This is the first edit of Ripple - written in Nov 2009

RIPPLE

by Andrew Hill

Prologue

Wind swept across the open hilltop, gusting over and around the rocks that sat atop it's crest. Spreading out from the base of the rocks, short grasses covered the hill until reaching the first line of the forest that blanketed the sweeping hillside; hiding streams and gullies which had been carved into the sides over thousands of years.

The valley below was slowly changing. Unnoticeable to mortal eyes, the hills were growing on all sides, and the river at its centre became deeper each year as it wore its way into the ground. The rocks could remember when that river was but a trickle; triggered by the melts at the tops of what at that time was only a small rise covered in snow and ice. It was with that season of melt - one in a countless succession - that the rocks had first pushed through, exposed after millions of years encased in an icy grip. They had at long last reached within grasp of the glaring sunlight, and looked upon the valley. At that time nothing but a white tundra stretched from one horizon to another, and they had watched as slowly, year by year, the snow and ice lost the battle each season, and more of the valley was exposed. More hills began to be visible, and the horizon shrank as they closed in.

Though it knew nothing of the outside world, all around the valley, other changes were occurring on a grander, much faster scale. In distant places the world began to change as civilizations began, and as the hills rose and the valley seemed to fall between them, so too did those civilizations rise and fall; each believing itself to be of utmost importance, unknowing of the greater changes going on all around them. Over thousands of years, the trickle of water - begun with that first season of true melt, long before even the stones reached the surface - grew and grew; the tool shaping the valley itself, all begun in a small stream. As the hills rose and the snow melted, the water ran down and joined the stream below, and nothing could stand before its force. And so the river grew and over time worked its way through everything that came before it, gnawing down farther and farther, giving life to all around it as forests grew and animals came to live in a place that had, before the melting of the ice, been all but uninhabitable to any but the toughest wanderers.

The rocks atop the hill watched it all, unknowing that they were just as much a part of the change as everything else. Unknowing that the dirt swept away by the wind had once been part of the rock itself, that with each breath of wind they got smaller and smaller, and that someday they too would be completely gone; swept away on the winds of time as surely as the snow so long ago. And the river wound its course unending down. Down into the very heart of the earth, knowing not that it was a force of destruction as much as it gave life and shaped the lands around it.

So time itself was the sole guardian of the secret to the truth of things. The only one that had always been and always would be; and so was the only one that could tell us, if we ever cared enough to ask, and it ever bothered to answer, that nothing is forever.

PART ONE

1.

Three words. Everything changes with three simple words. Funny, that, he thought, looking around his new world. Everything had seemed so important, like each little thing meant the world. And, John supposed, maybe to someone it really did. It had, after all, meant so much to him before those three little words. Before them life had been routine, day in day out. Even on a larger scale, in a way it was all just routine. As if his path was already pre-determined for him and, thinking back, had he wanted things to be different, he couldn't see a way for them to have been so. He had done most of what he'd intended to do; the important things anyway. And that was what so confused him now. Had anything he'd done really been that important? Did any of it really make any difference to anything besides satisfying his need to do what he thought should be done?

Of course, he'd been the one to make that distinction hadn't he.

Those three words had upset everything. After all, need was a strange thing; ever changing, so dire at the time, and then when re-examined with results to see, only a launching pad for a new need. Perhaps that was the only true constant in life. Need. But there must have been a higher purpose to some of it. He'd worked hard, had a life filled with love and family - his family, his children. Surely there was a higher purpose of some sort there. He'd been good to his family, at least he'd always done the best he could by them, and what more could be expected of a man? No one could accuse him of being selfish. He'd given so much to so many, and it had always been enough to explain his existence and satisfy him.

None of those thoughts made any sense now. No, all that had changed hadn't it. All gone to dust with three words, simply spoken, like they were no more important than next week's weather:

'you are dying'.

The world had shrunk very quickly after that. From countless needs and desires, so many questions and interests, all down to one simple thought. 'Why?' After all, he'd done nothing wrong, nothing deserving of this, and hadn't he just come for a checkup? This seemed to be getting out of hand far too quickly. The doctor was wrong, he had too much left to do to die now, and obviously this man didn't understand that. Or perhaps he simply hadn't thought of that yet: maybe he needed someone to tell him. Yes, that was it, someone just had to tell the doctor that he wasn't dying. Then he'd check again and say something like 'oh my, look at that Mr. Comely, you're right. I do apologize, At first, you see, it did look like you were dying, but now, thanks to what you've told me I see that that is quite impossible.' he'd smile and say 'Absurd actually, for me to have thought that, since on closer inspection it's blatantly obvious that you simply can't die now, so sorry, I do apologize.' Yes, that was it, he'd just tell him, and everything would be fine.

'I beg your pardon doctor, but, you see, I'm quite sure I'm not dying. It just isn't possible, and although I'm sure you didn't mean to, you must have made some mistake.'

The doctor stared at him, his gaze unwavering. A short man, slightly round with little hair remaining and small, wire rimmed spectacles. He must, John thought, have spent many hours practicing this stare to do it so well, and that was admirable. John admired persistence and calculation, dedication was always a virtue. But now was not the time for dedication. Now, John thought coldly, was the time for humility. Why, this fool hadn't even bothered looking at the chart again. Well, that wouldn't do, he wouldn't allow this cold, uncaring man to dismiss him so quickly.

'Look again, please Doctor' He forced a smiled to hide his frustration, 'surely you've made some small...'

'There's no error John. Believe me, I've checked over and over again, and I'm sure.'

He removed his glasses and his gaze suddenly crumbled, and, before John's very eyes the self assured, confident professional vanished, and he was sitting in front of a tired old man, who - exhaling slowly - gently laid his glasses on the table, and proceeded to stare at them, as if perhaps the fault lay in them, and John thought, wouldn't that be funny if it did? If his glasses had had some error in their making that caused them to make their wearer see things incorrectly. The doctor looked up from his study of the glasses and cocked his head, giving John a strange look, which John assumed was because he was smiling. Clearing his throat, the doctor replaced his glasses, and the transformation reversed itself once again. And John was again sitting across from a wall.

'I have some information for you, please excuse me for a moment'

He rose and started towards the door, but stopped beside John and, in a simple gesture, laid a soft hand on his shoulder before continuing on to the door and quietly leaving the room.

Alone now, John looked around the familiar room. Strange, he thought, how it seemed as if the whole room had disappeared while he'd been speaking with the doctor, and now that he was alone, it seemed so large. The wall to his right was covered in shelves, containing countless books and various medical oddities. The bottom shelf was scattered with assorted plastic body parts, all of which could be dismantled like a puzzle to show their inner secrets to whomever cared to see. John smiled at the thought that somewhere there was a factory making human parts, just for show. His gaze wandering aimlessly, he saw the opposite wall, with its array of certificates and degrees - the human accumulation of knowledge, our self-measuring of worth and value - nailed to the wall. He had a few of those, he reflected, but they seemed so pointless all of a sudden. He could remember only yesterday looking at them with pride and a sense of purpose, as he always did when he entered his office. But now they meant nothing to him, and it seemed so funny, all the time he had put into acquiring them, for what? To fill up some space on a wall.

Eyes wandering further, the left wall was dominated by a painting, a seemingly random series of colors, blue and red pulsing on the bottom portion of the canvas, rising into the middle in successive layers of spires, they moved through streaks of deep red and gold, sweeping from side to side and appearing to breathe. Higher and higher with each breath, until they were cut across with yellow, brighter and stronger until the top of the canvas, where a brilliant white seemed to light all that was beneath it.

Such random beauty, John thought. It was like looking into the mind of the painter, seeing what had previously only existed as a sense, now magically transformed into something real; something alive. He looked down and his eyes rested on his hands. He raised them and saw the scars and lines covering them as if for the first time. So much he had touched in his life, so many things he had experienced, and these hands had been his tools in each experience. They had acted out every emotion he had ever had. Amazing, he thought, how something so blank could express so many emotions. Gentle and tender one moment, and strong and brutal the next, they could deftly use small tools to create beauty, or wield weapons to destroy those same works, and both tasks were done the same. Creation and destruction, the line suddenly seemed so grey. He looked up across the Doctor's deep mahogany desk and saw his chart lying on top. Why was it so important? How could something so passive carry such weight?

From behind him he heard the sounds of the Doctor approaching, and with the gentlest of motions, raised his hand and wiped away the tears.

#

2.

The other room was much nicer. Of course he'd wanted to stay, since he was allowed at least a small amount of privacy there, not to mention a view and a television. Here John had none of those luxuries, but he'd been told this was now necessary, and he found that he no longer had the strength to argue such trivial matters as where he waited.

He had grown so accustomed these past few weeks to the steady beeping and whirring of the machines around him that he found - quite to his surprise - vast comfort in the knowledge that they were to accompany him to this new room. The world around him was one of constant activity now, and most of that activity seemed to centre around one of the other three beds in the room. John could tell very little about his roommates except that they were, one and all, in various stages of leaving this life for the next - whatever that might be.

At some silent cue, the nurses rose from their station at the far end of the room and began going about their duties at each bed. For the first day he had tried to keep track of the timing of such events, but found that things like time were getting difficult to monitor, aside from night and day, which, truth be told, he wasn't always sure of either. Moving in a counter clockwise rotation the nurses started at the bed to his left and, after checking this and that and speaking softly to the patient, with even more muted replies coming back, they moved to his bed. A young girl leaned over him as the other, older nurse, raised him into a more or less seated position

'How do you feel?' asked the young one

John enjoyed these small exchanges, he found it so fascinating to look into the eyes of these nurses, they somehow managed to be both present and caring, yet completely detached at the same time. He felt no offense at their detachment; he could well understand what price they would pay without it.

Allowing himself a small smile at this thought he said,

'Which answer will get me my old room back?'

She smiled softly, but it was the other nurse who replied.

'Now Mr. Comely, you're here so we can keep an eye on you,' she hadn't looked at him as she spoke, and continued checking on his machines while saying 'we want to make sure you get all the help you need'

'lean forward please' this from the younger nurse, as he leaned forward she removed his pillow, fluffed it up, and replaced it behind his head, 'there you go'

He thought to mention that he didn't really like pillows, but knew the old nurse would never allow such a breach in protocol; after all, the pillow was probably for his own good in some way.

John watched as they went about their routine, checking this, changing that, every now and then they included him by having him lean to one side or the other, or by asking him to breath deeply as they checked his heart. He watched the older nurse; no makeup, no fancy hair, nothing that most workers in the world felt were an important part of each day, here was a person employed in necessity, with knowledge that was needed. A person who worked for the needs of others, and brought no frills or unnecessary additions to the task. He figured she was probably in her late forties, and looking down he saw she had no ring on her finger, but the way she spoke and acted with him - a tireless patience - spoke of the knowledge gained through motherhood, he wondered if her career had won that battle - between partnership and professional - or if she had simply chosen to have a child and raise it, knowing the hardships such a life would bring upon her, yet doing it all the same. She did not look, after all, look like someone who was afraid of hardship.

Shifting to the other side, John was faced towards the younger nurse, and, though he tried, he could not remember her name. The older one was nurse Kathy, and she was clearly in charge of this small section of the end of the world, but the younger ones seemed to trade back and forth. Where they went when they were not here was a mystery to him, but he could only assume that there were other rooms such as this one, and that, being young, they were transferred back and forth between them. Perhaps this was in an effort to shield them somewhat from any attachment they may form with the patients who, like him, were going to die. She was young though, probably in her mid twenties, and would have been quite beautiful in a different setting. He could tell she was newer to this world than nurse Kathy. Aside from the obvious youth, she still made small attempts to be more presentable to those around her; very light eye makeup, hair up in a bun, finger nails kept perfected – as if she could at any moment step out of sight and complete her transformation from plain to extraordinary.

The two spoke together quickly and then nurse Kathy moved back and observed as the girl leaned forward and gently lowered the bed once more saying;

'We'll be back around to check on you on a little while Mr. Comely, and don't forget we'll be right here; so if you feel the need for anything just ring us.'

As she said this last part she moved his hand over onto the side of the bed where his call button was, and, giving it a gentle squeeze moved back from the bed.

'Thank you ladies, a pleasure as always' He said, and with perfectly controlled smiles, neither too warm nor too cold, they moved on to the bed across the room.

Lying back now, John wondered at this amazing procedure man had created. What he found most fascinating was the trust and control of it all. Here he'd been a man who, like many others, had prided himself on being in control, on knowing what to do when and what was best for each situation that arose. He had, after all, run his own company, and done all the things that came with such responsibility. He had trained and organized teams for different projects, run planning sessions and board meetings, and been held aloft as one who could answer any question posed or solve any problem. He had been a leader, a mentor and a guide to those around him, yet here he was, when all that had come before in his life looked trivial compared to what he now faced, and he was

completely at the mercy of relative strangers. In this, the most important trial of his life, he was as helpless as a babe, relying entirely on the knowledge and expertise of people he had never met. It was a true marvel, to see the limits of trust so casually swatted aside by necessity.

