Proof of Heaven

by Mary Curran Hackett

  “Thank you, Dr. Basu. Thank you! At least someone understands,” Colm said, crossing his arms. He didn’t want to throw a tantrum, but he couldn’t help it. He was so anxious. He couldn’t control what he was feeling.

  Chapter 32

  Dr. Basu brought the car around to pick up Cathleen, Sean, and Colm. Cathleen handed Dr. Basu the address from the faded paper, and he typed it into the GPS.

  2000 E. Observatory

  “We’re all set,” Dr. Basu said to Colm.

  Dr. Basu listened to the directions and turned accordingly. Despite his mother’s protests, Colm unbuckled his seatbelt prematurely and leaned over the front seat, listening with bated breath and watching the red line of the car on the map. They ascended a tall hill, which had signs along the way for Griffith Observatory, and he could tell they were getting close—the road on the map was about to disappear.

  “It looks like we’re almost there,” Colm said in disbelief. His heart was racing. His palms, oddly, began to sweat. He couldn’t remember ever sweating, ever.

  “Maybe it’s wrong, hon. Maybe there are roads that shoot off by the observatory—maybe he lives up in these hills. Now sit back and put your seatbelt back on. The car’s still running,” Cathleen said.

  “This isn’t right. This can’t be it,” Colm said. “Mama? Did you write down the right address?”

  “I didn’t write anything down. This is the letter your father sent me.” Cathleen imagined a number of scenarios. Maybe he works here?

  As they crested the hill and could see the observatory in the distance, the GPS announced their arrival.

  Dr. Basu pulled out his phone and handed it to Sean to double-check the address.

  “Says here that the actual observatory address is 2800 E. There is no known person living at 2000 E. in reverse lookup,” Sean announced, shaking his head.

  “There must be some mistake,” Colm said. “This can’t be it. This can’t be it. LIAR! Liar!” Colm screamed out again. “He’s a big, fat, phony liar!”

  “Colm, I am so sorry. You’re right. It’s just the wrong address. He probably wrote it down wrong.”

  “No, he didn’t, Mama. You’re holding his letter. The one he wrote. He knew his address. He lied to us. He lied to me.”

  Sean sat stunned himself. He couldn’t believe Pierce had been even more of a jerk than he was already. “None of this makes any sense.”

  “Maybe he worked here. How should I know?” Cathleen said again.

  “At the observatory? I thought he played the guitar?” Colm said back.

  “Maybe he couldn’t get a job as a musician, and he got a job as a janitor or in one of the exhibits,” said Dr. Basu, offering his own rationalization.

  As Cathleen went through the scenarios again, Colm began to shake and stutter from all the excitement and agitation. “This can’t be it. We c-c-c-came all this way. All this way, and he, he, he . . . he . . . he is not . . . even . . . here.”

  As they continued driving slowly, the Griffith Observatory loomed atop the hill that overlooked the entirety of L.A. As Cathleen studied the maps on her lap, looking for some logical explanation for it all, Colm jumped out of the car while it was still moving. He fell at first, but got up, steadied himself, and tried to run. Cathleen jumped out too and ran after him.

  Colm began to shout, running awkwardly up toward the observatory, his arms windmilling as he had done trying to gain air to jump into the pool. He was screaming loudly, “NO! NO! NO!” It was a low moan punctuated by sobbing.

  “Where is he, Mama? Where is my father? I don’t understand any of it, Mama. Why?” He continued to run away from her.

  Cathleen chased after him, trying to assuage him, but nothing came out of her mouth. The pain in her heart, watching her son’s suffering, seemed more than she could bear. If she could have taken it all away, she would have. So much in this life defied explanation, she thought.

  “I don’t know, baby. I don’t know if we’ll ever know. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault,” she said, still chasing after him as he moved closer to the edge of the hill. Behind her Dr. Basu and Sean were also running up the hill, trying to get to them both.

