I began to chew hard on my lower lip.
I should have known CPR. I should have been a better mother, like that woman.
The news anchor turned to her guest panelists and said, “The girl is claiming she died and went to heaven, which has stirred up a lot of controversy in the past twenty-four hours. Everyone is talking about this, in every language, all around the world. Tell me, why do you think the world is so fascinated with this story?”
The remote control dropped out of my hand and I sat forward to listen.
“Fear of death isn’t anything new,” the first panelist replied, “and stories like this touch a nerve for a lot of people who are afraid of dying. Not to mention all the people in the world who have lost loved ones. Their pain is very deep, and if this little girl is providing some proof of an afterlife, where we’re all reunited with loved ones in a happier place, it’s very comforting to know that. It’s exactly what those who are grieving want to hear—that their loved one still exists, and that they’ll be reunited with them one day.”
“But do you believe it’s true?” the anchorwoman pressed. “Do you believe that this little girl actually went to heaven? Or do you think she’s just trying to get attention?”
“I certainly would love to talk to her about it,” the second panelist replied, and everyone agreed, laughing, that it would be an interesting interview. He then went on to comment that every society and culture from ancient times to the present has held some belief in the afterlife, and near-death experiences are often similar across different religions, so we can’t just assume it’s all a bunch of mumbo jumbo.
“But how can we prove it?” the anchorwoman asked. “Do you think we’ll ever find the scientific evidence that we need, as a race, in order to believe in life after death? Or will it always be…just a matter of faith?”
They continued to debate the subject, while I sat in pure captivation, waiting for more information about what the little girl had actually experienced.
If she went to heaven, what was it like? Did she meet family members who died earlier? If so, did they take care of her?
I wished I could see a picture of the girl and her mother. I craved more information, and I wanted desperately to know whether or not it was real.
* * *
Luke arrived home an hour later and found me in the kitchen making supper. He kissed me on the cheek and asked how my day was, then poured himself a glass of wine.
“How can I help?” he asked, looking around the kitchen.
This was one of the things I loved about Luke. He enjoyed cooking and he never minded doing household chores, even though he could afford a chef and a maid.
“I have everything taken care of. I’m just waiting for the salmon to come out of the oven. You could set the table?”
He reached past me for a couple of plates in the cupboard, kissed me on the cheek again, then gathered cutlery from the drawer and went to the dining room.
A moment later, he returned to find me sipping my wine, staring absentmindedly into space.
“Hey…” He moved closer and rubbed my shoulder. “Everything okay?”
I shook myself out of my stupor and met his gaze. “I’m sorry. I saw something on CNN when I came home from work today, and I can’t get it out of my head.”
“What was it?”
I turned to lean against the countertop. “You know that ship that went down on the East Coast yesterday, because of the microburst?”
“Yes. That was terrible.”
“Well, did you hear about the little girl who drowned? Apparently, her mother was a nurse and she did CPR on her in the lifeboat and brought her back to life. Now the girl’s saying she went to heaven and back.”
Luke watched me for a moment. “Yes. I did hear about that.” He paused. “I think I know where this is going. Are you okay?”
A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed over it because I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to stay strong and talk about this.
“I wish I had known CPR,” I said. “If I had, then maybe…” I stopped myself right there and redirected my focus. “I might want to sign up for a course. For the future.”
He squeezed my shoulder. “That’s a great idea. I could use a refresher. We could take a class together.”
“That would be nice—to do it together.” The timer on the oven started beeping, so I moved to check on the salmon. “This looks ready.”
A few minutes later, we sat down at the table to eat, but I didn’t have much of an appetite.
“You’re still preoccupied,” Luke mentioned as he cut into his potatoes.
I gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I just can’t stop thinking about that little girl. I wish they could get her on television so we could hear what she actually experienced. Apparently, it’s all hearsay right now. The mother won’t even go on record. She’s trying to protect their privacy.”
“I can’t blame her,” Luke replied. “The kid’s only five.”
“I know.” I ate a few bites, then found myself pushing my food around on my plate. After a moment, I looked up. “What do you think about it? Do you believe we go to heaven when we die? Or do you think there’s nothing else? That when we’re gone, we’re gone, and it’s just death.”
His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “I wish I could say a definitive yes or no, but honestly, Emma, I don’t know. I can’t say that I believe in it one hundred percent because there’s no real proof, but at the same time, I can’t say I don’t, because who knows what might be possible? I think it’s arrogant for any man to assume that he knows everything.”
I leaned forward over my plate. “Have you ever seen anything that would lead you to believe there’s something more out there? Like a ghost or… Oh, I don’t even know what.”
Luke reached for his wine and took a sip. “No, but other people say they have. Are they all lying or having hallucinations? Who knows? But I do find it interesting whenever I hear stories about people having out-of-body experiences during operations, when they describe floating up to the ceiling and watching what was happening from above, even though they were flatlining and clinically dead. It makes me curious.”