In a way, John supposed, people like Nurse Kathy had one of the most important jobs in the world. He knew what it was to be held in high esteem, and to be trusted fully by those around him, but he'd done so with the knowledge and assurance that those who trusted him had ample knowledge that he was worthy of that trust. He knew he had earned that trust and, therefore, was not bothered by the decisions he made on behalf of those around him. He was secure and indeed, comforted, by the knowledge that he had earned that right. Nurse Kathy, on the other hand, had none of those comforts. She was dealing on a daily basis with people who were strangers to her, who knew nothing of her past or her present, there was no leeway for personal problems in what she did, no give with the patients if she was having a hard time at home. For all John knew, she could have been married last week, and this week she was not. Yet all that had occurred in her life to bring about such changes, all the emotional stress she may have been under, none of it had any place in her life at work. These strangers who, against all their natural instincts, trusted her; they had no time for such considerations as what might be going on with her today. No, in a sense the only foundation for their trust was the fact that she was somehow more than human. She had to be. She had to remain totally infallible in their eyes, lest their natural instincts creep back in; that dark mistrust that is slowly grown within each person, nurtured through a series of events, beginning young, with a simple lie from parents to get a child to sleep, then growing, layer upon layer, year after year to protect each one person from the next one's deceits. Those protective layers were constantly scanning, and for someone like Nurse Kathy to have any chance to bypassing them, she had to remain a constant neutral, always present, always attentively proper, yet detached from the situation. And indeed that would be how she had to view each thing she dealt with; what happened to her patients could not be given any additional meaning, what happened to them were situations, problems that had answers, nothing more. And so she could go about her day, reaching through that invisible layer she built around herself to comfort and care for people who had blind faith in all she did, people who trusted without reason, for without trust, they had no hope, and those that had no hope, were already lost.

Hope... John wasn't one to worry about such things. He'd known from the first moment that he needn't worry about surviving his affliction, for him it had always been a matter of time, and truth be told, he felt that that made things much easier. Of course his family had wanted hope, wanted some quick fix to the problem, they had taken him to endless doctors and specialists and he'd sat patiently in each office, usually admiring the framed certificates used to cover the wall, while his son, daughter or wife would ask questions. "what about...' or 'isn't there a way we can...' or, 'couldn't we try..."

Then the doctor would politely explain, time and time again, that such things were not possible in this case, though they had been considered. His loved ones would then glance at him, as if checking to make sure that this revelation had not shattered him in some way, and then after a moments silence they would thank the doctor for his time and take their leave. After each such visit, they would talk about why they had posed their questions, and at first he had wondered if they were trying to justify themselves in asking them, but he soon realized that they weren't looking for any justification, they simply wanted to find something that could be done, and therefore either didn't want to or couldn't accept that there was nothing to do. And, John had realized, this was a necessary need for them, and how could he fault them for a need born of love? Indeed, how could he deny them their attempts to find questions? After all, the answers had all been stated, so the search really was not for answers, but for new questions just in case something had been missed. Maybe they felt that if it had, and they had failed to investigate every question, they would feel responsible if a possible solution was missed. He'd realized then that they searched for any hope, not so much for him, but for themselves - so that they would not be responsible.

And so he went to each appointment and studied the walls, knowing that the answers would be the same, and allowing them to do what was necessary for them, until, at last there were no more specialists, no more paths, and John had watched as they each began to search for acceptance. He knew that without it, they would not be able to be present in what was to come in the following months, and would be caught off guard when, inevitably, his end came. He needed them to be able to accept his death, just as it had been necessary for him to do so, a process which had been anything but simple. Death seems so simple as an action, but as a concept, it becomes vastly complicated, and it was to unravel this web that he had gone to Dr. Ivankowits, he had come to her seeking understanding. A way, not to lose hope, but to accept it as unnecessary, and move on.

#

3.

He looked older; these past months had changed her father. He hadn't aged that much on the surface, his face, though thinner and more lined was still the same face she remembered, but when she looked in his eyes now there was a knowledge far beyond his years. As if the acceptance of death had gifted him with some vast secrets, a wealth of understanding. Vital and cruel, uncaring as to what they did to their host, these truths had deepened his once so familiar gaze, which made her feel like a child in understanding.

Right now though, lying asleep, Julie thought he almost looked as though nothing had changed, as if she could wake him and everything would be normal. They could leave this hospital, which had become home to them all these past few weeks, and go home. They could forget all about this, like it was just a nightmare, and resume their normal lives. But she knew that wasn't true, and as she rose quietly and stepped back into the hall, her heart sank with the inner knowledge that there would be no going back. The hall lights of the hospital were a cold embrace, and Julie thought, not for the first time, that there was no comfort to be found here, in this unforgiving, methodically practical place. She was finished fighting now though, she'd simply run out of things to chase.

At first it had seemed so easy, so simple; there's a problem, so, inevitably, there was also a solution somewhere, she just needed to find it. And so she had begun her hunt. There were lots of specialists, and each one she contacted would tell her that there was much that could be done, and she would have her father's chart sent to him or her, before going with her him for a meeting. She thought back to those drives together; sometimes her mother or brother would accompany them, usually sitting quietly in the back, as she told him all about the specialist and what they had told her on the phone, somehow feeling a need to justify to him this exercise, as if she felt that any use of his, now so precious time, needed to be thoroughly explained. He would smile and play along, but she knew that it was only that. Even then, he'd had that look in his eyes. Back then that look had made her seethe with anger inside - that look was defeat. Her father, it seemed to her, had given up. And that was something she didn't know yet if she could forgive. After all, in a sense it was like he'd given up on them all when he accepted his own fate as inevitable. How could anyone be alright with dying? She could still feel that anger within her now, but she no longer had the strength, nor the desire, to act on it. Back then she had moved forward as if on a mission - him giving up wasn't going to stop her from looking for answers. But of course, it had not been up to her, in the end, each appointment had turned out the same, after all their talk, one by one the specialists changed their tune. Her mood darkened at the memory of how they had looked across their desks at them, calmly telling them that they were sorry, but nothing could be done. Oh how she had been furious then,

Sorry? She'd thought, you're fucking sorry?

And every time, her fathers' eyes; the look in them was something she couldn't understand: he looked almost relieved, and not the least bit surprised. Perhaps that was what had hurt so much, a hurt she turned to anger. Perhaps if he'd believed, then there would have been a chance. But it was as though he already knew, each time - like he'd known what the answer would be all along. She remembered thinking then that it was almost like some secret between him and the doctors; they both knew, and she was just being allowed to play out her little make believe hope, like a child playing pretend, and they, the adults, would smile and go along. She had resolved though, that no matter what he thought, she wasn't giving up. And, standing alone in the hallway, she shook her head at the memory, at the futility of it all. Week by week, the list of possibilities got shorter and shorter, and time kept leaking away, and slowly realization had sunk in - she was being defeated by time, that had been her enemy all along, and there was nothing left she could fight it with.

They'd been on their way home when the realization hit her. That had been the last one, the last appointment. The last waiting room, the last infuriatingly polite man shaking his head. She'd wanted to say something to him then, something that could justify all the time they'd put into her quest for answers. But how could she say anything? How could she apologize for wasting his time, what little he had left. No longer trusting herself to drive, she'd pulled the car over. And they'd sat silently for what seemed like hours, traffic flying by them. He hadn't said a word, just sat and waited. Eventually she'd turned to look at him, he looked so calm, hair carefully combed to the side, that hint of a smile on his lips with his hands folded in his lap. He'd been wearing a sweater she'd given him for Christmas last year, and she remembered looking at that sweater and wondering at all that had changed since then. She'd wished she'd gotten something better, something that showed how much she really loved him, but how could she have known? How could she have been aware that that year would be the last Christmas for them all together? And that seemed so unfair. She wished she could have somehow known so she could have done things differently. Done what differently, she couldn't say, just something. But that had been the end of her fight, sitting there in the car she had suddenly understood that there was nothing left to do. As the tears rose up she'd laid a

hand on his, and, speaking quietly, not really knowing what to say, she'd whispered

'Dad... I'm sorry' He'd turned to her, and she'd felt hot tears on her cheeks. 'I just wanted... Something, but... the time dad, I'm so sorry'

He'd smiled softly at her then, the way he used to when she'd hurt herself as a child, and said 'It's okay honey, I spent it with you.'

With that she'd felt something give inside her, and, a child once more, he'd held her as she cried.

That had all been only two weeks ago now, but it seemed like forever. These days Julie felt numb most of the time. It wasn't natural, she reflected, to simply wait for a loved one to die. And this hospital seemed so cold, as if all the hurt and anguish it had witnessed over the years had made of it a thing devoid of emotion. These rooms and hallways had absorbed more pain and tears than was possible to contain, and it had hardened to it, so that now there was no warmth left to take anything away, and each person was forced to shoulder the weight of all their feelings without help. These halls were a world of whispers, where everything spoken was a secret only known to those who shared it. It was the times like this when she felt most alone, these times in the middle of the night when all around her was quiet but for the muted beeping of machines, their motors whirring, that suddenly seemed so loud.

Night here, Julie thought as she walked to stretch her legs, belonged to the machines; the tireless sentinels, ever watchful, giving life to the good and the bad with equal measure. Indifferent as to whom they helped, their only reward was these nights, when the hospital belonged to them and their voices could be heard, an endless chorus of mechanical song to fill the lonely hours.

#

4.

He was standing on the edge of a lake; the sky above still held the stars, and lake and sky shared mirror images. It took a moment before John realized that it was this that made him feel somewhat confused.

There was no wind this night, the air was soft and warm around him, yet still he felt a chill ripple through his body, and he pulled the blanket he had wrapped around himself closer, bringing it over his head. As it came over his eyes, he felt an instant warmth radiate through, and inside the cocoon of his blanket he was suddenly immersed in a world of deep orange. The feeling was wonderful, and he closed his eyes and let it fill him, then slowly, eyes still closed, he brought the blanket back down off his face, and opened his eyes. Blinding light shocked him, and he brought his arm up, turning his head to shield his eyes. As they adjusted, he looked forward once more, and his breath caught at the beauty before him. The sun had broken in the distance, and the world around him had been transformed; the sky was filled with color, orange and deep purple played across pink clouds, which seeming to radiate out of the sun itself towards him in broken sheets, and below, the lake's waves rippled through: a twin to the beauty above.

Feeling a presence at his side, he looked over, but saw no one there, and his eyes caught upon the woods around him. He felt a cold wind coming from them, and darkness seemed to radiate from the shadows within. He turned back around and found that the colors were quickly retreating, the clouds seeming to cast them back at the sun, and the sky turning darker before his eyes. He felt a sense of loss welling up within him, seeing the colors fleeing. Looking down at the lake he found it too was now growing colder, the waves were growing stronger, erasing the vista they had held only seconds before. He felt dizzy, and closed his eyes against the sensation. Suddenly a gust of wind, cold and cruel, hit him, knocking him off balance and back a step. John opened his eyes to find the sky had turned to grey, the clouds looking angry and black and boiling upwards, the waves gaining strength. He backed up a step to avoid the water that now seemed to be reaching out towards him; it too had transformed, growing cold and black, and he could feel a hunger emanating from its depths. He stepped back another step, and sought to raise his blanket once again; somehow he knew that within it, he would be warm and safe, but it seemed to have shrunk, he could no longer raise it over his head, and the harder he tried the more he got tangled up within it.

Cold panic began to creep up his spine as the wind started to howl around him, the waves now crashing over his feet. But he was becoming trapped; his sanctuary was becoming a prison. His arms were pinned, crossed against his chest, and he could feel the water- cold and hungry - swirling around his ankles. He feared to step back, knowing that tight as the blanket had become he would trip, and if he fell the water would claim him.

Another gust of wind blasted against his face, icy cold, and thunder broke from all directions. Unable to cover his ears against it, John cried out in terror, and the wind began pushing back on him, howling with triumph as he was knocked back. Shuffling his feet he barely kept his balance, but the motion brought his prison closer still, and he could no longer move his feet, which, fully immersed in the water, were now going numb with the cold. He leaned forward as far as he dared against the gale, but the wind was relentless, filling his head with it's howling, drawing tears from his eyes with icy fingers, he felt himself sliding backwards, he was helpless, with no feeling left in his feet he could do nothing to stop it. Suddenly something bumped against the back of his legs, and John could see, as he continued to lean forwards against the wind, that he had come up against a log. Black and rotting, it was nonetheless solid, and so cold it felt like it was cutting into him as, with all momentum now stopped, he was slowly forced upright by the howling fury of the storm. He screamed in frustration as he was pushed up, his voice filled with rage at the cruelty of nature, this brutal strength, uncaring as, with a renewed vigor from his cry, it threw him backwards over the log and into the water. The cold felt like a blow to his chest; he struggled to free himself, but was wrapped too tightly. Then suddenly he felt a tear with his finger, and, thrusting his hand through, he reached up and began ripping the blanket away, kicking his feet as it loosened its hold on him.

Somewhere above, the storm roared in fury. Lightning split the sky as he twisted free and his feet found the ground once more, then with the last of his strength he pushed himself up, reaching towards the surface, breaking free, up up up, and out into...