  Colm tried to think of all the reasons why—he thought at first it was because of him. Then he thought of his mother but dismissed those thoughts. There is nothing wrong with us, he finally concluded. He tried to remember a time when he hadn’t dreamed about his father, the father who must love him and that he was so sure was waiting for him. “This was not what the friar said would happen,” he said aloud. Nothing was happening as he had hoped. He tried to think of all the things Dr. Basu and Sean and his mother had told him. You’re special, Colm. I love you, Colm. I’m so proud of you, Colm. I’ll be right here waiting. He covered his ears and continued to shake his head back and forth, hearing all of it—all the things he had refused from the people who did love him, hoping instead to hear them from his father. They were right in front of him, waiting for him, loving him. He felt his body might rip open, and when it did, he was sure millions of pointed, hot, electric stars would explode and spill out all over the mountainside. The thought of all of that love split the universe in two, tore open the sky, and he finally realized what he had known deep inside the entire time: We’re doing fine without him. There before him was his uncle Sean. He had been there before he was even born, already loving him and his mother, and already accepting him as his own. There was Dr. Basu who had come into his life so quickly. He hardly even knew Colm, but he had come to love him so easily. I didn’t have to prove a thing, Colm thought. He just had to be him, Colm—the only Colm he knew how to be. Dr. Basu had loved him and protected him from the moment he met him. And he had protected his mama, too. No, Colm didn’t need a father to protect his mama anymore, he thought. There they both were—two of the strongest, bravest men he had ever met, ready to catch her and hold her up. He loved them all so much. He wished he could tell them. He wished he could speak the words, but no words would come.

  A small crowd had gathered around the spectacle playing out before them. Then everyone stopped talking and all anyone could hear were the sobs of a small child, and all anyone was looking at was the heaving of his body with each inhalation.

  Until suddenly everything stopped.

  Cathleen reached out to touch him, but before she could, he stopped moving. He looked back at Dr. Basu and Sean, who were now both standing beside his mother. He smiled at them when he saw them, knowing she would be well cared for, knowing she would be theirs for all time. They looked at Colm, not knowing what he would do next. But Colm nodded at them. He looked at all the people standing in front of the observatory, staring at him, looking for a show, hoping for a miracle. He wished he could give them all one, especially his mother.

  But he knew.

  He could feel the blood being pulled toward his feet, and he knew his broken heart wouldn’t be able to continue beating much longer. It would only be a matter of seconds before it was all over, and this time, he somehow thought, this must be it. But he wanted to take a final look. Behind them was the City of Angels—and he laughed at the thought of it—all his mother ever did was talk of angels. She had finally made it. A small smile spread across his face as his body began to fall.

  Images of beautiful cathedral windows bursting with light flashed before his eyes. Glorious works of art, fountains, stars, and planets floated in between the massive Arch, the Brooklyn Bridge, and the shiny, shimmering skyscrapers, while flocks of giant birds swooped in and spread out over the purple Rockies before landing on the shore of the crashing blue ocean where he stood atop the spinning, twinkling Ferris wheel. From above, Colm could see his uncle dancing his mother across the sky on a cloud and he could see Dr. Basu carrying a small boy the same way he had carried him up the streets of Assisi. Wanting to go to them, to be with them all one last time, Colm dove from the top of the Ferris wheel and splashed through the water. Below the mighty waves, he found his mother again wearing her white dress and pink
sweater, swimming toward him, coming for him. Her mouth was open and she was screaming his name. She was telling him to come back. But he turned and began to swim forcefully away from her. A powerful tide pulled him away, and he could not resist its force and might. He emerged atop the surface of the water and appeared before a sparkling, magnificent white light.

  That’s when he caught her eyes with his own as he fell. She reached for him, catching him midfall, and he landed across her lap as she tumbled to the ground. She held his head against her breast. She knew there was nothing left to say. No word, no gesture, would stop it all from unfolding, but she called out his name anyway, and it echoed through the entire valley below before a serene calm washed over her. For the first time, she saw what it was Colm so long proclaimed life after death would be like. It was, for her, the end of everything; a deep, dark, cold abyss, staring back at her. Her son, her only son, was gone.