“It makes me curious, too,” I replied. I took a sip of my wine. “I wish I could contact the mother of that little girl and ask her about what she experienced.”
Luke watched me for a moment with concern. “I don’t know if that would be a good idea.”
“Why not?”
He hesitated. “Because all this is making you think about Samuel and where he might be right now. Am I correct?”
I knew my voice would shake if I spoke, so I simply nodded.
“I just don’t want this to set you back,” Luke said. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.” I raised Luke’s hand to my lips and kissed the back of it. “I’m happy that I met you.”
“Me, too.” He smiled.
I rose out of my chair and kissed him across the table.
* * *
The following day at work, I found it difficult to concentrate at my desk in my cubicle. I kept googling news sites about the Dalila tragedy. I was searching for new information about the little girl who said she went to heaven, but her mother continued to keep her hidden from the press. It was frustrating, to say the least, but I couldn’t blame her. I’d probably do the same thing in her shoes, but oh, how I wanted to talk to her. I wished I knew their names so I could find the mother on Facebook and send her a message. I wanted to tell her what happened to my son, and ask if she truly believed her daughter’s alleged trip to heaven.
I wanted to know if it was real, and I didn’t want to rely on faith alone.
Unfortunately, as the day progressed, there was no new information released about the child, but my searches led me down other paths, to websites and blogs with stories about people who had experienced NDEs in all sorts of different circumstances. It was fascinating reading. I couldn’t get enough of it and I was luc
ky it was a slow day at work because I didn’t get much done.
After work, I went home to Luke’s house and wondered why I had bothered to keep my little apartment in Victoria all this time. It seemed pointless to be paying rent there when I was practically living with Luke already, but I hadn’t wanted to make the effort to get out of the lease. I had decided to just ride it out, but there were only a few weeks left now anyway.
When I walked in the door, Toby and Max were excited to see me. They greeted me with wagging tails and followed me into the kitchen where I poured kibble into their food bowls and refreshed their water.
While they gobbled down their dinner, I slid the patio door open and stepped outside to gaze across the water at the majestic Olympic Mountain range in the distance. I looked up at the clear blue sky and wondered… If heaven existed, what was it like?
I turned to go back inside, went to Luke’s computer in the family room and logged into my bookstore account, where I searched for books about heaven and near-death experiences. There were too many to count, but I settled on a few that looked interesting. One was called The Color of Heaven, and it was written by a woman who had drowned after her car crashed into a frozen lake. She was clinically dead for forty minutes before they rescued her and brought her back to life in the hospital.
Another was called Proof of Heaven. It was written by a neurologist who’d had meningitis and claimed he experienced the afterlife. I ordered both titles as e-books and downloaded them to my tablet so I could start reading immediately.
When Luke came home with Thai food from our favorite take-out restaurant, he found me on the back patio, reading under the canopy with Max and Toby sleeping in the shade beneath the table. There were seagulls in the sky, calling out to each other.
I told him about the books I’d bought, and he was fascinated by what I’d read so far. He asked if he could read them too, and I was more than happy to share them with him.
* * *
I am just home from the hospital after giving birth to Samuel. Carter has gone out to give a quote on a landscaping job, so I’m home alone in my bathrobe. Samuel sleeps a lot, but that doesn’t matter. I hold him in my arms most of the time, whether he’s awake or asleep, because I’m so in love, I don’t want to set him down. The depth of my feeling is inconceivable. I can barely fathom it. I never knew such love was possible. He’s the most beautiful thing in the universe to me, and I can’t stop staring at him…adoring him….
I carry him to the iPod dock in the living room and scroll through a few of my playlists. Samuel’s eyes are open and he’s watching me, but he’s sleepy—I can tell, so I search for a calming ballad. I’ve been listening to a lot of classical music lately because that’s what the experts recommend, but this afternoon I’m in the mood for something different.
Rod Stewart’s album If We Fall in Love Tonight pops out at me, so I click on “For the First Time.” I set the iPod in the dock and gently shift my newborn baby boy in my arms so that his cheek rests on my shoulder. When the music starts to play, I dance slowly around the living room, rocking him to and fro.
I feel such joy, I begin to wonder if I’ve died and gone to heaven.
How could this much happiness even be possible?
* * *
I never told Luke or Carter this, but there were times, in the weeks following the funeral, that I contemplated suicide. Part of the reason was because I didn’t want to go on living without my sweet baby boy. I missed him terribly and my guilt was beyond excruciating. It was the worst kind of torture imaginable. I just wanted to end my suffering.
On another level, I wanted to be with Samuel again, wherever he was, even in death—but I’d heard that people who committed suicide went to hell, so I didn’t want to risk ending up in the wrong place where I’d never see him again.
Did that mean I believed in heaven and hell? I still wasn’t sure what I believed. All I know is that I didn’t want to risk sending myself into a fiery pit of despair for the rest of eternity because I wasn’t strong enough to stick it out, to keep on living until my time came.
