Our Fragile Hearts

by Buffy Andrews

  I climbed in bed next to her and snuggled up.

  “Rachel?”

  “Yeah, Pipe.”

  “Jacy says there isn’t a Santa. Is it true?”

  My heart sank. I wasn’t prepared for Piper’s question and it took me off guard. “What do you think, Pipe?”

  “I think there is.”

  “Then there’s your answer.”

  “Rachel?”

  “Yes, Pipe?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think there is, too.”

  After Piper fell asleep, I slipped out of her bed and back to my room. I pulled out my diary and wrote.

  December 6, 2015

  Tonight couldn’t have been more perfect. Well, that’s not true. If I wasn’t sick it would have been even more perfect. I used to wonder why I got sick, why bad things happen to good people. I stopped wondering, though, because I really don’t think there’s an answer. It’s not like God is up there saying, “Well, now, we have to throw some trials and tribulations Rachel’s way to test her faith.” Bad stuff just happens sometimes without rhyme or reason. It’s the quirkiness of life.

  But tonight I realized that while a lot of bad stuff has happened to me, a lot of good stuff has, too. Mary and Piper. Claire and Nick. They’re my family and they aren’t going anywhere. For a long time, I wouldn’t let myself care too much about someone else. It was my way of protecting me. I didn’t want to love anyone because if I didn’t love them I wouldn’t get hurt when they left. But I see that loving someone and losing them is part of life, too. And I’d rather spend a minute having that kind of love than a lifetime without it.

  Rachel

  In the weeks that followed, Mary turned the house into a winter wonderland. I’ve never seen a more beautifully decorated house. Each day more presents appeared beneath the tree. Of course, these weren’t the ones from Santa. Those Mary wrapped in special paper and hid.

  “What do you think about me getting Piper a dog for Christmas?” Mary asked me one day.

  I smiled. “You know she’d love it.”

  “Well, I’ve been checking,” Mary said. “I’ve found a local breeder who has a female pup that will be six weeks old. He’s holding her for me. I wanted to check with you first to see what you thought.”

  “Mary, I think it’s a wonderful idea. It will make Piper’s Christmas.”

  The thought of Piper getting a dog made me look forward to Christmas even more. I was lucky because Christmas arrived during my break in chemo so I wasn’t as tired as I would’ve been otherwise.

  A few days before Christmas, Piper and Mary came home shopping with Christmas pajamas for each of us.

  “I’d like to start a new tradition,” Mary said. “Each year, we’ll buy a pair of Christmas pajamas and wear them Christmas Eve.”

  Piper handed me a bag and I pulled out a beautiful soft purple nightgown trimmed in white lace. I rubbed the fabric against my cheek. “It feels silky soft.”

  Piper showed me hers, which was similar to mine but pink. “And Mommy got blue,” Piper said.

  Mary held up her nightgown.

  “I love you in blue, Mary. It shows off your gorgeous eyes and hair.”

  When Christmas Eve came, we went to church and then came home and put on our new nightgowns.

  Piper opened the tab on the Advent calendar Mary had bought her. “And tomorrow I’ll open the last door,” she said. “And then it will be Christmas!”

  Piper set out a plate of cookies and milk for Santa and carrots for the reindeer.

  Seeing Christmas through the eyes of a child was truly magical and I wished for some of that magic myself. Maybe the new year would bring it. I hoped so. By next Christmas I hoped to be through radiation and back in college.

  The next morning Piper burst into my room. “It’s Christmas, Rachel! Get up! Get up! Santa was here!”

  I rolled over and pulled the cover over my head, pretending to fall back to sleep. Piper bounced on my bed and shook me. “Come on, Rachel! Get up! Don’t you want to see what Santa brought you?”

  I peeled the cover down over my face.

  Piper’s eyes were as big as half dollars. “And our stockings are full, too.”

  “Okay, Pipe. I’m coming.”

  I slipped out of bed. When I walked into the living room, I couldn’t believe it myself. I’d helped Mary put out the gifts the night before, but she had added substantially to my pile.