Darkness. The world was suddenly silent around him; all he could hear was his own breathing. He was covered in sweat, and then, as if from a great distance, he heard something beeping, getting a little louder each time. He blinked his eyes as the darkness slowly faded around him and the shapes of beds and machines became clear. As his memory returned to him, John slumped, letting out a long held breath, then, seeing his sheets and blankets crumpled at the end of his bed, he reached down and pulled them back up against the chill.

He laid back down, but something felt wrong, and it was a moment before he realized what it was – the nurses, they weren't there. He slowly raised himself up on his elbows and looked more closely around the room, only then noticing that the far left bed was gone. In it's place, wires and tubes still hung from now dark machines, but the bed and it's occupant, along with the nurses, had disappeared. He lowered himself back down and stared up at the ceiling: he would have no more sleep this night, he thought, but as he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the hospital around him, darkness crept over him, and before long he was asleep again.

#

5.

His mood was foul. As it always seemed to be in the hours leading up to these appointments. John stood outside the office building in the busy downtown as the crowd flowed around him, an island in the midst of life. He looked around and wondered at that, he seemed to have stepped outside the flow now, and, he realized, would never enter back into it.

A burst of laughter from a group of young girls brought a scowl to his face. Lately happiness had become only a memory for him, three weeks ago everything had been fine, he was just another one of these healthy happy people, with a life ahead of them. And now all that was gone, taken away from him. His stomach growled as if in answer to his anger towards that injustice. The rest of the world just kept going about their lives; happy, unknowing, and uncaring. He saw a smiling couple walking towards him and was overcome with and urge to grab them and shatter their happy little world screaming at them;

Don't you get it? Don't you even care? It's over for me, and you just go about your little lives like everything's fine, like everything's normal! But it's not! It's all gone, and you just don't care!

He shook himself out of his trance as the couple passed him, then unceremoniously pushed his way through the crowd and entered the building. Looking up as he crossed the lobby, he studied the giant bell suspended there; it was three stories tall, the floors surrounding it open with a balcony going all around. He found himself wishing it would fall, wishing it would fall and shatter this happy little world around him, but of course nothing happened.

Wouldn't matter, he thought miserably, the rest of them still wouldn't care - it's a stupid bell anyway.

He entered the elevator and pressed the button for the twelfth floor, moving to the back as others entered the elevator. A woman glanced at him as she entered, but seeing the look on his face, turned away quickly and pressed a button as the door shut. He stared at the back of her head, the anger felt like a living presence in his gut, clenching and unclenching.

Sure, he thought, look away. They all look away. You know something's wrong but you just don't care do you? Not enough to ask. Wouldn't want to upset your perfect little world now would we? Wouldn't want to make you turn and face reality. No, better you just stare at the wall, this way I don't have to watch you pretend to be sorry, pretend like you really wish things were better for me, because I know, you see, a cruel smile began to form on his face, I know you don't give a shit about anything except yourself, especially not me...

The elevator door opened and the woman, turning as she stepped out, said; 'Have a good day'

He saw compassion in her eyes, and panicked for a second, standing slack jawed as the door shut between them, wondering if she could of known what he was thinking, and why, he now wondered, was he thinking like that in the first place? She had done nothing to him. Had he grown so cruel as to look, and indeed, to hope for only the worst in people? He thought of his family and their endless, seeming tireless parade from one specialist to the next, and realized he didn't deserve any of it. He had become cold; distant to all but those closest to him, and, he thought, he was probably only a burden to them - one that they chose to bear, and seemed to do so without complaining. He felt tears coming to his eyes, he was so confused, why had everything changed? How was he supposed to feel? The elevator dinged softly, announcing the twelfth floor.

***

John sat slumped in the high back leather chair, an occasional groan coming from it as he settled ever lower and deeper into it's cushioned embrace.

The room around him was dimly lit and soft jazz music was coming from some, as yet undefined, location. The floor was a deep red, thickly carpeted to absorb sound, and of a hue to match the chair John was sitting in. The walls had been painted deep brown, almost a chocolate color, and were bare except for one picture on his right and a small bookshelf to his left. The books all bore similar titles; all relating to either grief or acceptance, and the picture was of a man in a boat, who was looking out over a lake to a distant beach, where a small campfire with kids playing around it was visible, but they appeared somehow otherworldly and ghostlike - as if only from a memory. Under the picture was a long, backless couch of black leather.

This room was, in John's opinion, designed for softness, and entering it was like coming into a cave compared to the sharp angles and drastic colors of the world beyond. He glanced up at the woman sitting across from him. Dr. Ivankowitz was a small woman, slender and unremarkable, she blended perfectly with the room around her, like the two had been matched for one another; a detail which was probably not far from the truth, John thought. She looked up at him, her face was long, with dark red hair held back in a loose ponytail, her features were decidedly plain, eyes dark brown behind square, black rimmed glasses set atop a thin nose. She wore very little makeup, and was, in essentially every way, entirely non-threatening. But John had found, on every visit, that for whatever reason - perhaps the room itself, something in the tones of the music playing softly, something in her look, or most likely a combination of all the above - he felt decidedly uncomfortable in this place.

He felt a need to speak, but didn't know what to say. It was like some great and vastly important question was lying between them and his brain was struggling for an answer, but without knowing the question he was doomed to fail no matter what he said. He had arrived today already tired and confused after his torrent of emotions between the front entrance and the elevator up to the floor where he now sat in her office.

'I was angry again on the way over here' He said, looking back down at his hands, somehow he was ashamed of the admission.

Her voice was soft when she spoke 'And now, John, do you still feel angry?'

'No...' He wanted to say more as a means of explanation but found he could think of nothing to say.

'Alright then,' she continued, 'do you know what made you so angry?'

He furrowed his brow, turning his hands over one at a time and then back again; he began studying each finger individually. 'I don't know. It was...everything I guess. The people being happy... It just made me angry'

'Was it the people themselves, or their happiness that angered you?'

'What's the difference?'

'Well, one is an emotion, the other is something that you may feel you have lost.'

After a moment he looked up 'Again' he shrugged, 'what's the difference? They're both gone, aren't they?'

'I can't say John, do you feel like they are?'

He was starting to get annoyed, these roundabout conversations could go on forever with her, and he was determined not to get in another one. 'They're the same. They're both things I've lost. It's not like you can separate people from emotions anyway.'

'It's what they represent then' she said, 'that made you feel anger towards them.'

'I guess' He sighed 'It just... it doesn't seem right anymore. I don't fit into the world anymore.'

She looked down and adjusted the folds of her dress, then smoothed it out over her lap. Looking back up at him she said 'Can I ask you a question John?' She stopped and stared at him and it was a moment before he realized she was actually waiting for some kind of permission from him.. He acknowledged her with a slight wave of his hand.

She smiled at that 'Here's the question. Do you always feel angry when you see happiness in others, or was it just today, with the people you saw.'

He couldn't think of a good answer for that, his mind already felt exhausted by the conversation. He shrugged 'I'm not sure'

'The reason I ask' she continued 'Is I'm wondering if perhaps it's not so much the people, but the happiness itself that made you feel angry. Sometimes when someone is depressed, the happiness of others will make them angry because it's an emotion they have denied themselves, so they feel it's unjust for others to show happiness around them'

'So you're saying maybe I've denied myself happiness?' He asked, 'That doesn't make any sense, why would I do that? Do you think I like being miserable?'

'It's not about sense or what you like John, emotions are rarely considerate of either of those things; we feel what we feel. And as to weather or not you like being miserable, I couldn't tell you weather you like it or not. But I can tell you that often people, when they feel an emotion is justified, will continue to feel it even though it does them no good and sometimes there is no real reason for it. But because they feel deserving of it, they will continue to live in that mind frame.'

He sat quietly, wondering about what her statement. Did he like being miserable? Of course not, this past month had been torture. He hadn't been able to enjoy anything. Food had lost its flavor, and he felt no desire to read or listen to music, or even leave the house for that matter. His family was constantly thinking of activities, but he didn't want to go out. The world outside went on without consideration to his plight, and would continue after he was gone; indifferent to all he had lost. He looked over at the couch, she had never asked him if he wanted to lie down, but now all of a sudden he felt so tired.

He looked up 'I'd like to lie down'

A slight look of surprise crossed her otherwise constant expression of compassion, and she motioned to towards the couch saying 'Sure, if you'd like to, go ahead.'

He pushed himself up out of the chair, into which he now realized, he had sunk considerably, and walked over to the couch. He sat first, removing his shoes before lying back, the couch groaning softly as he settle onto it. He stared at the ceiling. After a moment he said 'It doesn't seem fair'

'What is it that seems unfair to you John? Your illness?'

'No, well yes, but it's more that they don't seem to care. Those happy people I mean. It doesn't matter to them what I'm going through.'

'How could they know what you're going through though John, unless they know you?'

'I didn't say it made sense, like you said, how I feel often doesn't. It just seems unfair to me, that they get to go on with their lives like everything's fine when, for me, it's all over.'

'Is that what you believe John? Do you believe that death is the end?'

'Are you saying you don't think it is?' He asked

'I'm asking you John, what do you think?'

'I'm not sure, it's certainly an end of some kind. It's the end of me here, on earth anyways'

'I don't think so' she said.

He turned at her words 'What do you mean?'

'Well, death is an end physically, and depending on what you believe, that could mean that you're spirit is released or you simply cease to exist entirely. But that's only your physical presence that leaves earth. There is much more to a person than that.'

He thought about that for a moment, and she seemed content to allow him this time of reflection. Looking back at the ceiling, he began mentally tracing patterns. 'You mean actions, don't you? A person lives on through accomplishments and the like, therefore what I've done in my work, my business, will last longer.'

'In a sense, yes' She said 'but I would say that a person's impact is much more than simply their accomplishments throughout their professional career. What about the lives we touch, the families we have? Our influence on them will continue.'

'So when I die, you're saying a part of me will live on, through them.'

'That's a good way to put it, yes. And if you think about it John, that influence doesn't just stop there. Those you have loved, those whose lives you have touched, they in turn will go on to touch other peoples lives differently because of influences you've had on them. In that way, your effect on the world you leave behind will continue, in some ways forever.'

'What about wrongs though' He said, 'there are those people, surely, that I've wronged in the past as well, those would continue on as well.'

'True,' she said 'but there may be nothing you can do about some of that – the past is gone. What I'm talking about may help you in your future though, maybe if you can believe that your actions will go on after you pass away, it will help you find a reason for enjoying what time is left to you, no matter what the situation.' She waited a moment as he thought, then said 'I have another question John; you said that you were angry on the way over here, but not anymore. What changed?'

He thought back to the woman in the elevator; how he had hated her, thinking she cared nothing for him or his situation, thinking she was indifferent to all but herself. Then, when she'd spoken kindly to him his embarrassment and confusion towards his own emotions. She had transformed from a cold, uncaring person, to someone filled with warmth and compassion, someone who deserved far better than the cruel thoughts he had been directing towards her.

'My perception.' He answered 'all that changed was my perception. I realized that I was just projecting my own, angry assumptions onto the world around me. Judging everyone for the worst. When I noticed that though, I knew I was wrong, and so instead of angry I felt ashamed of my thoughts, and confused because I didn't understand how I had gotten so angry in the first place.'

He looked over at her and she offered him a small smile, saying 'John, everything you're going through is quite natural. You may have been feeling that it wasn't fair that you are dying while others continue to live, but fairness does not play into the equation. Life may seem to be fair or unfair, but the truth is, that is simply how we perceive things; life is not always a balanced existence, things simply happen, and whether you believe they happen for a reason or not, it does not change the fact of what is. You can either look at your death as something that is unjust; that you don't deserve, and be bitter towards the world in one way or another for visiting this fate upon you, or you can accept that this is simply the life you have, and although it may be shorter than you thought it would be, there's no reason you can't still find fulfillment in what's left to you. You can choose to see your impending death as an opportunity to make the most of what time remains to you, and live a full, happy life to the end of your days, no matter when that end comes.'

John remained silent, contemplating what she had said. He knew she was right; the choice was an easy one to make. He had only so much time anyway, why not at least try to make it meaningful? It made so much sense, and yet, he couldn't get her last words out of his head "when that end comes" she had said. The more he thought about those words the more the room seemed to shrink in towards him, growing darker. He felt fear rising within him, vague currents of panic prickling just below its surface. He had been having this feeling more and more lately; it wasn't death itself that scared him, but the uncertainty that swirled around it. There will be something more, he would tell himself, but that did nothing to calm his mind. The truth was, he could make all the difference in the world to those around him in what time he had left, but his true fear, what kept him up in the long nights, was not for them, but for himself. What would happen to him?

The doctor spoke again, snapping him out of his trance 'We're out of time, John. Do you think you will be able to feel any better about things now? Did any of that help you with your anger?'

Still staring at the ceiling, John didn't trust his voice, the fear was still there, barely hidden below the surface. All he could manage was a nod, and he believed it had helped him; he no longer felt angry, he no longer felt injustice in what was happening to him. All that was gone, and he would no longer spend his days within the storm cloud he had been living in. This would be better for not only him, but all those around him.

