The Invisible Choir

by Tessa Lynne

  I am ecstatic that you will soon leave the hospice—your next move will be here. Amelia is concerned that you may be too active and expose yourself to the risk of infection. In a similar situation, I would be apt to overdo things, try to resume my old life, tempt the fates. Will you please be careful?

  I had a restless night thinking over my talk with Vince—an endless loop that got me nowhere. It might help to describe it to you. We were in my room, sitting in the two comfortable visitor chairs. He began with a look of sincere interest, leaning forward, eager to hear about you. First, I reminded him of the dreams I told him about in October. Next, I showed him your first letter, read parts of it to him, and told him of our brief encounter many years ago. Up to that point, he listened intently. Then, I told him we had missed our destinies and they are now uncertain. He raised one eyebrow. The clincher was when I said our being together isn’t up to us.

  Vince leaned back in his chair, away from me, his face frozen in an incredulous look of disbelief. I don’t think his eyebrows could have gone any higher. “Dad, this can’t be true. One of the staff, or maybe a volunteer, must be messing with your mind. They could easily put letters in your journal while you’re sleeping.” He also blamed the strong dose of painkillers I was taking then.

  I tried to explain but couldn’t get through to him. He left much earlier than he had intended after saying an awkward goodbye, not even looking me in the eye. My son is very much a realist; what I told him doesn’t fit his perception of how the universe operates. I doubt he will even tell Tara—he thinks his old man is off his rocker.

  Things have taken a turn for the worse. J.T. showed up, walking into my room with no hint of his usual upbeat attitude. I hadn’t guessed that Vince would call him. We had a heated argument, ignited by his saying, “Michael, you’ve been through a great deal. I would like you to talk to a friend of mine. I think he can help you sort out what is real here and what is fiction. He’s a psychiatrist.”

  I told him “I don’t need to see a psychiatrist. For the first time since my diagnosis I have something to fight for. If you’re my friend, you should be happy for me.” He sputtered a few more words about me being taken in, then walked out, shaking his head in disbelief.

  I wish I could pick up the phone and talk to you. I have never felt so all alone in the world. I have reached out to you in my need, but I get nothing in return. Where are you?

  It is late now, and I still haven’t felt you close. Have you deserted me too? Maybe my state of mind has something to do with it. I am feeling emotionally drained … desolate. Vince hasn’t called. I have no idea what he is thinking, but it can’t be good. I need someone to talk to, but there is no one who could possibly understand this. Goodnight, my love—wherever you are.

  My love, I have not deserted you. Your pain is evident, but I feel helpless in the face of it. Both of us have struggled to see the truth of our own experience. Even now, I would find it difficult to believe a similar story told by someone else. I couldn’t know their experience was real in the same way I know our truth. This would be easier if we had more frequent letter exchanges. My power to reach out to you has been diminished due to some minor surgery and a little infection. That is why I have been more distant. It would never be by choice.

  The girls were full of empathy for Vince and grateful they had first learned of Zachary, and then Amelia. Your son might continue to doubt until the day we meet. When it comes to others, we can only share the strength of our own belief.

  At least Amelia hasn’t deserted me, but it seems she’s the only one. She said, “You must be patient with Vince. As for Teresa, her power to reach out to you will return.” There is little I can do but wait.

  J.T. was here and left orders for me to be discharged as soon as I feel ready to go. He was distant, said only what was necessary, looked in my direction without quite looking at me. I could feel a distinct chill in the air, a first in our relationship. He is not used to encounters with something he doesn’t understand—he will also need time.

  Tomorrow I am going to look for a place to live, less excited than I had expected to be. I wish you were here. I wish even more that I was there.

  A few weeks ago, I asked Zachary if it would be possible for him to speak to our spirits about our contacts. Today, he said Mahalia told him that she and Alexander will often be with both of us but some-times with whoever is available, which explains our out-of-sync encounters. She admitted they have amused themselves at our expense but denied any malicious intent. And, she said they sometimes need to retreat, to rest, which explains our fruitless efforts.

  When I think of how utterly surreal our story would sound to almost anyone else, and of how I once compared my initial experience to something out of science fiction, it is easy to understand that Vince is overwhelmed. Our love is strong enough to withstand the doubts of others—it has withstood our own.

  Vince still hasn’t called. It is four days since I told him, a long time for him not to visit, and you’ve had no way of knowing what is on my mind. I’m going out to look for an apartment.

  Sweetness, I am back—in more ways than one. I gave a lot of thought to us, to our future, and to Vince. Being out in the world, knowing I will soon be living in it, changed my perspective. Our reality was as clear to me as all the sights and sounds of the city, the crisp winter air, the crunch of snow under my feet. Vince will come to terms with it in his own time. Amelia said, “This is an opportunity for Vince. It is an unexpected, but valuable, lesson for his spirit.”

  I found a furnished apartment four blocks from the hospital, across from a large park. Then I made some phone calls to arrange to have my things placed in storage and my house put on the market. It finally dawned on me that I won’t be living there again. One change I made was immediate. I got my car out of storage. A short drive on the freeway reminded me of the exhilaration of those combined sensations of speed and power.

