The Broken Miracle

by J. D. Netto

  OCTOBER 1987

  I sat on the floor of my bedroom, legs crossed, back pressed against the foot of my bed, and an Indiana Jones novel in hand. Jonahs was on his bed flipping through a geology book he got from a friend. Recovery was going well, the pacemaker clearly working since my fingers and lips were no longer blue.

  Stephanie’s face would enter my mind every so often throughout the day. And I’d dream of her every other night. She’d wave at me from my bedside, her smile a faint line. I couldn’t wait to see her again and hoped that tube would be gone by then. Even Jonahs was looking forward to meeting her whenever she was able to visit.

  Dan barged into the room and plopped on his bed. “Paul, Mom wants you,” he said, beginning to flip through the pages of a comic book.

  “Everything okay?” My eyes remained on the yellowed pages of my book.

  “Didn’t ask. I’m more concerned about Superman at the moment.”

  I tossed the worn-out copy on the floor and grasped the foot of the bed to stand. Jonahs immediately leapt from his bed and put his shoulder under my arm, helping me to my feet. Dan lifted his eyes from the comic book to observe.

  “I’m okay,” I said with a chuckle. “I promise you.”

  “Just making sure,” he said.

  There was this sense of achievement every time I managed to walk up the steps into the kitchen without my lungs begging for air.

  My parents were putting the groceries away.

  “Need any help?” I asked.

  “No, honey,” Mom said, stowing a few cans of soup in the pantry. “Just take a seat.”

  I pulled a stool out and sat by the counter, the kitchen illuminated by the rays of the setting sun.

  Mom wiped her hands on a cloth by the stove and sat next to me. Dad reclined on the counter, arms folded.

  “Your dad and I saw Patsy at the market,” she said, holding my hand. “Stephanie died, sweetie.”

  I jerked my hand away. “What do you mean?”

  “We grabbed lunch after we saw each other at the store,” Dad said. “She told us she died a few days after you left.”

  “No, no, no,” I mumbled. “How? I mean…”

  “She had an unusual case of cystic fibrosis,” Dad answered.

  I had heard about cystic fibrosis before. The disease slowly destroys the lungs and digestive system. In my head, I imagined a beast crawling around inside her body, eating her organs away.

  “I get that she was really sick, but she should have lived longer, right?” I asked, hoping to find reason. “She should have had the chance to leave that hospital too. This is so unfair.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mom said. “There aren’t explanations for situations like these. That doesn’t mean we won’t get to understand them in the future. God—”

  “God,” I scoffed. “Oh, I believe in Him, alright. But why do some get their miracle while others don’t?”

  “All eventually get their miracle,” Dad said. “Some in this world. Others in the next.”

  “And what are we supposed to learn from all this?” I barked.

  “Paul.” Mom’s voice was like a warm blanket. “Time can be a great teacher. You may not see it now. You may not even understand what I’m about to say. But pain gives us wisdom. It numbs us to the things that don’t truly matter.”

  I tried to keep it from rolling away, but a tear escaped the corner of my eye.

  “Her mom said your company kept her alive a little longer.” Dad’s words hurt Sawyer and me both. “Doctors kept telling her not to wander down the halls so she could save her strength.” He forced a sad smile. “But they were amazed that she kept hanging on. Maybe she held on a little longer because she kept visiting you.”

  “She told her mom you were the star that made her darkness a little brighter,” Mom said. “Maybe you provided more joy in those few days than she had in her lifetime. You were her friend at the end.”

  “Her friend,” I groaned, defeated.

  “We’re so sorry.” Mom wiped the tear rolling down my cheek with a finger. “We wish we could keep you safe from the world. But sorrow is a part of life.” She sighed. “We’re here if you need to talk.”

  “There’s not much to say, is there? I’m going—I’m going for a walk.”

  “Paul,” Dad said. “It’ll be alright.”