He rose from the couch with some effort and put his shoes back on. The doctor rose as he did, and extended her hand, as he took hold of it she said 'I hope you feel better this week John, just remember, you have a right to feel all these emotions, whether you can explain them or not. Don't be afraid to experience them, but try not to live in the negative ones'

'Thank you doctor' he said, releasing her hand, 'I don't think I'll feel angry about it any more' And he meant it, he realized as he walked back to the elevator. No more anger, it had been removed, but in its place was something far worse, cold fear still gripped his heart, and in his mind he could not stop thinking about the darkness. How would it feel? How would nothing feel? Again he felt the tickle of panic in the back of his mind. At least, he thought grimly as he pushed the button for the elevator, this feeling will be easier to hide.

#

6.

The room was dark when Mary awoke and found that she was alone in bed. She resisted the urge to call out for John, she felt her worrying had made it difficult on him, so had began to do her best to keep her feelings hidden, aside from being positive and always present. But every time he was late by a few minutes getting home from his walk, or an appointment with Julie, or that psychiatrist, What was her name? Dr. Ivanstorit? Ibankonits? Every time he was a few minutes late, she'd fear the worst, and it had been such a challenge just to keep herself from reacting to her fear, even though she knew that there was nothing she could do; sooner or later she would either get a phone call or, if it happened at their home, she would drive him to the hospital herself, and that would be it - the beginning of the end. She mentally shook her head, thinking of that as she lay in the still dark room waiting for him to come back. Not necessarily the end she told herself you have to always hope; nothing is certain. But although she could convince her mind of this, she could do nothing about the feeling of foreboding that remained somewhere deeper inside her, as if her heart already knew something her mind was unwilling to accept.

She thought back to the night before. She'd been waiting for him, watching from the window when he had arrived home. She had looked on as he drove up the driveway, and had wondered as, after turning the car off, he had stayed inside for several minutes; just sitting there, he had looked so alone to her. He had been so angry lately, she didn't want to upset him by running out to the car to make sure he was okay, and so she had continued to wait, until eventually he had opened the door and began walking up the drive. There'd been something different in the way he moved, something softer in his stance. He looked up as he approached the front door, and glanced at the house, smiling when he saw her there. She smiled back, and moved away from the window and towards the front hall, where upon entering he placed his shoes on the mat. As he removed his overcoat she opened the closet and reached over and, taking it from him, hung the heavy coat in it's usual place on the rack. She turned back to him and he leaned forward and kissed her softly, then leaned back, holding her lightly on both arms. He looked different.

'How was your appointment honey?’ She'd asked, and he'd smiled at her, saying:

'Actually, it was pretty good this time.' He paused for a moment before adding 'I feel much better about things than I did before I went.' But behind the smile a strange look passed in his eyes, and that look had made her wonder... She couldn't tell what it was, it had come and gone so quickly, so she had just returned his smile, saying 'Well, I guess that's what's supposed to happen. I was beginning to wonder you know, every time you saw that Dr. what's her face, you seemed to came home worse than when you'd left. Nice to see her do some good for a change.' He'd laughed then and said 'Well, I don't think you can blame too much of my moodiness on her. But I do feel much better. I was thinking actually,' he continued 'that maybe the two of us would go to the lake this weekend. We can invite the kids another time, but I'd like to have a weekend for just the two of us, like when we were first married. What do you think? Are you still brave enough to spend a night in the woods with me?' She'd laughed too then, and said 'My brave woodsman? Why, there'd be nothing to fear with you there to protect me. If that's what you want to do, then that's what we'll do.'

'Perfect' he'd said 'I'll start getting everything together tomorrow'

She'd smiled remembering the look he'd had on his face there, like a young boy who'd just found out he was going to camp. It had reminded her of the way he'd looked when they'd first met, in a time that seemed so long ago. She remembered she'd taken his hand then and began leading him towards the kitchen saying 'come on, dinner should be ready' and they'd sat together and eaten like they'd been doing for so many years now, talking of memories of other trips up to the lake, about times when storms had hit and they'd been trapped in their little camper trailer the whole time they were there. She'd told him that those trips had been her favorites, when the kids were still little and the whole family had sat playing games waiting for the storm to pass. He'd laughed at the memories, but behind his smile, every now and then, that odd look would cross his eyes. He'd look away or down when it happened, but she could tell that although the storm cloud he had been trailing before seemed to have been dispersed, something else was bothering him now, and her gut had told her that this new feeling would not so easily go away.

Remembering that look made her feel uneasy about his absence this morning; so she rose and, putting on her dressing gown, she left the bedroom and walked into the hallway. The walls of the hall were both filled with family pictures; happy times and special occasions, the pictures were her way of keeping the children home even after they'd moved away, on to their own lives in the world. The familiar faces followed her as she made her way towards the kitchen, where she could see a light coming from beneath the door. She could hear a faint whistle coming from the other side and she opened it gently to find John standing over the stove in his robe and slippers.

He turned at her arrival and said 'Ah, perfect timing. I didn't wake you did I?'

'No' She answered, then added 'what are you doing up so early?'

'Do you want some tea?' he asked, removing the kettle from the stove and starting to pour it into a mug he had ready on the counter.

She nodded and walked over to him and accepted the tea as he handed it to her 'Did you sleep well?' She asked

'Like a baby.' he answered, opening the cupboard and taking out another mug, into which he dropped a tea bag and began pouring water. When he was done he turned to her 'Come on, I'll show why I'm up.'

He took her hand and led her to the living room and sat down on the couch, patting it for her to sit beside him. She smiled at the excited look on his face, and sat beside him. Leaning on his shoulder she looked out the large window opposite them; the sun had yet to rise, and she could barely make out the hills in the distance, the stream that ran through the bottom of their yard was still dark and looked so peaceful from here. It was as though the whole world outside of their house had frozen in anticipation, and as the sky began to slowly lighten she raised her head and looked at him. He had a slight smile, and the excitement was still in his eyes. Not wanting to ruin the moment by speaking, she turned back to the window then, and taking his hand in both of hers, leaned her head on his shoulder again. Together they sat in silence, waiting for the day to begin.

#

7.

It's strange, John thought to himself as she laid her head against him, what acquires meaning when life is put in perspective. He felt at peace now, the warmth of her hand, the light pressure as she leaned against him. God how he loved her. The strength she had shown was a source of wonder for him. Sitting together now, waiting for the sun, he wondered how he had never thought of doing this before.

As the day slowly began, the familiar details of their yard took shape beyond the window. This house had seen so many memories of their families life, and John was able now to think of those memories in the light of what he had learned the night before. Recently he had found it so painful to think of those past times because all it made him think about was how, sometime soon, there would be no new memories. Again, he thought, it all comes down to perspective. The most important memories - those of his family and close friends - would live on in them, nor, he now thought, would this house and yard cease to carry them with it. There was great comfort in thinking that. Death, he thought, is hardly an end if who I am lives on. He started to wonder then, about what would happen to him, and again the remembered the darkness that had filled him the night before, but he stopped himself, remembering what the doctor had told him about living in the negative emotions. Besides, he thought maybe something great is waiting. It's not like I have any idea one way or the other. He felt better thinking that, and although the fear was still there, he didn't have any ideas of what to do about it now, and so he knew there could be little to gain from dwelling on it.

At that moment the sun finally broke over the hills in the distance, and his breath caught as light spread over the scene before him. At his side, he felt Mary stir slightly as light reached the house and filled the room. He looked over and found her staring up at him.

He kissed her softly and said 'do you remember, a long time ago, before the kids, before the career, when we first moved in here?' she smiled up at him, and he continued 'we sat right here, we had no money, and no idea what we were doing, and I was so scared that I wouldn't be able to afford any of this, do you remember what you said? You told me that no matter what happened, two things would never change; the sun would rise, and you'd still love me.' She looked away, and he knew there were tears in her eyes as he said 'when I'm gone, and you think of me, try to remember those things; and when you see the sun rise, remember all the good times we had together.'

She reached up and wiped at her eyes , and he heard her say 'I'll never forget John, you know that'

He turned, and looked back out the window and said 'then I'll never be gone. And that's good enough for me'.

#

8.

Sunlight stung his eyes as the door opened, bringing him back to reality. Sean looked down at the glass in front of him and was disappointed to see it was empty. How many now? He couldn't remember, but he knew he should be drunk, and for whatever reason that blissful state of nothing had been eluding him more often then not of late.

He motioned to the bartender, and said 'one more, then I'm done'

He watched as the big man - going grey now, eyes squinted from years of smoke and limping slightly from a knife he'd taken to the hip breaking up a fight years earlier - walked over to him from the other end of the bar, picked up a bottle of scotch, and turning to him, half filled the glass and leaned forwards on the counter.

'Ya know' he said 'that's the third time you've said that, n'your still here. Not that that's unusual or nothin', but something don't seem right with you these days, if you don't mind my sayin so'

'maybe I do mind you sayin, Denny' he said, taking the glass and closing his eyes as he drank, feeling the heat of the alcohol working it's way down through his body.

'Alright, fine' Denny said as he turned and replaced the bottle on the shelf behind him 'but whatever it is that's got you so miserable lately, sittin' there tryin to drown it ain't gonna make it go away. It'll still be waitin' when you leave'

Not necessarily. He thought, and cringed, cursing himself under his breath. Then looking up he said. 'those your words of wisdom for the day? Maybe it'll be waitin' maybe not. How about you let me worry about that, okay?'

'Suit yourself, stay as long as you like, just seems to me that this' He tapped Seans' glass 'ain't helping one way or the other anymore. So maybe you need a new strategy is all. But like I said, suit yourself'

With that he turned and made his way back down towards the other end of the bar counter, and Sean, scowling, looked back down at his glass before him. Bastard's got a point he thought, although truth be told this hasn't really worked for over a week. He tossed back the last of the liquor and rose from his stool. His back ached in protest to the motion - the hours hunched over the counter had locked his spine in an arc - and he leaned back, stretching his arms behind himself as he felt the tension release. Straightening up, he took out his wallet and reaching into it took out some cash and left it on the counter, then he checked his pockets before heading for the door.

The street he stepped out onto was littered with trash. The buildings opposite were close; in this part of town the streets were little more than alleys. Bums shuffled around to on either side, and farther off in the distance he could hear someone yelling, possibly at no one. Day or night, this was not a desirable are, at least not for the sound of mind. Sean glanced left, then right, trying to decide which direction to go, then realizing he had no destination in mind, he turned to the left and began walking. Downhill seemed to be the obvious choice, and in this direction the street seemed slightly slanted in his favor. The down and out citizens who called this part of town home tossed questions his way as he passed them by; dealers, beggars and whores all looking to fill their pockets. He walked past each in turn without looking up; staying silent as he studied the ground before him, he continued on for several blocks before rounding a corner and coming, almost instantly, into the business district. He turned to a shop window upon entering the busy sidewalk - the lowlifes remained in their dark corner of the world behind him - this part of town was filled with success and future successes, young and old, well dressed and full of ambition. The business class of the city flowed by the alley he had just left as though it and all that dwelt beyond it didn't exist, as if by not looking down that street they could avoid any possible tarnish that could stain their souls. But Sean knew this was only an outward deceit; how many of those who walked past - seemingly indifferent to that dark world - entered it at one time or another, seeking something that couldn't be found out here in their nice, clean, imaginary little world. How many businessmen, eyes darting around in exited fear, had he seen enter Denny's bar, looking for thrills that couldn't be found elsewhere? And how many of those same seekers of excitement had woken up the next morning, beaten and broke in those alleys, ravaged by the world they sought to taste. The two worlds danced around each other, each had something the other needed to survive, and opportunities for a quick swap were never missed.

Sean stood now, back in the cleanliness of society, and checked himself in the shop mirror. Not too much worse for wear. His dark, medium length hair was a bit of a mess, but he ran his hands through it a couple times, sweeping it back until it looked presentable. He then straitened his overcoat; one collar was flipped inside and so he reversed it. His face was another story, the bags under his eyes would not so easily be turned back, and he could do little to hide the look in those eyes, a match he felt, for the feelings within him. He turned and, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, he began making his way down the street, still heading for a destination he had yet to decide upon. He walked in a straight line, and although he was not a huge man, he was bulky, and something about the way he moved and the look he had upon his face caused those around him to clear a path.

The sun was shining over head, but for Sean the world was dark. He felt nothing; no emotion but contempt and disgust at the world around him. He was tired of pretending to care about things. Peoples problems, their lives, their pathetic little hopes and dreams. None of it mattered to him; he'd had enough. He'd spent enough time caring and sharing with other people, and now not one of them seemed willing to return the favor. Then to hell with all of 'em. He thought bitterly, as he glanced at each face that he passed. It seemed as though each time he looked, he was just barely fast enough to catch them averting their eyes from him. Scared, are ya? Well fine, do I look like I give a shit anyway? The crowd was starting to annoy him, and he felt an urge to be alone. Sean stopped and looked around; somewhere here there was a park. He thought he remembered where, took a left at the next intersection, and within ten minutes he was entering the small trail.

Office buildings flanked the block that contained the small park. It had been left to the city in the will of some rich man over fifty years ago, and so had survived what had otherwise been ruthless expansion as the city grew.