  I’d never see so many presents for one person – ever. Mary only had a few, but you’d have thought by the way she acted she had more than Piper and me combined.

  Mary snapped photos as Piper and I opened our gifts.

  “Why don’t you open yours?” I asked.

  “I will. I’m enjoying watching you girls.”

  A mountain of colorful paper formed on the floor between Piper and me. Seeing Piper so happy made me choke back my tears.

  I picked up my jewel-quilted red-velvet stocking. Mary had a local seamstress make them for us and our names were embroidered at the top. I remember getting a stocking once or twice in my life, but never anything like the one Mary had prepared. It was stuffed with small wrapped gifts and I began to empty it, unwrapping one at a time. She had included a lot of useful items, like deodorant and hand sanitizer. Finally, I was down to the last gift, the one in the toe of the stocking.

  I pulled out a small box. Mary was poised with her camera to apparently capture this moment. I tore off the wrapping paper and opened the small velvet case.

  “Oh, Mary!” I melted in tears and heard Mary’s camera clicking.

  “Let me see! Let me see!” Piper scooted over to look.

  I showed her the huge beautiful diamond ring with blue sapphires, my birthstone, on either side.

  “That’s pretty,” Piper said.

  “It’s beautiful Mary. I don’t know what to say.”

  Mary put down her camera and hugged me. “A beautiful ring for an even more beautiful daughter.”

  Piper and I had finished opening all our gifts when she gave me the signal to bring in the puppy. She’d made arrangements to have someone drop it off and we’d kept it hidden from Piper.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I left to get the puppy. When I returned, Piper was playing with her new doll.

  “It looks like Santa left one more for you, Pipe.” I sat the box down in front of her.

  Piper heard yelps and she opened the box and scooped the grapefruit-sized puppy into her arms. “A real puppy! Santa brought me a real puppy!”

  If I could have bottled Piper’s reaction that morning I would have. I can’t even describe what I felt just then. About all of it. Mary. Piper. The ring. The puppy. The love that was in that room was like nothing I had ever experienced. And I knew that no matter what happened with my illness, I’d been given the greatest gift of all. It wasn’t the ring. It wasn’t the mountain of gifts I’d just opened. It was something that had eluded me my entire life. We had become a family and that was the greatest gift I could have possibly received.

  December 25, 2015

  Today I’m at a loss for words. Imagine that! Rachel not being able to think of what to write! But the truth is I’m almost afraid to write it down, afraid that if I do it will leave me somehow. And I don’t want how I feel to ever leave me. I want to hug it forever.

  I’m not sure anyone would be able to understand that. But when you wait your whole life for something and you finally get it, you’re afraid that you’ll somehow lose it. That someone will come along and say, “Sorry, we made a mistake.” Or, “Sorry, you’re not good enough to have this life we gave you.” So I’m just going to hug it for a while, care for it like I’ve cared for Piper. And maybe someday, when I’m not afraid it will go away at the snap of a finger, I can tell you more. For now, know that I am happy and at peace and that, no matter what happens with my cancer, I have what I always wanted: A family.

  Love, Rachel

  Epilogue

  Rac
hel

  I never thought I’d feel a baby growing inside of me. After two miscarriages, Nick and I were about to give up trying to have a child of our own and adopt. And then it happened. At first, we didn’t tell anyone about the baby. I was afraid to, afraid that if I told anyone, even Piper, I’d miscarry again. So we kept the pregnancy a secret and I worried about every little ache and pain.

  I don’t know what I would’ve done without Nick. We’d been together fourteen years, married on the fifth anniversary of me being cancer free. Mother threw us a beautiful reception on our south lawn, where we were also married. I miss Mother so much. She died right before I learned I was pregnant for the third time. She would’ve loved seeing my big belly and I’m sure would’ve insisted on outfitting the entire nursery. She loved babies. It was one of the reasons she volunteered as a cuddler at the hospital’s neonatal intensive care unit. And it was why she donated the money to build a new state of the art NICU.