  How do you know, Dad? You’ve never had someone cut you open to fix your brokenness. You’ve never had to live the life I do. Yes, we all expect death at some point, but I hear its whispers every single day. I don’t remember you ever having to call a hospital home. I don’t need sympathy from healthy people.

  I darted into my room.

  “You okay?” Jonahs stared at me like he’d seen a ghost.

  Dan’s eyes followed me.

  I opened the drawer of the nightstand and grabbed my Walkman.

  Jonahs dropped the book on his bed and sat up. “You want—”

  “Not now, Jonahs!”

  I grabbed a sweatshirt from the closet, walked upstairs, and went outside. My ability to breathe perfectly made me angrier. I got my so-called miracle. She didn’t.

  The crisp fall air brushed my cheeks as I wandered down the street, observing the sun setting behind Mount Olympus. I pressed play on my Walkman, ready to embrace whatever song played from the mix tape I made when I came home from the hospital. Ironically, the cassette began playing “How Soon Is Now?” by The Smiths.

  Stephanie kept visiting some broken boy, wasting her energy when she could’ve stayed in bed conserving her strength. That’s all I kept thinking.

  I walked aimlessly, as if my walking could bring her back. But as darkness crawled across the sky, I realized she had become like the sun, setting on this world to rise on the next. Only there had been no afternoon to warn anyone that Stephanie’s sun was about to set.

  The days that followed were filled with questions—the majority without any logical answers. What was life’s criteria for choosing those who lived and died? Death had been a close friend of mine since birth, yet, despite our closeness, never picked me.

  What was it? What did I have that made me go on? I was sure God heard my thoughts of death and how I was ready for it. I’d been praying to God ever since my parents taught me. And yet, still, it skipped me. Sawyer must’ve also been tired of being cut and bruised by doctors. Why hadn’t the bastard just quit yet?

  It had been two weeks since she died. I went to bed earlier than usual. Dan and Jonahs were engrossed in some cartoon in the living room, but I wanted to be alone with the image of her face. Somehow, seeing her in my head eased my guilt of being alive. But Jonahs interrupted me. He entered the room a few minutes after I was under the covers.

  “You alright?” He stood by the foot of my bed in dinosaur pajamas.

  “You keep asking me that,” I replied, eyes on the ceiling and hands crossed over my chest.

  “It wasn’t your fault.” His words surprised me. “You don’t think I haven’t noticed you lately? Ever since Mom told you about Stephanie, it’s like you feel guilty for every breath you take. You’re punishing yourself for something you didn’t do.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what to feel. I just keep wondering why.”

  “Maybe she stuck around a little longer so you could live,” he said. “She decided to spend whatever energy she had left to make you smile.”

  “That’s an unfair thing to say.”

  “Is it?” He sat on my bed. “Is it unfair to help someone else in need? Someone like you?”

  “When it costs their life? Yes.”

  “But if we don’t live to help each other, then what’s the point? What if you gave her life more meaning? Did you think about that?” He scratched the back of his uncombed head of hair.

  “Do we ever get to ask life anything?” I asked, my back now pressed
against the headboard. “Or do we just go along with whatever it throws our way?”

  “We can ask for the wisdom to live it. And the courage to understand it.”

  I stared at my ten-year-old brother and wondered where he got all that from.

  “If you feel guilty, you erase all the good she did for you. You’re practically putting her in a box of suffering. We all have a version of paradise. Maybe you were the paradise that gave her a few extra days on this Earth.” His gaze shifted to the ground. “Maybe you’re here because of her. Maybe I have you next to me because of her.”

  All I See Is Snow

  DECEMBER 2008

  “Jingle Blels, Jingle Blels,” Neil sang around the house as if performing at a concert. He wore a red bow tie and suspenders over a white shirt with Christmas trees all over it.