He walked along the trail for a few minutes; the sides were lined with flower beds, empty now except for the rhododendron leaves that carpeted the soil here and there. Behind these were small maple trees in a thin line of grass before a large hedge rose up, cutting off the city beyond and muting the sounds of the downtown traffic. He could hear a steady trickle of water coming from up ahead and he continued along the trail, the sounds of the city growing quieter as the path wound around, until he came to a small stream. Here the path split in two; a small branch of it continuing over the stream and through a small break in the hedge then curving to follow it's passage out of sight. Sean turned and took this smaller trail, ducking under low hanging branches before passing through the hedge. He stopped on the other side and after looking around at the quiet forest surrounding him he followed the curve of the path, which on this side of the hedge was little wider than a bike trail. After a few minutes the trail sloped downhill and the stream wound it's way under the hedge to appear on his left. Then, fifty paces of so farther along, the path came to an end at a small pond, only about a hundred feet across and half covered by a huge willow tree that was growing on the opposite bank. Reaching the waters edge, Sean stopped and sat down, leaning back on his elbows and staring out towards the pond. On the left side he could see where the main path met up with the pond, and a couple benches had been set up there. He closed his eyes and listened to the forest; the occasional chirping of birds was the only sound to break the gentle swishing sounds of the trees around him. Somewhere above his head he could hear the occasional scratching of a squirrel, and behind the wind and trees the quiet roar of the city was there, though so muted it seemed to be miles away.

He was exhausted: he'd spent most of his time these past weeks in Denny's bar, trying his best to drown every emotion that came to him. The first couple of weeks were a blur; he'd drank until he couldn't remember a thing, and once he got to that state he'd probably enjoyed most of those nights, drunk, dancing and having a blast. And as long as he started early enough the next day, he hadn't had to deal with the guilt that had been growing steadily inside him. Unfortunately, roughly a week ago the drinking had stopped working the way it was supposed to. Even when he got drunk he couldn't find his way out of his head, and the fun loving crowd around him had moved on to greener pastures, leaving him sitting at the counter, alone with his guilt and anger. He'd kept trying for a few days though; made a noble effort of it didn't I? He thought. But oblivion had continued to elude him, and he'd been forced to start thinking about his life again, which, after this recent binge, was a rather distressing task.

He hadn't been to work in two weeks, and chances are he wouldn't be welcomed back. His attitude, after all, had been sour for a while before his disappearance, and most likely the management of the small Italian restaurant he had been cooking at figured he'd just decided to stop working there. He'd gotten out of work three times with the excuse of going to an appointment with his father, of course that had only been true one of those times, the other two he was simply too hung over to bother getting out of bed, and had decided that he'd be better off continuing to drink than trying to battle his way through a shift in the hellishly hot, cramped kitchen at work.

He thought back to that appointment; Julie was so sure that she'd be able to find some magical cure for their father. He'd gone along because she asked him to, but he had no expectations. He'd known what the doctor would say long before they'd arrived at the office, and he suspected that his father knew as well. In fact, he wondered at his fathers' willingness to go along on these endless trips back and forth with his sister. Their mother had only gone on the first such visit and had then opted to stay home, which he thought was probably for the best anyway, she'd done a poor job of hiding her despair at the doctors gentle denial of Julies hopeful questing. He couldn't imagine how reactions like his mothers must have made his father feel; how could he have hope when those close to him had none? Then again, there seemed to be little thought of hope in his actions recently. His father had never turned away from a challenge that he knew of, and had in fact always seemed to welcome them with a kind of happy drive that he would maintain until the present obstacle had been overcome. But there was none of that drive in his father now, and it made Sean angry to see him so accepting of something that was clearly unfair.

He couldn't get past that feeling , his stubbornness was too strong, and that was what he'd been running from. He was unwilling to accept things the way his father did. He'd always been stubborn, and this wasn't the first time their relationship had suffered for it: he could remember as a child, when he'd been ten years old, he'd had a fight with his parents that had ended with them basically telling him that this was their house, and while living in it he would have to follow their rules.

Thinking back on that argument, he couldn't remember what it was that had made him feel so hard done by, only that he'd been furious with them for saying that; furious with the unfairness of it. He could remember his fathers face; he'd looked exhausted, and Sean felt the familiar stab of guilt as he remembered his actions as a child. He had been so angry with them then; he could remember telling them that they were just being mean because they didn't care about him, and that it wasn't fair that they could just make up all these rules, and he had no choice but to follow them. He remembered how he'd started crying when he'd said that, and had then turned away - ashamed of his tears - and had run to his room and refused to come out for the rest of the night. He'd woken the next morning to find that his father had stayed home, and the family had eaten breakfast in silence, his father still wearing that hurt, weary look every time he'd caught Sean's eye.

How he'd wondered at his father's presence that morning. He'd ached to know why he'd stayed home, but was determined to stay angry with them forever, and so he'd left for school, still wondering about it, and aching from the look in his fathers eyes.

He'd come home that day to find his Dad at the side of their house, working away at something, and had stood watching from the driveway while his father sawed away at pieces of wood, every now and then stopping and looking back at a piece of paper he had on a bench beside himself. He had wanted to go over to see what he was building, he'd wanted to ask questions and to tell him he was sorry, but stronger than that was his urge to remain justified in his anger, and so he'd turned away eventually and walked up the rest of the driveway. Hearing his footsteps on the gravel his father had stopped in his examination of the plans on the bench, but he hadn't turned around, he just stood and waited, so Sean went into the house and down to his room, where he stayed until dinner, and after a silent meal, he went back down to bed.

Thinking back to that week was painful: his father had worked alone for the three days, building a small shed with a door and windows around the side of the house. On the third day Sean had come home from school to see his dad up on a ladder hammering nails into the last of the shingles on the slated roof Seeing him, he'd called out to him, climbed back down, and as Sean walked over to the stand before the doorway his father had come around to stand beside him.

'Now you can have your own place, okay Sean.' He'd said, and Sean could hear exhaustion in his voice 'you think we make up rules just to be mean, but you have to understand; the rules are there, whether you like it or not, for your own good.' He'd knelt down then, and taking him by the shoulders gently turned Sean to face him 'Someday you're going to be responsible for a whole lot more than you are now, so if you want, now you can make a start. You can do whatever you want with this, as long as it isn't dangerous to you or anyone else. I'm sorry you're so mad at us Sean, but maybe this will help'

Sean hadn't known what to say to him, he'd felt awful. He had treated his father terribly the whole time he was working on what had turned out to be a small playhouse for him, not once acting like he cared or wanted anything to do with it.

Oh what he'd give now to have that moment back; to tell his dad he was sorry, to tell him he loved him and thank him for everything. Instead though, he'd just nodded, and had stood silently as his father rose and walked back to the house. He wished he could go back and say what he should have, but he couldn't change that.

Of course, for all his wishing, here he was; basically doing the exact same thing all over again. But this time the guilt was too much, he wouldn't get another chance after this, and he knew it. He'd already lost so much time that he wouldn't get back.

He felt the anger stir within him again, but this time it was directed towards himself, towards his own cowardice. He'd been so selfish; he'd been so focused on the injustice of everything, wallowing in self pity, that he hadn't thought of what his father must be going through. He thought again of what his dad had said to him that day in front of the playhouse:

"Responsible for a whole lot more..."

You trusted me even then dad, well, it's about time I earned it isn't it. With that thought Sean rose from where he'd been sitting and began walking back up the hill.

PART TWO

1.

The day was cold and crisp outside John's window as trees and fields flew past, there were few people on the road now, which was the usual for this time of year at the lake. He looked on as familiar images passed by; the deeper the road wound into the national park the more rocks and cliffs lined the sides of the road. There were few leaves left on the trees this late in the year, and for John, it was the perfect time to visit the campgrounds. Aside from the people who made day trips up, they'd have the lake mostly to themselves, and since John had never really been one for swimming, the colder whether made little difference to him.

It had taken them more time than they'd expected to get on the road; even though John had begun to prepare the day after he'd spoken to Mary of his plan, there were always more things to do than it appeared. After gathering warm clothes and checking their gear to make sure all the necessary emergency equipment was there, he'd had to go and get a new propane tank for their trailer and then, realizing it had been several years since he'd even looked inside it, had cranked the old canvas trailer up and checked inside to make sure everything still worked. Aside from a few new holes in the drapes, everything had looked pretty much as he remembered it. Once cranked up, the trailer was about twenty feet long, with a bed situated at each end. In the middle there was a small fold up table and two bench seats, which could seat two comfortably and four cozily, as Mary liked to say. Diagonally opposite the table was the kitchen, which consisted of little more than a sink and a counter on which the hotplates could be set up for cooking simple meals, and behind that was a couple of steps down to the door.

John thought of the simplicity of it as they drove through the forest. It was so strange, he reflected, that they seemed to spend so much of their time working to acquire things like a house, furniture, special odds and ends and other luxuries for life. And then, as soon as a chance came for a break, they'd leave all their special conveniences behind, and taking only what was most important, head into the wilderness to 'get away from it all'.

He smiled at that thought, all that time they spent getting everything, and no matter what they did the important stuff never seemed to change: food, clothes, family and a warm place to go on the colder nights; in the end, that's all anyone really needed. Of course he didn't regret having the luxuries of home, but somehow those very things that he'd sought to achieve were the things that always spurred his need to get away; and so the cycle went.

It had been years though, since they'd been to the lake. They'd gone on other vacations, but it never seemed to make any sense going camping without the kids, and since they were too busy with their young lives, him and Mary had taken to heading for warmer weather once of twice a year; trading the camper for a warm hotel and room service. But he'd been longing for the lake lately; perhaps partly because he may not get another chance, but there was more to it than that. He felt a stirring in him as the scenery sped past outside his window and they got closer and closer to their destination. It felt to John as though in a way he was going back in time, to a time and place where things had been so much simpler for them, when the mere concept of death had seemed so distant as to be laughable. But now the world back home had taken on a new meaning, and so again they were leaving it all behind for the bare necessities.

He felt that he needed to see the lake again. Why? He wasn't sure, he had a sense that there was something waiting for him there, what it was he couldn't say, but he could feel the anticipation growing within him. He'd told Mary that they'd come again with the kids, but they both knew there was little chance of there being time for that, everything felt different the more time went by, and he wondered at this new sense that he'd acquired: a sense of mortality.

The house back home had started to feel different to him; in the days before they'd left he'd been seeing everything in a new light. It was difficult to put his finger on what was different, but everything had acquired a special meaning now; everything seemed so precious. He'd found himself thinking of things he hadn't seen in a long time, and feeling an urge to look on them again he'd search through the house until he found them, and then wonder what to do.

One such search had come while he was checking the their emergency gear. He was taking everything out of the duffel bag; lantern, waterproof matches, fire starting kit, bug repellant, med kit etc. and coming to the bottom of the bag he'd reached in and pulled out an old hardball. He'd sat back on the floor and looked at it; the red stitching coming apart in a couple places, scuffed patches and wear showing on the white leather covering, he'd turned it over and over in his hands. Him and Sean had spent hours throwing that ball around and he felt an odd sense of guilt for having forgotten and neglected something that had been the launching pad for so many happy memories between him and his son. It was at that moment that he'd remembered his baseball glove. Like the ball, he'd completely forgotten about it, and it suddenly seemed important for him to hold it again - to feel it on his hand with the ball gripped inside - and he felt that he owed it to the glove and ball, as if by bringing them together again he would be thanking them for all the time and memories they'd given him. And so he'd set off on a search for the glove. Mary had watched without comment as - after receiving a negative from her on it's whereabouts - John had gone from closet to closet, tossing the ball up and catching it in his open hand as he went from one place to another, and keeping it close to his side while he got up on stools to check the top shelves or knelt down to look behind coats and shoes. He'd spent half the morning that day looking everywhere for the glove, and after lunch had set the ball on top of the dresser in their bedroom before going back to finish gathering their camping gear.

Sitting now in the car, his mind went back to his search; he'd never found the glove, and having looked everywhere in the house he couldn't figure out what could have happened to it. He'd thought to ask Sean, but had simply run out of time before they'd left. He mentally reminded himself to ask him when he got home; he must have missed looking somewhere, but he couldn't think of anywhere else it could be.

He was jolted out of his thinking by Mary saying 'You've been awful quiet over there for a while'

He glanced over, 'I'm still trying to figure out where that damn baseball glove went; I can't get it out of my mind'

She smiled 'Well you looked everywhere, maybe Sean can help you find it when we get home.'

'Do you want me to drive again?'

'No' She said 'I'm fine. Besides, we're almost there now, and you did drive all the way pretty much every other time we came up here.'