  Dr. Basu and Sean went to her and tried to take the boy from her arms and begin resuscitating him. Cathleen put her hand up and stopped them. She shook her head as each realization came to her. No. She had finally learned to let go, to let him be. No. She would not let him suffer anymore. No. She would not bring him back again so she, she could have her miracle. And though she never thought she could do it, she did. She chose her pain, her suffering over his. She closed her eyes and kissed him good-bye. At the moment her lips touched his forehead, it occurred to her like an explosion—a sudden spark that ignited everything. Her entire being warmed. She felt electric—radiating, she was sure, heat and light, and from that light she could see the permanent, heavy truth. Yes, the truth. All this time she spent searching, traveling the world in search of a miracle or an answer, and here he was, her miracle, her answer right in front of her. All she had to do was look.

  He had loved her. She had loved him.

  It was enough.

  Chapter 33

  Just before his eyes closed, Colm saw something else too. He saw what it was that his mother had spoken of for so long. At the moment of Colm Francis Magee’s final mysterious death, he saw arms reaching for him, enveloping him in an unconditional loving embrace. He felt the warmth of her touch, and he knew it would be all the love he ever needed. And he too smiled as he thought of it: she had been there the whole time.

  Heaven was right there in front of him.

  Yet, suddenly, before him appeared his Irish nana, Maureen Magee, so young and beautiful, and she was holding the hand of his enormous grandfather, Michael. He was as huge and strong as his mother always promised he would be. And he saw two people who he did not know, who he had only heard his mother speak of. Niranjana, with sparkling green eyes like his own mother’s and wearing her white sari, held her son, Dhruv’s, hand. Colm wanted so badly to go to them. But something stopped him. He had someone else to meet, someone who he had never met either, but who he would recognize without anyone having to say a word. Colm saw him instantly—he had his guitar strapped across his back and he had short, auburn-colored hair, and his face, his face was unmistakable.

  Pierce looked just like him—and Colm knew—it had been his own face, the face he stared at in the mirror his entire life.

  “Dad!” Colm ran screaming his name. His legs worked better than he imagined they could. They were strong, stronger than they had ever been, and with them he launched himself into his father’s open arms.

  “Oh, son. My son. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I wanted to go back to tell you, to tell your mom how sorry I was. I made such a horrible mistake. So many. Please forgive me.”

  “I do. Daddy, I forgive you. You’re here. You’re really here,” Colm said, wrapping his small arms around his father’s neck and squeezing him as tightly as he could.

  “I would have come sooner, but I had other plans . . .”

  “It’s OK. I understand. You would’ve if you could.”

  “You have to go now, Colm.”

  Colm looked at Pierce, Maureen, Michael, Niranjana, and Dhruv, who were all suddenly standing on what looked like water to him. They were all slowly fading, dissolving before him.

  “It’s not time for you.”

  “But I don’t want to go. I want to stay,” Colm cried.

  “We’ll all be here waiting,” Pierce said, kissing the boy on the cheek. You can tell your mama she’s always on my mind and I see her clearly—I always have—and she’s beautiful. Can you remember that? And don’t ever forget that I’ll be right there beside you when you wake up, when you’re at school, when you’re playing. You can count on it. I’ll be there like I’ve always been,” Pierce said just before he disappeared completely before Colm’s eyes.

  “Daddy, no! I don’t want you to go!”

  As each one disappeared below the water’s surface, Colm shouted for them to come back.

  “Please, come back! Come back! Please don’t leave me again, Daddy! I love you!” Colm’s sobs echoed around him, and he covered his ears and shook his head. As tears rolled down his cheeks, he shouted, “Daddy, why? Why can’t you just stay? Just love me?”