  I watched my favorite entertainer from the couch while waiting for Olivia. My portable oxygen cylinder was already blowing air up my nose. Around my waste was the fanny pack containing my dosage of Milrinone. A tube stemmed from the right side and snaked up my shirt and out the sleeve, pumping medicine into the artery on my right arm. It was taped to my skin so it wouldn’t be jerked away by accident. This was the most comfortable I could be while leaving the house since receiving the pager—which had already become obsolete. Since the majority of people had cellphones, the pager program faded.

  I was looking forward to spending Christmas Eve at my parents’. Truth be told, I couldn’t wait to spend a few hours beyond the walls of my home. It was worth the risk. Such moments had become a rare occasion. I had barely seen my parents since August. Mom also told me Jonahs was finally coming, his first time visiting since he moved to Arizona.

  Thankfully, inspiration didn’t need a healthy body to thrive. I kept composing. I’d wake up, and the first thing I’d do was go to the piano. I’d shut my eyes and escape to a place in my mind where my body was healthy and my heart strong. But when the melodies ceased, reality remained, and the tubes inserted into my body reminded me of the truth.

  I had released two projects that year: Living for Eden and The Hymns Collection. I needed to keep the money coming in due to the extra medical expenses not covered by my insurance. I even had another release scheduled for next year entitled Sacred Piano. The music would also be a source of income for Olivia and Neil in case I didn’t make it.

  “Neil, you’re going to puke if you keep doing that!” I said, watching him spin while singing “Jingle Blels.”

  There were three oxygen cylinders lined up against the wall next to the stairs. They were also coming with us in case I needed an extra boost. Neil’s reflection graced their metal surfaces as he kept on spinning and singing.

  My son’s unblemished joy was the canvas, paint, and brush my mind needed to create a picture of Stephanie from all those years ago. Her big eyes and the tube—that damn tube—spilling out of her throat. My fingers followed the oxygen tubes on my face as I remembered the sound of her footsteps filling my hospital room whenever she visited. She spent the energy she had left on a broken boy with a broken heart. I was ready to do the same for my family. Even if the call never came.

  “Ready to go?” Olivia walked into the living room, wearing a black dress down to her knees and a red belt with a bow around the waist. She was in flats, hair tied up, her perfume as sweet as her smile.

  “You’re going to freeze in that dress,” I said, standing up.

  “I’ll be fine.” She handed over my coat. “It’s a five-second walk to the car and a five-second walk to your parents’ house.”

  I waited by the door as Olivia carried the cylinders outside. It was ironic that the oxygen doctors prescribed for people who struggled to breathe came in containers that weighed about twenty pounds each. I had to watch my wife carry them through the snow, feeling like I couldn’t carry my own weight.

  We could hear the whole family from the driveway, the sounds of laughter, chatter, and Christmas music spilling out of the house. The front yard was a Christmas wonderland; six reindeer were positioned on one side, their heads bobbing up and down. The tree on the opposite side was wrapped in golden lights, fake gifts placed at its base. And the wreath on the door was wrapped in multicolored lights.

  A joyful roar erupted once we walked inside. Mom rushed our way, greeted us, and scooped up Neil, taking him to the living room where he joined his cousin Zoe. I couldn’t believe Jonahs and Hannah’s daughter was almost two. Where had the time gone?

  My parents went overboard on the decorations again. There was a Christmas arrangement on every piece of furniture. Santas, reindeer, elves, and snowmen hung on every wall. The house smelled of cookies, chocolate, and freshly baked banana bread.

  I suddenly became very aware of the tube in my arm as Olivia helped me remove my coat. It prickled at my skin but thankfully remained in place. I looked for Jonahs and Hannah, but they were nowhere in sight.

  I dragged my oxygen cylinder to the couch near the kitchen window. I knew Mount Olympus was out there, hidden by the night.

  The Christmas tree was on the opposite side of the couch. Silver and red decorations clung to the pine swaddled in lights and icicles.

  I scanned everyone’s faces, listened to their laughter, and wondered if I’d be back next year. As I wheezed, my attention shifted to the door leading down to the basement. I shuddered at the memory of almost passing out on those stairs. And there I was again, lungs crawling for breath, Sawyer begging for life, and my body slowly turning to skin and bone.