I supposed that was still true today. As much as I wanted to be with Samuel, I’d never risk something like that. I’d simply have to be patient.
That didn’t stop me from imagining what would happen if I got hit by a bus or went down in a plane crash. I sometimes fantasized about the beautiful white light that people describe, and seeing Samuel there, in the clouds, waiting to greet me. I dreamed about the joy I would feel when I held him in my arms again…
But would we even have arms in heaven?
* * *
My cell phone buzzed at work the following day, and I was surprised to see a text from Carter.
Hey. How are you?
I blinked a few times as I stared at his message. The last time we spoke, five months ago, we’d finalized our divorce, and since then, we’d had no contact with each other whatsoever, except through our lawyers.
I slowly typed a reply, feeling a need to be cautious: Fine. How are you?
I waited a few seconds, staring at the screen, wondering why he was getting in touch. Then my phone buzzed again. I’m okay. Have you been watching the news?
My belly did a little flip and my heart began to beat faster. I still wasn’t sure why Carter was contacting me. Part of me feared he wanted to compare that situation to ours and rub my nose in it again, and I didn’t want to engage him in that. I didn’t want him to stir up my guilt. I could do that well enough on my own, thank you very much.
My response was brief: Yes.
I hit send and waited.
A co-worker came by my desk and asked for a specific report. I had to ignore my phone for a moment while I found it and handed it to her. When I picked up my phone, two more texts had come in.
Have you seen the stuff about the little girl who drowned?
Hello? Are you there?
I began to type a reply. Sorry, I’m at work and someone needed something. But yes, I’ve been following it. I wish we knew more.
Carter responded a second later: It’s kind of addictive. I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to get together and talk? I promise I won’t be a jerk.
My eyebrows lifted at that, and I leaned back in my desk chair. Wow. Carter was admitting to being a jerk. I couldn’t deny that I took some pleasure in reading those words.
But still, I needed to protect myself. I slowly typed a reply: I don’t know…
Please? he asked. You’re the only person I can talk to about this.
My hackles rose. What about Melissa?
This time I had to wait a little while before his response came in. I found myself tapping my foot anxiously on the floor.
Finally, my phone buzzed.
She doesn’t really get it. She thinks it’s a big hoax. Maybe it is, but I feel like I’m going crazy, wondering about it. Can we meet? Just for coffee or something?
I exhaled sharply. I certainly didn’t feel that I owed Carter any sympathy if he was going through something—because he never offered any sympathy to me—but I couldn’t ignore my burning desire for information. Maybe he knew something I didn’t, or maybe he had a different perspective that would shed some light on what I was feeling.
But did I really want to talk to Carter about this? It was painful, revisiting old memories, and maybe he’d want specific details about the very moment of Samuel’s passing.
At least with Luke, there was no blame about what happened. He always led me away from my guilt.
In the end, however, my curiosity won out. I needed to know what Carter thought about all this.
Eventually, I picked up my phone and responded. Are you free after work?
Chapter Seven
Emma
Carter and I arranged to grab coffees and meet on the bench across the street from the Empress Hotel. As I rounded the corner at the intersection, I saw him in the distance. He was already sitting there, reading on his phone. Eventually he l
ooked up. When he spotted me walking toward him in the late-afternoon sunshine, he waited until I got closer—then he stood.
“Hi. It’s good to see you.”
“You, too.” I spoke with a hint of reserve while I took in the fact that he’d grown a short beard. It was a bit of a surprise, because never, in all the years I’d known him, had he been anything but clean-shaven.
We regarded each other awkwardly for a few seconds, then he stepped forward and kissed me on the cheek, as if I were an old friend. I suppose that’s what we could be to each other now—friends—if we managed to put our difficult past behind us and move on with other people. It was at least better than being hateful.
We sat down on the bench, facing the impressive front lawn and ivy-cloaked façade of the historic hotel. I pulled back the plastic lid on my coffee cup and took the first sip.
“How have you been?” Carter asked, squinting in the sunlight.
“Good,” I replied. “You?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been okay.”
We watched cars drive by on the street in front of us.
I looked up at the sky.
Carter gazed off in the other direction.
A couple of kids across the street horsed around, fighting over something in the backpack one of them was carrying.
“How are the wedding plans going?” Carter asked.
I made an effort to sound cheerful. “Pretty good. We’re having it on New Year’s Eve.” I gave him a sidelong glance, and he chuckled.
“Whose idea was that? It couldn’t have been yours.”
I rolled my eyes a little, with chagrin. “It was Luke’s. He’s never been married before, so he wants to make a big deal out of it.”
“No one will be able to get cabs, you know. Not after midnight.”
I laughed. “I know. I did mention that. I’m hoping most of the guests will stay in the hotel.”
The Color of a Silver Lining Page 6