  I have felt you close again, and I can sense your support and encouragement. Vince just called and said, “Dad, I don’t like us being at odds with each other.” Then he asked, “Exactly what do you know about this woman?” I told him that I love you and plan to marry you as soon as I am in remission and can provide for us. He was suspicious that you have an ulterior motive, but he was at least more receptive. We can be patient with him.

  My love, I feel a stronger sense of you again and welcome your almost constant presence. I am composing a letter to Vince to help him understand our relationship, and I will enclose copies of a few pieces of paper that document my life, crossing out my last name and any clues to where I live. They may help convince him of my reality but will do little to reassure him as to my motives.

  I just had a phone call from Sally. She is in enough of a crisis to need an emergency appointment, and I will see her soon. She has accepted that the alter personalities will be close, but now they urge her to express herself and act to meet her own needs. She is uncertain, not fully trusting either them or herself. It is all part of the process of her growth and integration. If Amelia comes, I will give this letter to her, and Vince’s.

  Good morning, sweetheart. It is a warm, sunshiny day here. Will you be walking on your usual trails? I plan to drive to a similar spot I have found here, just a bit closer to where I think you are. I am better able to reach you there, away from the city and more attuned to you and our spirits. This is quite a large city, close to half a million in population. (I hope it is okay to tell you that.)

  Vince and I had another talk. It went better this time, largely due to your letter. He is still skeptical, doesn’t want to hear any talk of guardians and angels, but he is at least thinking about us. J.T. just called and invited me out to dinner, so I will have an update on him later this evening.

  We had quite a conversation. At first, J.T. took a patronizing tone. He couldn’t accept our delivery system, kept repeating some version of “Michael, just think about it—listen to reason.” He said, “There are a lot of scam artists
out there, not to mention unbalanced minds. Someone is taking advantage of you or maybe has an unrequited love for you.” Then he started spinning dark variations on the theme of Fatal Attraction.

  I decided there was only one way to stop him. I had to play my trump card. I told him how Amelia has appeared to me using his body. That left him speechless, a first in my experience. I could see the wheels of his mind turning, wondering if he needed to make an immediate referral to the psych ward. I think it was a close call, but he opted to hear me out. I described Amelia’s visit, in detail, and must have been persuasive. In the end, he said, “When can I meet this woman of your dreams?”

  Michael, I picture you driving your car and I smile with happiness—for you, and in anticipation of our future. You are out and about, buying groceries, going to the library, coming back to life, coming to me. I want to give you directions and then expect you to be here by morning.

  I am glad Vince called and was more receptive. What about J.T.? Does he still want you to see a psychiatrist? I looked through my official diagnosis manual to see what one might try to label you. You would no longer qualify for Brief Psychotic Disorder as it has exceeded one month; Delusional Disorder would be a possibility, including a special relationship to a deity; and Shared Psychotic Disorder (folie à deux) exists when you join in another’s delusion. I hope J.T. will listen to you more as a friend than as your doctor.

  Teresa, I am a little concerned that you are trying to label me with a psychotic disorder. If I hadn’t talked to J.T., just last night, I would think the two of you were conspiring against me. I already have a medical label that will be hard to shake. I am at a loss as to why you would even suggest it.

  Thank you for the little book of healing quotations you sent. Your thoughtfulness and generosity overwhelm me, as did your beautiful note. Do I have to be careful not to compliment you so much? Will you think I have some obsessive disorder?

  I won’t be able to write words you want to hear until I can under-stand. I have struggled with it all day, so give me some credit for trying to dismiss it. What conclusion am I to draw from your attempts to label me? Have I said something that indicates a problem? Until I hear some explanation, I can’t write what is in my heart—it is overshadowed by the doubts in my mind.

  Darling, forget what I wrote. It is two o’clock in the morning. I have given it a lot of thought and I know I am wrong. Please forgive me. I’ve been under a lot of stress. Come to me in my dreams.

  Michael, as much as I enjoy your words of love, the wider range of thoughts and emotions in your last letter reveals more of the man I have grown to love and makes him even dearer to my heart.

  Zachary cautioned me last week that the final outcome for us is unknown. He is concerned that I could be setting myself up for possible heartbreak—it strikes me that his words of caution have come a little late in the game. I did give it some serious thought and told him today that I want to know you to the fullest extent possible. If I have to someday mourn you, I want to know who and what I have lost, every facet of your being.

  Sweetness, it has been a long day, arranging my move. If Amelia knew, she would chastise me for doing too much. Do not fear. I took time to rest between tasks, then took a drive along a scenic route north of the city, along the major river that flows through here. I stopped twice for a short walk. Did my eyes behold sights similar to those you enjoy? I felt you near.

  I am just back from a long drive along the river. I immersed myself in the crystallized winter landscape, diamond points of brilliance in all the colors of the rainbow. It reminded me you wrote that the Light is made up of all colors—magnified, diffused, one with their source. It was in stark contrast to the nearly black trees, illuminating the simplicity of their winter silhouettes. Such scenes touch me deeply; it is how I know myself.