  Footsteps startled me. They were followed by laughter. Jonahs and Hannah emerged from the basement dressed in ugly Christmas sweaters. Hannah’s was bright red, crowded with candy canes and reindeer. Jonahs’ sweater was blue, its pattern a collection of Santas dressed in beach clothes. Jonahs’ smile dimmed when he saw me. He remained still as the color drained from his face.

  “Paul!” Hannah walked toward me, clearly trying to break the awkward tension. “How are you? It’s been a while.”

  “I’m great,” I replied in a raspy voice. “According to Neil, I look like Pinocchio with all the strings attached.”

  “Hey, if that’s what it takes to keep you alive, Paulie.” Her eyes darted over her shoulder.

  Jonahs stood a few feet back, eyes glazed over and staring into the distance, head twitching.

  “Hey, man,” I said. “Going to say hello? I haven’t heard from you in forever. So, what, you move to Arizona and forget your brother?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He snapped out of his daze, trudging toward me with shuddering breaths. “Been…just been busy. Things are a little crazy with Zoe and things...”

  He’d try to look at me, but he just couldn’t.

  “It’s good to see you,” I said.

  “Good to see you,” he whispered. “Yeah, it’s good. But shouldn’t you be home? Mom said you were going to be home.”

  Hannah scowled and laced her fingers with his.

  “It’s Christmas,” I said, confused. “Why would I stay home?”

  “Got to stay healthy,” he mumbled. “For your new heart, right? Too many people here, no?”

  They retreated to the living room before I had the chance to say anything. Mom stared at me from a distance before making her way over.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “You told Jonahs I wasn’t going to be here.” I frowned. “Why?”

  She took in a worried breath. “Hannah…she…said he’s been acting strange since we told him about the transplant.”

  “So you had to tell him I wouldn’t be here?”

  “She said he’s been very anxious about your situation, Paul.” She sat on the armrest of the couch. “Your brother is just worried.” A brief silence. “And his diagnosis didn’t help. I figured this would make it easier. If he saw you.”

  “What diagnosis are you talking about?” Our eyes
locked, hers filled with sadness.

  “Your brother saw a few doctors over the summer. One diagnosed him as bipolar, and the other said he has severe anxiety. We’re just trying to avoid things that might trigger him right now.”

  “And none of you thought about telling me that?” I asked.

  “How could we add more weight to your shoulders? I knew if I told you, you’d stay home, but God knows how long you—” An exasperated breath was all she managed.

  I remained rooted to the couch as Mom rejoined the family. Neil, Zoe, and the other cousins were inseparable. Jonahs remained aloof. Hannah would glance at me here and there. I didn’t need to say anything; she knew I was aware of what was happening to my brother.

  At one point in the night, the family gathered to watch the kids do a play of the nativity scene. They had costumes, a manger, and a Cabbage Patch doll that was supposed to be baby Jesus. We were all in a circle in the living room so the kids had enough space to act out their scenes. The couch by the window was my VIP seat. Olivia eventually joined me. While Dad narrated the story, Joseph lost his fake beard, Mary tripped on the train of her robe, and Cabbage Patch Jesus got knocked off the manger by one of the cousins dressed like a lamb. It was an adorably bad skit.

  Dinner followed their hilarious enactment. Everyone ate, drank, and talked. I tried to get in the spirit but kept noticing that Jonahs didn’t engage at all. He excused himself from the table and didn’t come back.

  I stood in the doorway looking down into the dark basement, the sounds of mutters and whimpers just barely reaching my ears. I held on to the wooden rail, picked up my oxygen tank, and started my climb down. Step by step. Breath by breath. Whenever I lost my balance, I pressed my shoulder against the wall, closed my eyes, and counted to ten before continuing.

  The whimpers evolved into painful moans as I approached the bottom of the stairs. The door to our room was slightly open, the only source of light the glow of the Christmas lights coming through the window.