  Sometimes I’m afraid the cancer will return. The fear is always in my mind, lurking in dark passages and hiding in the shadows of so many tragedies. But then I feel my baby kick or see her tiny hand poke my belly from the inside out and I know that all is well with the world.

  Nick and I know the cancer could come back, but we’ve decided to focus on what’s happening and not what could happen. Life is too short not to. We live, we love, we die. And in those moments of doubt during the stillness of the day, I think about Mother and all she did for Piper and me. And I know just what I will do to honor her.

  ***

  I don’t remember much of the ride to the hospital. The contractions were getting closer and closer and I wasn’t prepared for the intense pain that racked my body. I thought they would feel like really bad menstrual cramps, but the pain was a million times worse. It radiated across my lower back and felt like someone had their hands deep inside of me and was twisting my internal organs. Then it would subside and start all over again. I tried breathing like I’d learned in class, but the searing pain made it hard to concentrate.

  Piper was on one side of me and Nick was on the other.

  “You’re doing great, sweetheart,” Nick said. “I love you so much. You’re doing great.”

  The pain came in waves. I could feel it begin, crest and subside.

  Over and over.

  Harder.

  Faster.

  More intense.

  Suddenly I had this incredible urge to push! “Ugh!”

  The doctor was at the end of the delivery table. “I can see the head. We’re almost there.”

  I looked at Piper. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Nick’s right, Rach. The baby’s almost here.”

  “NOW!” the doctor yelled. “Give me one more big push.”

  I gave it everything I had. It felt as if I was squeezing out my entire insides but I just kept pushing.

  The next thing I knew I heard my baby.

  “You have a daughter,” the doctor said. “Congratulations!”

  Nick cut the umbilical cord and laid Mary Katherine next to my beating heart where I knew she would stay forever and ever.

  I love you, Mary Katherine, forever and always.

  Loved Our Fragile Hearts? Turn the page for a sneak peek at The Moment Keeper…

  Chapter 1

  “But you promised. You promised you’d be there for me,” says Olivia, tears exploding from her swollen eyes.

  Cole runs his fingers through his dark, curly hair. “I know what I said. But. It’s just that I’m supposed to go to college and …”

  “So college is more important than me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “Look, Lib. I love you. You know that. I’m just not ready for this.”

  “And I am?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. We’re both not ready.”

  “Well, it’s a little too late for that realization. You should have thought about that two months ago when you convinced me to have sex with you.”

  Cole punches the bed and stands up. “Damn it, Lib. That’s a cheap shot. You’re not going to pin this all on me. You wanted to do it, too. It’s not like I forced you.”

  “Just leave. Leave.”

  “I don’t want to leave you like this. I want to talk about our options.”

  “Options? There are no options. I’m pregnant. With your child. You don’t want it. You’ve made that clear. Look, this is my problem. Not yours. So just go. Now.”

  Cole grabs his varsity jacket and takes two steps toward Olivia before she backs away. “Look, Lib. I can’t talk to you when you get like this. Can we talk later? When you calm down.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. We did it once. Once. And I got pregnant and you want out. Well, I’m giving you your out. There’s the door.”

  “Lib, if I could go back in time and change that one moment I would.” Cole walks out the bedroom door and Olivia throws one of Daisy’s squeaky toys at him. The rubber bone hits Cole in the back but he doesn’t turn around.

  Olivia flops on her bed and pulls her boney knees up to her heaving chest. Tears soak her blue satin pillow. Her cries feel like a knife twisting in my heart. I want to comfort her. To hold her in my arms and tell her that things are never as bad as they seem. That I understand her pain and that she needs to be strong.

  But I can’t.

  All I can do, all I have ever been able to do, is watch and record the moments of her life as they unfold. I’m her moment keeper. It’s my job to record her life story, to capture and hold every moment she ever lived so that when she dies I’m able to play them back for her, one after another.