  I looked for more of Khalil Gibran’s work at the library today. He was an artist as well as a prolific writer and philosopher, was influenced by Christianity, Judaism, Sufism, and Islam, and was friends with Rodin, Yeats, and Jung. How I would have loved to have been in a café in Paris or New York listening to the four of them at the next table, or to any two or three of them.

  One Gibran quote mirrors our experience. He writes that the soul, in its glory, will follow a truth that the mind rejects. By contrast, the mind, in its worst moments, will fight against the path of the spirit. It is exactly what we have written, though he puts it more eloquently. We first blindly followed the dictates of our spirits, caught up in their joy at having found each other. Then we some-times fell into that lower state as our minds sought to prevail and rise up against the truth we knew in our hearts, informed by Alexander and Mahalia.

  Your letter is here, delivered shortly after you wrote it. Were we driving along a river at the same time, enjoying the beauty? Could it be the same river? Were we traveling toward each other? If we knew that for certain, how could we stop from meeting halfway?

  I wasn’t able to write today, but I pray that the words in my heart reached yours, on angel’s wings or with the wind. I felt you close throughout the day. My move went well, except when I put the wrong soap in the dishwasher and had suds all over the kitchen. This will be short. I am exhausted and wish only to seek the comfort of your arms.

  Welcome, my love, to the first day of the rest of your life. I am filled with hope for our future knowing you have left the hospice, its purpose so contrary to what lies ahead for us. You were quite insistent with your wake-up call. I did not intend to be cruel, but I waited for you to reach out to me twice more before I responded. I wanted to feel the full force of your desire before it merged with mine, and I did—and it did.

  Michael, I have felt a deepening of my love for you. I think of a long-lived tree, a giant oak, the many years it continues to grow and change, unobserved, within its depths. Our love is like that, already formed at a spiritual level, then blossoming anew in each lifetime together—aspects of our love concealed from us, then suddenly unfolding.

  I love the way you make analogies of our love to nature. Do you think we will be aware of Mahalia’s and Alexander’s influence when we are together? Will our love flow and extend to those around us? Will it diminish our faults and enhance those qualities the Creator hopes to see manifested in all of His children?

  Guess what just happened? The building managers are an older couple, Maeve and Henry, two doors down. A few minutes ago, Maeve—a plump, white-haired grandmotherly type—came to the door with a casserole for me. You have probably guessed by now that Amelia appeared through her. She is more similar to my vision of Amelia—wise, kind, and gentle. I guess an apt description would be to say that she is more angelic; the volunteer at the hospice could be a bit crusty. Amelia said she will be available if I need her.

  I wrote my last note in haste, no time to explain why I played around with a diagnosis. Michael, consider this—if you are psychotic, what would that make me? I am so sorry to have caused you anguish. I was mocking the medical profession, questioning if they could see beyond the accepted view of reality as we have had to. There is a long history of mystical and surreal experiences being interpreted as symptoms of mental illness. In some cases, that is exactly what they are; many doctors would not look beyond that.

  Whatever are we going to do with ourselves, with our ups and downs, our missed connections, our misunderstandings that can take days to sort out through our letters? Do you feel, as I do, the lack of any reference points, of any prior experience to guide us as we blindly go through uncharted territory?

  I like thinking that it may be the same river, that we are connected by such a force of nature. I think I am upriver from you but too far away for us to meet by chance, even on a long drive. If I were to put a note in a bottle and throw it into my river, would you look for it every day in yours?

  20. A Winter Melancholy

  01/19 – 01/31

  Teresa, your locket is still right here, where it shall remain until you can see it, feel it between us, and then
be the one to wear it. Have I told you that I raise it to my lips whenever I take my leave of you?

  I have been thinking of how my life has changed since you came into it. I am a different man. I reflect on life’s mysteries more often and experience the world as more welcoming. I am more tolerant, patient and, I hope, loving. I want you here with me. Do you feel my need, my desire? I could cry with the frustrations of this separation, and yes, I would look every day for your message in a bottle.

  Some wrenching moments earlier—the pain is still with me. As our relationship deepens, Michael, I grieve with a greater knowledge for our lost years, lost love, lost family. I miss you to a depth I hadn’t known was possible. I want to curl up somewhere, retreat from the world, exist only with you in the presence of our spirits, but others keep calling me away, needing me.

  Today is better. I feel a quiet peace. If you were here, there would not be a lot of chatter, just the contentment of being in the same room with you. It touches my heart that you bring my locket to your lips when you say good night. I questioned at the time if it was the right gift—it is so not masculine. Now I know it was perfect.

  I took a nap, meditated for an hour, and then was able to concentrate on my work. I became so engrossed in it that I didn’t realize the time until it started to get dark. I’m within a few days of finishing my software program. If I can sell it, neither of us will need to work again. To that end, I am putting together a proposal to send to six major companies.