John was silent for a minute, then said 'It's kind of exciting isn't it? I feel like we're going back ten years, though I suppose it'll be different without the kids'

'This camper's been pretty good' She said, 'it's lasted a long time. Do you remember coming here when we first got it? Julie would have been about four then, Sean six or seven'

He smiled thinking back, then she laughed and said, 'We left late, and so it was dark when we got to the site and it was closed, and both kids had fallen asleep. You were so mad, you just backed up onto the side of the road in front of the gate and stomped out of the car and started cranking up the camper, but after a few cranks it just stopped'

John started to laugh at the memory, and she continued 'I remember watching you from the car, hauling away at the crank, your face turning all red, swearing at the trailer, threatening it, until eventually you heaved on the bar so hard it snapped off and you went flying forwards, face first into the ground. And then me, telling the kids to go back to sleep before I jumped out of the car a to see if you were okay. You damn near knocked yourself out, and when I got around the other side you were sitting up against the trailer, still holding the handle, and staring at it. You had blood all over your face and you just looked up at me with this stunned look like you were trying to figure out what had gone wrong'

John was still laughing 'You just stood there staring at me with your hands on your hips' He said 'then you made me get in the back of the car like a little kid and you drove the hour and a half back to town and took me to the hospital'

'And you,' Mary said with mock accusation, 'You blamed the whole thing on the trailer. You kept saying how it had been built wrong and how you were going to sue the lot we'd bought it from; how it was a stupid idea in the first place and "what the hell's wrong with a tent anyways". Then the doctor asked you if you'd taken the safety latches off.' She started laughing again 'you looked at him like he'd knocked your ice cream on the ground, then you looked at me and said "well. . . Fuck it then".' The look on that doctors face was priceless, and we both cracked up laughing.'

They rounded a corner and the lake appeared in front of them. Mary slowed the car as the road curved to come alongside it, and John turned and looked out at the water; the campground was visible on the other side and it looked empty from where they sat The water in between was moving gently with the wind, the waves on it's surface heading away from them. It looked almost silver with the sun glittering down on top of it. Out in the middle a flock of geese had settled, resting on the first leg of their voyage south.

'Hasn't changed a bit has it?' John said

'Bet you're glad we kept the trailer now' Mary said quietly,

Then she pulled the car back out onto the road and continued, while John sat and watched the lake pass by outside his window, a feeling of calm growing within as they drove along.

After another half hour - the car bouncing along the dirt road with trailer in tow - they drove through the gate and entered the campgrounds. Just past the gate the road split in two, and they followed the right fork, passing vacant campsites on both sides until after a few minutes they came to the sites located practically right on the small pebble beach that banked the lake on this side.

Seeing a site they'd been to before John pointed across. 'There, how about that one? That's where we were when the storm hit, remember?'

'Perfect' Mary said 'and it looks like we have the place to ourselves, I haven't seen another soul yet'

'Well I suspect it's a little past the tent season up here' He said, then turning to glance at their trailer he added 'of course, that's not much of a problem if you happen to have a little house on wheels like us'

Mary pulled forward into the campsite opposite the one they'd chosen and then backed the trailer up into the spot. As soon as they stopped moving, John took off his belt and got out of the car, then walked back to the hitch. After unhooking the front wheel of the trailer from it's horizontal traveling position and locking it in place, he released the camper from the car, and Mary pulled the car over onto an angle to the trailer so that together they made an elbow; closing off the open end of the site. John then opened the trunk and took out the wheel stops, hammering them under the trailers back two wheels with a rock, then he went around it to each corner, releasing the safety latches before he unclipped the crank bar from beneath it and started winding the trailer up. It rose slowly, the canvas ends unfolding from either side where the beds were until both sides were fully extended and the canvas stretched tight. Locking the crank in place with a clip, John retraced his path around the trailer, resetting the safety latches; this time in the opposite positions before pulling out the small steps in front of the door.

Hearing Mary approach from behind him, he opened the door and stepped back 'madam' he said, bowing his head to her.

She smiled as she walked up past him and went inside, and he went back around to the other side where the propane tank was. After tuning it on, he crawled underneath and turned the water on, then stepping back he looked up to the window and called to Mary

'try the water'

After a moment she appeared in the window and he heard her turn the tap on; a slight hissing sound came from the tank on the bottom as the pressure caused the water to be pulled up through the pipes, she looked up out the window at him then and gave him a thumbs up.

All in all the setup had taken less than half an hour, but the sky had begun to dim as the sun passed behind the hills that lined the sky west behind the lake. John walked back to the car and took out their bags, then returned to the front of the trailer and stepped lightly up. He walked inside to find Mary rummaging around under the sink; she'd already turned on the electric heater and John could hear it popping and clicking as the elements slowly heated up. Placing the bags on the far bed at the back, he walked back and sat down on the bench at the table facing Mary and watched as she took out the camping stove and set it on the counter, then after turning it on, she opened the cupboard on the other side and began rummaging through the various cans that were held in place in their rows by metal bars.

'Well' he said after a moment, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head, 'what's for dinner?'

#

2.

Somewhere a car alarm was blaring, getting louder and louder as the fog within Sean's mind slowly cleared and he opened his eyes. He was in bed, but had he slept? He reached up and rubbed his eyes as he tried to sort through his last memories from the day before. He could remember that the sun had already been up when he went to bed, but what time had that been? He rolled over and reaching down under the bed he felt around for a bottle: nothing... Okay, so that meant he'd drank everything before falling into bed, which was never a good sign. With an effort he rolled himself back onto the bed and then, grunting, pushed himself into a sitting position and looked at the room around him.

Clothes were strewn over the floor, the closet flung open at the other end of the room looked like a hurricane had hit it, and the dresser next to his bed looked about the same; bottles strewn across the top of it, and all the drawers were open and looked to have been rummaged through by hurried hands. In short, it looked like someone had tried to rob him, but finding nothing of value had settle instead on throwing everything he owned all over the place.

He furrowed his brow and laid back down as he felt the first pulses of what would soon become a pounding headache begin to ebb forwards in his head. The fog over his mind, though cleared somewhat, was still thick, and he was having difficulty grasping what had happened to his room.

With what felt like an inhuman effort, he rolled onto his side and swung his legs off the edge of the bed, then stood up. The blood pounded in his skull with a renewed vigor, and he waited a moment for it to subside before staggering out into the living room. It looked much like his bedroom had: everything was spread out all over the table, couch, coffee table and floor, and every cupboard and drawer was open. He stared at the devastation around him, blinking in confusion as he searched the room for some explanation as to what he had been looking for that had caused him to go into such a frenzied ravaging of his belongings. Then he noticed, strewn on the floor in front of the grey couch set along the wall, a pile of pictures. He walked over to the couch - stepping over and through piles of books, videos, and anything else that had once been neatly stored - and then sat down and, picking up a handful of pictures, he began looking through them.

Family photo's; they were of his childhood, and he smiled as he looked through them, remembering the memories of picnics and camping trips, and birthdays at the house where he'd grown up. Coming to the end of the pile he'd picked up, he was leaning forward to gather the others when he noticed out of the corner of his eye a lone photo, overturned and sitting on the couch next to him.

He sat back and picked it up, and turning it over he realized what must have driven him in his vigorous search; the photo had been taken in fall, and in it was the small shed his father had built for him. In it he was looking out the window, all of ten or eleven years old, with a big smile on his face and a thermos held in both hands. He could remember how cold it had been that day when his dad had come out to get him for dinner, only to find him warm and cozy, thanks to a space heater they'd put in the little one room playhouse at the side of the house. His father had laughed at seeing him and gone back to get the camera.

Thinking of his father made him remember what had happened the night before, and the guilt of realization brought angry tears to his eyes, which he pushed back with force of will alone as he leaned forward and started gently gathering the photos and memories into his hands.

He'd reached the city street after retracing his steps through the park, and set off in the direction of home. He felt like he was thinking clearly for the fist time in months, years even, and it was a good feeling. Remembering the episode of the playhouse had reminded him of where his priorities ought to lie. Ever since they'd gotten the news of his fathers condition, he'd been preoccupied with feeling angry at the injustice of it all, not only for his father, but for himself; and it was this realization of his own selfishness that caused him the most pain as he made his way along the busy street to a bus stop where he could catch a ride home.

Like the child he'd been back then, he'd acted out of his first feelings of frustration and without thinking of anyone but himself he'd set out to drown his sorrows night after night. As the bus pulled up to the stop and he climbed aboard and sat down near the front, he tried to remember the last time he'd spoken to any of his family. He couldn't remember when he'd last been home, much less when he might have checked his messages, and as the bus wound it's way through downtown and eventually broke free of the traffic into the smaller streets on the outskirts of the city, he felt a panic growing within him. A few moment later he was stepping off the bus onto the sidewalk a couple of blocks from where he lived, and as he stuffed his hands back into his jacket and started walking down the street he struggled to stop his mind as it ran on ahead of him in a flurry of imagination. What if he'd died? What if his father was gone and he'd wasted his time sitting around getting drunk and feeling sorry for himself in some bar instead of making the most of the last chance he'd had to spend time with the man who'd raised him? How would he face his mother and sister? Would they ever forgive him? His panic grew with each step as his mind created image after image of the pain and suffering he may have caused with his unmindful binging.

The weight of these realizations weighed down on him, heavier and heavier as his resolve crumbled and eventually his steps faltered. He could see his apartment building at the end of the street; a long three story building. On the second floor at the back of the building his small apartment awaited him, and in his mind he saw the answering machine on the small bookshelf beside his chair, the little red light blinking insistently, calling out impending doom.

Facing that was too much for him, he realized suddenly; he was aware that he would no doubt have to go home eventually, but he'd need to find some more courage first. And so, only a block away from home, Sean had changed directions and walked the half mile back to a small, run down bar and liquor store, with the idea in his head that he would have a drink and buy a small bottle to take home with him. He wanted to face what awaited him at home, wanted to make things better and do the right thing, he truly did, but the fear within him drove him in another direction, and before he knew it he'd fallen back into his cycle of pain and guilt in an endless search for oblivion.

Everything became a blur after that, and he couldn't remember any details until his awakening a short time ago. Sean shook his head, disgusted with his own weakness. He'd never been any good at doing the right thing, why he would ever have expected anything other than failure was beyond him. Why had he thought this time would be different?

Leaning forward he placed the photos on the small coffee table in the centre of the room which had, miraculously, remained clear of any debris. Then he rose with an angry sigh, and looked again at the devastation around him. It was then that he remembered the answering machine. He stood and walked across the room to the bookshelf and found the machine was gone; after a brief search he found it under a pile of newspapers next to the chair and gritted his teeth in anger as he bent over and gathered the cord and machine in his hands. Then he said a silent prayer as he plugged the cables back into the phone jack and wall socket and looked down and it. The screen blinked several times before quickly flashing a zero and then going dark. He picked it up and shook it; he hadn't been home in over a week, there would have to messages, but he knew, just by the fact that he'd found it disconnected, that he must have checked those messages in his drunken stupor of the night before, and now he had no memory of what they'd said. Inside himself, where he'd felt numb only a moment before, a cold rage began to build. He hated himself for his weakness, yet he consistently gave in to it. No matter what he intended, he always ended up running away. With that thought Sean lost control to his peaking frustration and wrenched on the machine, hard enough to rip the cables out of the wall before he threw it to the ground in front of himself; he heard a crunch as it hit the ground. He stood looking down on it for a moment, breathing deeply and slowly in an effort to calm his racing heart before he knelt down and gently picked the machine back up again, hearing parts rattle inside as he turned it over. He rose and, stepping carefully through the mess, made his way to the kitchen where he opened the bottom cupboard and dropped the now useless answering machine into the waste basket hanging on the inside of the door. Shutting the cupboard gently he turned and walked back to his room to look for his phone – cleaning could wait, there were more important things he needed to do first.

#

3.

In the dark moments before the dawn, a small rusted Toyota sedan drove into the parking lot of the hospital. With a nod to the gate attendants on the way into the underground, the driver gently guided the car down level by level until, upon reaching the third tier down, she pulled into her usual spot. She sat quietly for a moment before, with a long sigh, she turned the engine off and, reaching over to pick up her purse from the seat behind her, she opened the door and got out of the vehicle.

She walked slowly; her soft-soled shoes carrying her silently as she made her way to the row of elevators at the far end of the parkade. She looked at the ground as she walked, and anyone seeing her wouldn't have recognized her; looking old and frail as she crossed the silent lot, hunched over against the morning chill. She rode the elevator to the first floor, and stepped out into the cold lights of the main lobby. Glancing at the night attendants as she walked past, she saw the tired looks in their eyes; the understanding in their nods to her as she made her way past.

She understood how they felt: the hospital could be a cruel place at night, and sometimes those nights seemed to be without end, and there was no room for emotion with the myriads of different patients any night could contain. Children, parents, rich and poor, young and old; pain and suffering made no distinction between victims. A person had to detach in a way that wasn't natural to survive those long, pain filled nights, and night after night that cold detachment stole something from them, until they either found a balance or shut out emotions completely. Either way, she knew the relief those who worked the nights would be feeling with the promise of morning. The day brought relief only for the mind though, every time they detached, every shift they worked - no matter how they tried to defend against it - they left pieces of themselves behind.

She stopped at the main nurses station and noted the doctors on duty, making a mental note of who was where, before heading back to her locker in the changing area. Anyone watching would then have witnessed a most incredible transformation as, after removing her overcoat and hanging it in her locker, she took her sweater off and put on the green short sleeved shirt and loose fitting pants taken from the pile at the end of the room.