  Though he could no longer see him, Colm heard his father say, “Whatever pain you feel, like the pain you are beginning to feel now as you leave me, you must understand it will all disappear someday, and no matter what—you will endure. Because you will never be alone. You have so many people who love you. You’ll see. You’ll see.” Colm nodded and tried to smile, the same angelic smile he had flashed the night he was born, the night his mother believed the angels stood beside him in their lonely hospital room.

  Colm did not understand what was happening. He looked around everywhere for his father. “Don’t leave me here alone!” He could not tell if it was all real or if it was a terribly frightening dream, one in which he could not believe or wake up from. Everything around him was turning black. He didn’t know what to believe. What to think. Or whether thinking and believing were two altogether different notions. He heard voices shouting at him from every direction: Dr. Basu’s, “It’s like a dream, a trick of the brain. You’re really not dead.” He heard his uncle’s voice. “It’s a chemical reaction.” He heard his mother’s voice. “You have to believe. To hope. To know that there is always a chance, a way to fix you.” Then he heard her say, “You’re my miracle, Colm.” Her voice seemed the most clear. The finest tuned. He heard her singing now and recognized the familiar song. He went toward the sound, and he cried out for her, “Mama! Mama? Are you there? I can’t see you. Mama! Mama, I need you!”

  Then Colm thought he could see them, his family—Dr. Basu, Sean, and his mother—all wrapped tightly around a small boy. And though they could not hear him or see him, Colm saw them and he knew . . .

  He walked toward the trio and reached out and touched his mother’s shoulder. At that moment Cathleen’s heart filled, and the deep, hollow hole that had grown inside her sealed itself. She grabbed the boy she held in her arms and held him to her breast, while rocking and singing, mo chuisle, mo chuisle.

  Colm let her love him, falling further into her body, loving her as he had never loved her before. She had found heaven before him, and she made it easier for him to find. All he had to do was make the trip. And it was all so beautiful. It was all proof. All the proof he ever needed.

  Proof of heaven.

  Then, like a sudden spark that arrives from a singular, unknown source, Colm opened his eyes and he saw.

  He saw it all so clearly.

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  Story Behind the Story

  This story began to unfold nearly thirty years ago. I was sitting at the kitchen table with my mother and my siblings, when my father, covered in soot from a fire he had fought the night before, walked into our kitchen and threw himself onto my mother. Her body almost collapsed under his weight, but somehow she mustered the strength to hold up all two hundred fifty pounds of him. His body convulsed as he
told her that my uncle, Butch Melody, and my father’s friend, Joey Halas, had been crushed when a floor of a burning warehouse collapsed on top of them. They died instantly.

  I ran and hid in my parents’ closet, clutching my father’s church loafers and inhaling the faint scent of his pipe smoke and Vitalis. That morning, I prayed to God over and over: Please don’t take my dad. From that moment on I realized two things: (1) In an instant, everything I knew could be gone, and (2) I was powerless to do anything about it. My parents were devout Catholics, who raised us with the belief that if you prayed to God, he would listen and that when we died, we would all go to heaven, where we would be together as a family and where God, the angels, and the communion of saints would be waiting for us.

  My family life was bookended by these two realities: fire and God. On one end, we were held up by the Fire Department and the unique sort of family that came with it, and on the other, we had our church. We were Secular Franciscans, the type of family who said rosaries when we got in the car. We said Grace before meals, and prayers and novenas before bed. We stopped wherever we were when the sirens sounded and prayed for God’s and St. Florian’s protection for my father. We went to the stations of the cross together on Fridays during Lent, and to all of the High Mass services. My brothers were altar servers, and we girls sang in the choir. My mother taught our parish’s first religious education classes from our kitchen table. For years, children streamed into our home, where my mom would tell detailed stories of Jesus’s love and sacrifice for us. She dressed us in costumes, and we acted out the Nativity or the Crucifixion on the hearth in front of our fireplace. I believed my mother was the greatest storyteller who had ever lived, and I attribute my love for a good story to her and the Bible as much as I do to Laura Ingalls Wilder, Mark Twain, Harper Lee, Charles Dickens, and Louisa May Alcott.