wanting. With these positive vibes around me, how can I lose? Sweetheart, keep your faith in our future and I will too. I love you beyond reason.

  Michael, I know so well what I am missing, no less than if we had spent our lives together. Can you believe I will have patience, will wait as long as it takes, if I tell you I need you so much it hurts, until I sometimes think I can’t stand it? I think it will be like the pain of childbirth, forgotten when it is over, endured in the knowledge of the joy it will bring. The pain is less now, but my longing for you remains and will only increase until I am in your arms.

  I must tell you about my visitor. A priest came into my room, an older man, a kindly expression on his face. I thought it was a routine visit, but then he said my name, and yours.

  He knew everything about us. He spoke of how we are being tested and said that our love will endure these troubled times. He asked if I believe all that I have been told by Amelia. When I answered yes, he said, “Then know that you and Teresa hold the key to your destinies.” As he turned to walk away, I asked, “Father, are you Eli?” He turned around and, with a beneficent smile, said, “Yes, Michael.” I still feel sort of tingly all over and two feet off the ground.

  Can you believe it, sweetheart? I feel as if I have been touched by the hand of God. I can only compare it to my near-death experience. I feel much the same as I did then, when I first woke up from it.

  I have been reading random letters, reminded of the man I first came to know, his substance and his essence. We met so gloriously in autumn’s fair breeze and then came through a winter melancholy. Spring was almost our undoing, but now warm summer winds promise to bring us together before the seasons have come full circle. When I think of how soon it could be, the length of our time apart fades to insignificance.

  Sweet Michael mine, when we meet we will already know each other, even as we begin a lifetime of discovery. A short while ago, I reached out to you, and I am now filled with love and contentment. It is all that we have experienced, and there is something more—a larger presence surrounding us—our invisible choir.

  Good morning, sweetness. As you can see, I didn’t get back to this last night. My attorney found me on the deck and we finalized some paperwork. As I was about to write, Vince came and spent his break with me. I felt you intensely close again when I went to bed, just like old times, and I woke up with you in my arms this morning. I adore you.

  I asked Amelia about Eli’s appearance. She said, “I had no prior knowledge that he would be here. Eli is not one to announce his plans.” I feel truly honored by his visit. Eli has given us his blessing and his assurance that I can recover. I will, sweetness.

  Were you out walking today? It is cool here for late June. I intended to write more but was interrupted by a phone call from my attorney, and now dinner is here. I will eat, then take my walk around the corridors, and write more later…

  ParT III

  A Search for Truth

  26. A Predator Stalks

  MICHAEL … I AM NOT ready to say goodbye. Never again will I read your words of love … never will I hear you call me sweetness. I struggle to express what is in my heart. I can’t. I won’t even try. You know—and now you know what might have been. Can you see us with our babies?

  I can hear a procession of honking horns a few blocks from here, in celebration of a wedding. Just yesterday, the prospect of our meeting imminent, our girls and I were talking of the day that we would be married. One of them said, “You’re going to look so pretty standing there with your beautiful daughters.” Now I will never see you in the suit you bought, so full of hope for our future, so certain you would be wearing it that day, Vince and J.T. by your side.

  6/26

  I am back, my love. Last night, a moment of relative calm could not last as I pictured us, just weeks from now, in the place we had made plans to meet. I finally slept a little and woke this morning thinking my tears had run dry. I was soon proved wrong and now they have come again. I will try later.

  It is almost midnight. I am not so much calm now as spent, but I am unable to sleep. It was a few hours earlier, two nights ago, that Zachary came to the door, a first for either him or Sally. I thought she must be in a terrible crisis. Puzz
led, I merely nodded when he asked if he could come in. He stepped through the doorway, paused, and asked, “Are your daughters home?”

  I knew then, but I did not let myself know. I answered that the girls were at a friend’s for the night and invited him to be seated, going through the motions of civility. He took an old oak captain’s chair, its solid simplicity suiting his nature. I sat on the loveseat opposite and waited for him to speak.

  I was still trying to ignore an insistent, internal alarm when Zachary bluntly stated, “Michael is dead.” There would have been no point in his trying to soften the blow. My immediate reaction was a futile attempt to deny your reality. I almost asked Zachary, “Are you tired of playing your little game? Have you had enough of maintaining this fiction?” I did admit to him that I wanted to deny your very existence, that it would be easier than facing the truth. I flashed back to the day in April when I was told you were dying—this time there would be no reprieve. I will tell you about it.

  Zachary is here for less than ten minutes. I know what is coming for me. Not wanting to face it, I return to the book I had been reading and finish the last ten pages, aware of keeping at bay what I do not want to feel. There will be no going back.

  I am crouched far back in a cave, knowing that pain is lying in wait—there is no escape. It will stalk me relentlessly, like the predator it is. That pain exists before and beyond any words, a primeval cry rising up from the earth itself, cried out to the unknown forces that control our fates. I see an image of earth-red streaks, a naked figure, a ravaged face howling into the wind.

  I sit, unseeing and unfeeling, as the reality of your death slowly settles in, and the life force that courses through my body morphs to a slow-moving sludge. Time passes. I force myself to get up. I call the girls, woodenly ask them to come home; they want to know why. I can only repeat, with more intensity, “Just come home.”