Like a warrior donning armor for a battle, she straightened as she tucked the shirt into the pants and pulled the drawstring tight on her waist before tying it at the front. Turning to the mirror she tied her hair up, and after a last check of herself she walked from the room and back to the nurses station where she checked her schedule to see where she was needed first, then walked back to the elevators. Posture rigid, lips set in a line, she moved now with purpose; the tired lady of only a few minutes ago was gone, and in her place, stepping into the elevator again, was a guard; armed and armored against the unknown that awaited her.

#

4.

As the gentle thrumming of the machines slowly pulled him back into consciousness, John awoke and opened his eyes. He heard pages turning in front of him and as his eyes adjusted to the dim room around him he saw Nurse Kathy standing at the foot of his bed, looking at the charts as one of the night nurses spoke to her. The words were too quiet for John to hear, but he understood nonetheless when Kathy stopped turning the pages and glanced up at the other nurse, her eyes flicking quickly between her and the corner where, John could see, the curtains had been drawn around a new patient.

How he knew the patient was new and not just the other one returned he couldn't say, but something in the way the other nurse was speaking to Nurse Kathy told him that the man who had been there before would not be coming back.

The night nurse finished giving her report and, after a slight nod from Kathy, walked back to the station at the other end of the room and filled a couple things in on the chart there before quietly leaving the room.

John closed his eyes as the light from the hallway momentarily fell across his bed, and opened them again to find nurse Kathy had disappeared from sight behind the curtain surrounding the new occupant on the far left corner of the room. Hearing a slight shuffling at his side John turned to find Julie asleep in the chair next to him. She looked so young sitting there, fast asleep, her blond curls falling over her face, hands pressed together like a praying child between her cheek and the pillow. He would have told her to go home and sleep, but he knew she wouldn't listen. The same could be said, he knew, for Mary and Sean; one of whom was most likely on their way to relieve Julie. He knew better than to complain, although he would have been alright without their vigilant monitoring, he was comforted by the knowledge that someone was always close. And he also knew he was fortunate to have someone there with him, he had yet to see anyone but the nurses visit the bed next to him. He didn't know anything about the occupant of that bed, not even their gender, but he felt sorry for him (or her) all the same. This room could be a very scary place sometimes, and to face it all alone was not something he would wish on anybody.

Not wanting to wake Julie, John was reluctant to use the mechanical functions of the bed to move himself into a sitting position, so instead, placing both arms on the rails of be bed, he gently began pushing himself up. The motion was stopped halfway though, when a spasm of pain ripped through his gut like lightning. His breath caught and he hovered in a half raised position while the room around him seemed to dim and swirl. He'd never felt pain like that before, and the echoes of it resounded through his nerves like sparks from a split fuse. It took a moment for him to grasp what was happening and mentally pull himself back from the brink of oblivion, he blinked away tears as the room around him slowly took shape once more and he realized how close he'd come to losing consciousness. After a couple of deep breaths, he started to lower himself back down onto the bed, slowly this time, knowing that if he had another pain like the last he would likely black out. Once he was lying down again - after what seemed like an eternity of effort - he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, waiting for his heart to slow.

At the sound of footsteps he opened his eyes again and looked up to see Nurse Kathy coming towards his bed, she looked more serious than he'd yet to see her and he wondered if she had witnessed what had just happened. The whole event had taken only a couple of minutes, and John thought she'd still been behind the curtain of the new patient, but he couldn't be sure. John turned away as she arrived at his bed, and after a moment she spoke, slowly and deliberately; as if talking to a child who'd stolen a cookie and, having been almost caught in the act, had stuffed it in their mouth and was trying to chew without being caught

'Alright Mr. Comely. . . Are you feeling okay?'

John slowly nodded his head

'And has this happened before?'

He turned to her and said nothing, wondering how she could know what had happened. Silence was the only answer he could think of, as he could see from the look on her face that she already knew the answer.

'I'm going to speak to your doctor about this, it may be time to get you on some pain killers, just something to make you more comfortable'

Comfort. John thought, as he nodded again and turned back the other way, closing his eyes. Comfort was all they could really do anyways wasn't it? All these vast technologies and at the end of the day, the greatest mercy all out medical advances could offer some people was a bit more comfort in their last days and hours; something to make their passing a little more agreeable. They'd offered him pain killers when he'd first arrived, but the pain had been different then; it had been a steady pulse, flowing as if it came from the very centre of his being, and he'd been able to accept and work with it simply because it had been constant for those first few days. As strange as it had seemed to everyone around him, he'd gotten used to it.

His family had had the most difficulty with that. They kept asking if he wanted anything, and every time the hospital staff had suggested pain killers Mary would take his hand and when he turned to her she would look at him, pleading with her eyes. His reasons were his own though, he knew that pain killers would dull his senses; would blur lines between the days and nights and make it harder for him to understand what he was experiencing, and so he'd said no to the drugs over and over again, and simply suffered the looks from Mary and his kids.

He had been determined to be present for as much of these last days as possible, hoping that he could see clearly and understand when the end finally came, but he couldn't fight them anymore, that much had been evident just in the way Kathy had spoken to him; once again, this most important of decisions was out of his hands. He knew there was no point arguing; he knew that he couldn't compete against pain like the one he'd just experienced. Without drugs he'd be afraid all the time to move, knowing that anything could trigger it, and what was the point in avoiding pain killers to stay lucid when the pain alone was strong enough to knock him out?

Something within him told him that the pain would get worse, and everyday he could feel himself getting weaker; he felt somehow thinner, but not physically, although he knew he'd lost weight, he felt thinner spiritually; as if his very being was ebbing away. Every time he awoke his surroundings looked a little less real; he felt like every day he was becoming more of an observer and less of a participant in the world. He often wondered if maybe that was what it was like to die, maybe that was how our spirits let go of this physical world; slowly, bit by bit, until at the last they hung on only by a weak tether, easily released when the time came. Just open your hand, he thought, and it all goes away.

He remembered Julie beside him then, and opened his eyes to find her watching him, a concerned look plainly displayed on her young face. The concern was always there, just behind her mask, but now she made no effort to hide it as she leaned forward and gently took his hand

'Is everything okay dad?'

'I had a sharp pain that's all' He smiled at her 'It's gone now. Nurse Kathy's going to talk to a doctor about some painkillers, just in case it happens again.'

The relief on her face was blatant. It looked as though she'd shrugged off a huge burden and John wondered at what his selfish wish for clarity had been costing those around him. After all, in a sense he'd thought he was doing it for them; to be able to be present during these visits. But seeing the relief on Julies' face at hearing he would finally take the drugs, he realized that perhaps the cost had been much higher than he'd thought.

'Okay,' she said after a moment 'You just rest dad, I'm going to give mom a call and let her know you're up'

She smiled at him as she rose, and again he marveled at the change in her. He thought of her last words long after she'd left the room, and he pictured his wife; sitting at home wondering every morning she wasn't there with him if this day he wouldn't wake up. It must be torture, he thought, and he felt guilty for putting them all through this, but what choice did he have? He couldn't even get himself out of bed anymore. John closed his eyes on the world around him; it was too much, he just wanted it to go away, to give him some peace for a while. Painkillers for comfort he thought as sleep slowly closed in on him. Comfort, sure... but for whom?

#

5.

Placing the phone back down on the receiver, Mary leaned back and the chair and breathed a sigh of relief. She was never comfortable at home anymore; with John away the house always seemed far too quiet, and now that, added with not knowing if he was okay or not, made the empty rooms almost unbearable. The worrying didn't stop when she was at the hospital, it's just that then at least she had something to channel her energy towards, and she could see for herself that he was okay, and do her part in taking care of him.

It was a relief to hear that he'd finally agreed to take the pain medication though; she'd asked him on her last stay if he'd been feeling any pain and he'd told her there was some, but it was bearable, and he'd rather avoid any medications that would make him sluggish and drowsy as long as the pain was mild.

So a double edge sword then: it was good that he'd agreed to the drugs, but it meant that something had changed in his condition. She could hear relief in Julies' voice, which fueled her imagination, but unfortunately told her nothing of what had actually happened.

She rose and walked back to their bedroom to get dressed. The empty house was so quiet, she almost felt afraid to break the silence by making any noise, and so her actions were muted and cautious whenever she did anything. She listened to the rain pattering on the roof outside as she dressed, and then, after donning her raincoat in the front hall, she went outside and got in the car and headed back to the hospital.

#

6.

When Julie got back to the room her father had fallen back asleep, and one of the nurses was hooking up another bag of clear liquids to his IV drip. Julie walked around the bed and looked at the young nurse questioningly.

The nurse answered her look with a smile and said 'this will help him with the pain'

'What is it?' She asked, eyeing the bag

'It's morphine, but only a very small drip.'

'How will it affect him?' Julie asked, looking down on her father 'He didn't want to take anything before because he wanted to keep his awareness'

'It'll make him a little sleepy sometimes, but like I said, it's a small dose, so he shouldn't be too groggy.'

The nurse flashed her a reassuring smile again and after checking the connections with the IV one more time, she walked back to the small desk that was the nurses station at the other end of the room and started speaking softly to the older nurse sitting there, who nodded at whatever was being said to her and started writing something in one of the charts.

Julie stood alone now beside the bed; she felt tears rising up and pushed them back down, lest he should wake and see her crying. She'd told herself she would stay strong for him, and she had every intention of sticking to that plan. She felt so sorry about it all though, for him, for her mother, for herself and Sean. The real unfairness she felt though, was for her father. She knew he had come to some kind of acceptance of what was happening to him, but she couldn't find any in herself. He'd always done right by them as far as she was concerned; sure there had been moments of strain in their relationship as a family, but he'd always done his best, and it seemed so unfair now that his life should be cut short.

She walked back around the bed and sat down against the wall in one of the chairs next to it. They'd been taking shifts at the hospital ever since he'd been moved to this room, making sure that whenever he was awake, either her, her mother, or Sean was with him. He hadn't said anything, and she wondered how it made him feel; if he felt like they were all just waiting now for the end. She hoped he understood that that wasn't the case, but couldn't find a way to tell him. It was as though she was afraid of revealing some truth to him that he wasn't already aware of, which of course was absurd, but she still couldn't bring herself to talk about it. And yet she had to wonder, what were they doing then? It was hard not to think sometimes that they were - at the bottom line - just waiting. The doctor had told them that he would not leave the hospital, but some part of her refused to believe that, as if perhaps by just not accepting the facts she could change them. Her logical mind told her she was being foolish; that by refusing to let go she was only making things more difficult for herself, but she would angrily push these thoughts back down, deep inside herself where they belonged. She couldn't accept this - any of it - because the line between acceptance and giving up just seemed too thin to her, and she was afraid to let her father see how terrified she really was. Seeing him in pain had scared her to her core; a fear she'd never felt before, and it exhausted her. It was the helplessness, she realized, as much as the fear itself that felt so alien to her. There was nothing she could do, and she felt like she was letting him down somehow, although she knew he would have found such thoughts to be ridiculous, and even tough she told herself over and over again that they were just that, she still couldn't shake the feeling. And so she sat and watched him sleep, feeling smaller than she'd ever felt in her life; as though there was a wave carrying them all to some devastating conclusion, and no matter how hard she tried and how terrified she got, she couldn't help but be carried along on the tide.

#

7.

He was driving along a road through thick mist, on either side he was surrounded by forests, and somehow everything seemed very familiar, though John had no recollection of ever being on this road before.

The mists began to clear, and on his left a light slowly came into view, he turned into a parking lot, and through the now thinning mists he could a lodge of some sort. He knew that inside he would find warmth and comfort, and so he got out of the car and walked across the lot, gravel crunching beneath his feet, until he stood beneath the light at the bottom of the steps leading up to the front door.

The lodge was built out of huge logs, like an old fashioned cabin. The windows were thick and, although he could see light behind them, he couldn't make out any details of the room inside. A chimney rose from the centre of the slanted roof, out of which smoke poured. He walked up the steps and opened the door, and stepped into the warmth. Inside the room was hazy with smoke coming from a huge hearth at the far end, and above the fireplace on the mantle John could make out a handful of pictures, all framed in silver. He looked around the room; there were several tables scattered throughout, all made of wood, with wooden chairs that looked to have been built along with the lodge itself. There was gentle glow coming from candles on the tables and at the peak of the roof a chandelier hung, it too was made of wood, and the light coming from it was soft.

The lodge appeared to be empty, and John moved quietly as he walked to a table along the wall to his right, where he sat down. Hearing a noise, he turned to see a lady emerge from a door on the opposite side of the room. Noticing him, she walked over to the table and sat down opposite him before saying:

'Dangerous road in this fog... A drink perhaps? Something to warm you for the road ahead?'

John found he had nothing to say; her voice was smooth and soft, her hair long and light blond. She seemed so familiar, and yet he couldn't make out any defining characteristics about her. She smiled and his heart quickened; she was beautiful, but he couldn't figure out why.

'I'll get you some tea then' She said, and stood and walked back out of the room through the door she'd come from.

As soon as she left the room around John felt empty. He felt almost lost, and the light seemed to grow even dimmer, taking some warmth with it. He tried to remember what she'd looked like, but found he could only remember the feeling of her presence. He found he couldn't wait for her to come back, yet the more he thought of her the harder she was to remember.