  Olivia spots her purple fuzzy bathrobe draped over the footboard of her cherry bed. She pulls the belt out and sits up, wrapping it around her right hand. I know what she’s thinking. I always know. It’s part of being her moment keeper. I always know what she thinks and feel what she feels. Her joys and sorrows and fears become mine.

  Of all of the moments I’ve recorded in Olivia’s life, this is the most difficult yet. She’s thinking about killing herself, about using her bathrobe belt, wondering if it’s strong enough or if she should use one of the leather belts in her closet.

  It takes me back to the day my life ended – the day I killed myself.

  The moment I pulled the trigger, I knew it was a mistake. But it was too late. I was dead and there was no turning back.

  I had thought about the moment forever. Pictured it in my mind again and again. Like it was some damn movie that never ended. Just played over and over and over.

  I thudded to the floor, sinking in a pool of blood. Someone reached for my hand and told me to come. She wasn’t talking talking but thinking what she wanted me to hear. Her name was Wendy and she knew that my name was Sarah.

  She was iridescent and flowing and not well defined. Sort of shaped like a person but not quite. More like a ghost. Don’t ask me how, but I knew she was friendly. I knew that she wanted to help me.

  She was pulling me, pulling me. But it wasn’t me, me. That me was bathed in blood on the cold bathroom floor where I shot myself just seconds before.

  We flowed away from the blood splattered bathroom toward a vertical thin line of light. Wendy told me I had a job to do. Job to do? I almost laughed. Can a dead person laugh? Maybe not quite.

  I heard voices and looked back. The Ace of Hearts Grandma gave me floated in the expanding pool of blood.

  I felt Wendy tug and I turned to see the vertical thin line of light widen and suck us in like a strong vacuum before sealing completely.

  I was surrounded my hundreds of iridescent beings and then I realized that I was one, too. We stood, er, floated in the middle, surrounded by all of these beings or spirits or whatever they were. Wendy put her hands on my head and held them there.

  A tingling coursed through me as I heard Wendy in my mind. She explained that I, like her, was a moment keeper. She told me that she would show me the moments of my l
ife, moments she had collected since my birth.

  What I saw brought me great pain and joy. There were days upon days spent in Grandma’s arms or by her side. And days upon days of my dad coming home smelling like he’d bathed in whiskey. I begged Wendy to stop when a moment was too painful, but she just kept going. I began to see how one moment was tied to another and another and how they intertwined to form the tapestry of my life, a life that ended much too soon at my own hands.

  Wendy said it was my turn to be a moment keeper, my turn to record the moments in someone’s life just as she had recorded those in mine. She was moving on to a place where time didn’t exist, a place where only happy moments were allowed and the bad ones were left behind.

  I pleaded with Wendy to stay, to help me. How was I to know how to do this moment keeper thing? What if I screwed it up? Missed recording a memory? But she just wrapped me in her warmth and somehow I knew I would be all right. She had given me one last gift – the confidence and understanding I needed to do what I had to do. And when she released me from her embrace, she was gone and I was on earth beside Olivia.

  Chapter 2

  “Oh Tom, isn’t she the most beautiful baby you’ve ever seen? Perfect in every way.”

  Tears pull in Elizabeth’s chocolate eyes as she kisses the head of the sleeping infant in her arms.

  Tom sits down beside her on the burgundy leather couch. “So what do you want to name her? How about Hope because she’s everything that we had hoped for.”

  Elizabeth looks up at Tom. “Can we give her my grandmother’s name? And Hope for her middle name?”

  “So Olivia Hope?”

  Elizabeth nods.

  “That’s perfect,” Tom says. “Olivia Hope Kennedy.”

  Watching this tender moment made me feel warm. That’s what happens when a moment keeper records a good moment, a happy one. Our spirit bodies feel warm. We can’t cry or turn red or show any of the outward physical signs a living human would, but warmth courses through our spirit bodies when a moment is joyful and a razor-sharp chill when it’s not.