He stood then, walked over to the fireplace, and picked up one of the silver framed photographs. It was an old photo of a man and a small boy; they were sitting in a boat, the water rippling around them, and the boy was proudly holding up a fish he'd caught, the pride a mirror to that in the fathers eyes as he smiled and looked at his son. The older man in the picture looked familiar to John, but he couldn't remember where he'd seen him before. Putting the picture down he looked at the next few: one was a birthday party, it was taking place here, he realized, in this lodge, and was of the same boy, a few years older, and surrounded by people John recognized but could not quite place. Each photo was like that; the same boy, getting older and older, and with each photo John would look at the people and wonder why they seemed familiar, but try as he might he couldn't put names to their faces. As he moved from one picture to the next, the boy became a man, and John started to wonder who he'd been, but could no longer remember, and when he turned to look at the earlier photo's he found he couldn't make out the details in them.

Stepping down the line he came to the last pictures, and discovered that they were all blurred; he could make out the shapes of people but could not see any other details, as though the pictures had never quite finished developing. It seemed like a strange thing to do; keeping pictures like that, and John wondered at the logic that had seen them up onto the mantle.

He turned back to the room and found that the smoke had thickened while he'd been standing at the fireplace, and he could barely make out the door through which he'd come in. He couldn't remember how long he'd been in the lodge, but it felt like he'd stayed too long; he had a feeling of being late, as if he was supposed to do something and had forgotten. Then, as he stood wondering what he'd forgotten a voice came out of the haze, and John was stunned by the beauty of that voice as it seemed to almost sing:

'Sorry dearie, times short I'm afraid, and you've got to go'

John wanted desperately to find out who that voice belonged to, but even as he wondered at it he found himself at the front door. Glancing back over his shoulder he stared into the hazy room for any sign of the woman the voice belonged to, but he couldn't stop himself, and so he opened the door and stepped outside. As he did he heard faintly:

'I'll see you again'

It seemed to come from right beside his ear, but he spun around to find the door shut behind him, and somehow he knew that if he tried, he'd be unable to open it again. He turned back, feeling a great sense of grief as he walked back to the car, which was, he realized, not his car but an old sedan he had no memory of. He looked back down the road in the direction he'd come, but could see only a hundred yards or so before the road curved out of sight, and then he realized suddenly that the mist had cleared while he'd been inside, and things were brighter now than before. He got in the car and started the engine and pulled out onto the road, heading in the same direction he'd been going before. In the distance he could see some hills; dark still, and masked at their bases by thick forest. He knew somehow that at the bottom of those hills he would find a lake, with a long crescent beach around it, and he knew that that was his destination; though he couldn't say why, or what he was going to do there.

As he traveled down the road, the trees on either side began to thin, and on his left they fell away to reveal a low cliff, and beyond it the lake stretched out to the horizon. On his right a fence - old and made of wood - lined the road now, and though he couldn't see beyond far into the trees, he knew that a short ways off the road, through the trees, he would come upon fields, with more of the short wooden fences in between. Although it seemed that no time had passed, John found he was almost at the hills, and the cliffs to his left sloped gently down to nothing where the crescent beach he had known would be there began.

He was wondering at the knowledge he seemed to have been gifted with of this place - as he had no recollection of having ever been there - when he suddenly became aware that he was no longer driving on the road. He was walking along the beach towards the base of the hills, only a few hundred yards away; the wind against his face smelled of wood-smoke and snow, and yet there was a warmth in it's gentle breath. As he walked along the shore, the only sounds accompanying him were the soft crunch of sand beneath his feet and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. The breeze whistled softly in his ears, and he felt as though he was moving without effort, almost like he was naught but an observer to this scene. About a hundred paces or so from the nearest hill the beach began to rise upwards, becoming steeper, looking out towards the road he realized that the beach to his right now stretched out far into the distance, and the road was nowhere to be seen. He turned around then and was surprised to find that he could not make out the cliffs on the far end where he'd started; he must have walked for miles, though it seemed like hardly any time had passed at all. When he got to the top of the bank he found that a small clearing opened up between him and the trees lining the base of the hill. He stepped onto the grass and barely stopped in time to avoid falling into a deep crack in the ground, which appeared to stretch on forever on both ends. The gap looked to only be a few feet across, so he turned and walked back a short way so he could get some speed before jumping. Turning, he saw that the beach was now way in the distance, and the grasses between him and the bank he'd only just left stretched on and on. He wondered at the strangeness of it, but felt a growing sense of urgency, and so he turned around once more and faced the gap. It was farther than he'd thought, as he looked on it again, but he knew he had no choice but to try and jump across. He felt instinctively that he couldn't stay on this side, and he didn't think to wonder why that was before taking three long strides - his speed increasing quickly with each one - before he pushed himself off and into the air.

As soon as he left the ground, he immediately felt different; he was weightless, and his stomach turned as he looked down and saw the ground getting farther and farther away. He started kicking his legs as he went higher and higher into the air, before suddenly he changed directions and was looking straight up at the sky as he plummeted back down. With a great effort he managed to turn himself over, to find he was heading into darkness; the land on either side of the gap was now far in the distance, and as he fell into it he closed his eyes and waited for the impact at the bottom, but nothing happened, and after a moment he opened his eyes and realized he was no longer falling. He stood now on a ledge, with the darkness stretching out in front, above, below and to both sides of himself. He waited and wondered what to do for what seemed like an eternity, then he felt the warm breeze coming from somewhere in front of him, and he knew he had to go towards it to find his way back. But the darkness was too thick; he couldn't bring himself to willingly enter it, and so he pressed himself up against the wall behind himself and shut his eyes, only to find the darkness all around him.

#

8.

Mary awoke to the gentle sounds of water. After a moment of confusion, she remembered that she was at the lake, and rolled over in bed to find that John was not there. The sun was barely up outside, and the chill from the night was still in the air. She rose and - wrapping the blanket around herself - stepped into the small living area of the trailer and looked out the window.

Somewhere on the lake a loon called out, but she could see no sign of John. She had a feeling he'd probably gone for a walk, so she put the kettle on the small camp stove and opened her bag to retrieve the novel she'd been slowly reading for the last month. Then, when her tea was ready, she climbed back into bed to await his return.

#

9.

The air outside was crisp as John walked along the shore of the lake. In the distance he heard a loon call; the mournful cry sounded eerie, and he stopped and looked out onto the lake. Mist still clung to it like a soft shroud, and with the trees along the edges of the water leaning out over the lake and bending upwards like skeletal hands, the whole thing looked surreal. He heard a splash - muted in the mists - and looked at where he could now see ripples spreading out on the water a short distance from shore. He watched them as they moved slowly but steadily towards him, and he realized suddenly, that this was what Dr. Ivankowits had been talking about at his last visit.

The impact of my life will go on long after I sink beneath the waves, and so I'll live on.

He felt a huge comfort in that thought; he couldn't explain why, but the darkness he'd so feared seemed to shrink back with that realization. Looking at the lake, he could finally see some physical evidence of a way he could live on, and although he was still uncertain of what would actually happen to him, he found it no longer seemed as important. His real fear, after all, was that he would simply cease to exist; and now he felt that that would not be, no matter what happened to him.

He turned and continued walking along the shore; glancing at the treetops far above him, he wondered at how many lives had been lived in their shadows, and suddenly an idea occurred to him:

A way to live on and on, he thought to himself.

He would plant something. It didn't matter what, anything would work, and although he knew he may never see it grow, he would know that it would still be there after he was gone. He stopped and sat down with that thought.

That's enough for me. . . That's all I really need.

It seemed so simple, and yet it was enough that the darkness in the back of his mind suddenly seemed insignificant next to it. He wouldn't have to worry any more. He smiled to himself at the thought, and in his mind he pictured the flowers he would plant, growing and multiplying again and again, existing long after he was gone.

PART THREE

1.

The hospital lobby is a world onto itself, and Sean watched in wonder as nurses doctors, patients and all other manners of people flowed around him. And yet, surrounded by this society, in a place where things literally never stopped changing, he felt completely alone.

He had been waiting for about half an hour, and it had taken all of his will to walk back in. He'd been spending most of his days at the hospital; either visiting with his father or in the waiting room at the end of the hall, and though he'd gone home the last night to sleep, and had felt rested during the day as he went about dropping resumes off around town, he found that the effort of just coming back into this building had drained all the energy from him, and now he couldn't bring himself to go upstairs.

The day had been difficult, not because of any specific task he'd done, but because he couldn't bring himself to care about anything he was doing now. Each resume he'd dropped off had felt like a waste of time, and also seemed like such a meaningless task. What was the point of it? Work and life seemed insignificant in context with what was happening now, and he couldn't bring himself to a place of acceptance with it. His guilt at not being around when the time was available overwhelmed anything he might do now to make up for it; here he was, finally doing what he should do, and he was too late. There was nothing left to do but wait now, and although he found it impossible to understand, he felt that a part of him just wanted this all to be over, and he couldn't forgive himself for that feeling. In his heart he wanted his father to get better; he wanted some doctor to have made a mistake somewhere along the way, and for them to finally come and say that things would actually be alright, but he knew that that wasn't going to happen. He knew that there had been no mistake, and that there wasn't any magical cure that was going to come along, and it seemed as though the part of him that understood that just wanted things to come to an end now. It was inconceivable to Sean, and yet that thought kept coming up, no matter how many times he pushed it down - hating himself for it as he did - it always came back to him eventually.

With great effort he rose from his seat in the main lobby and slowly made his way down the now familiar hallway to the elevators. Several people were waiting already, and he watched them enter the elevator as it arrived. Two were nurses, one wearing green, the other wearing blue, and Sean wondered (not for the first time) what the significance was, if any, of the different colors of their uniforms. The nurses both stood to the other side of the door as an elderly woman wearing a cream colored sweater and brown pants pushed old man in a wheelchair - who Sean assumed was her husband - through the open doors. Then the nurses followed them in and Sean entered last. He pushed the button for the sixth floor, seeing that the third and fifth floors had been selected already. Nobody spoke as the elevator made it's way up. When it reached the third floor the elderly couple left, and were followed by the nurse in blue. The green nurse got out at the fifth floor, and Sean wondered as the doors closed again at how strange it seemed to him; all these people living their different lives, some going through extreme emotions right next to each other and yet, for some reason, each dealt with their own situation without grasping onto any common bond between them and the others in the facility.

Perhaps that was an unfair assessment though, he thought as he reached the sixth floor and steeped out into the hallway; the silence was not necessarily due to any kind of a lack of caring, for he himself couldn't bring himself to speak to others, and that wasn't because he didn't care what was happening to them, he simply didn't have anything to give to them. He was too involved in what was happening in his own family. And what words could he offer others, seeing as he couldn't even seem to make himself feel anything but guilt towards himself and anger towards the injustice of all that had happened. He came around a corner and walked towards the open door to the room; he could see his father sitting up, head turned and talking to someone; his mother, he assumed.

At seeing him there he felt that now all too familiar wave of relief, he wasn't necessarily aware of it in a conscious sense, but whenever he was away from the room now he was tense and worried constantly, and the feeling got worse the farther away he got. But when he was there, he felt awkward; he could never think of what the right thing to say was, as if there was any kind of right thing to say. Whenever his father was awake he would find something to talk about, but it was hard to so, since it all felt so insignificant anyways. What was the point in talking about the weather, or about what was happening in the world outside? Did any of it matter? Could any of it change anything? The answer was no, and yet even though those conversations felt pointless, the silence was too unbearable, and so Sean would talk about anything, and though there were important things he wanted to say, he felt like saying them would be like admitting defeat; although he knew in his heart that if there had ever been a fight, he hadn't had any part in it.

He walked into the room and his parents both turned to look at him, they smiled and, putting on his best face, he smiled back and said:

'Hey, how are you feeling today dad?' Even as he said the words he felt stupid, and in his mind he chastised himself for asking such a stupid question.

'I actually feel pretty good, a bit thirsty though, now that I think of it'

His mother rose from where she'd been sitting 'I'll get you some more water honey. Sean, why don't you sit down'

She squeezed his fathers hand and left the room then, heading down the hallway back in the direction that Sean had come from.

'Did you sleep well?' Sean asked after a moment

His father furrowed his eyebrows 'As best as I could I guess. They wake me up a few times during the nights now, just to take my blood pressure and check on things. I do sleep in between though, which is good, but I wish I had more energy during the day.'

Sean nodded and looked down, trying to think of something to say in reply, but his mind was blank. He wished he could think of something to do that would help, help in any way, but he couldn't and so he just said 'well, it's good that you're getting some sleep though. Does the medication help you sleep?'

'Well they give me a sleeping pill now at about nine o'clock, so that definitely helps'

Sean smiled 'well yeah I guess that would' he looked up 'do you need anything dad? Can I help. . .'

#

2.

It was hard for John to look his son in the eyes. He could see pain the there, and knew that nothing he could say would make anything better for him; or for any of them, for that matter.

He hated this; feeling like a burden, and yet he couldn't bear to be alone anymore. He hadn't had to ask any of them to stay with him, they'd decided to do that anyway, and he'd known when he realized that someone was always there - at all times, day and night - that they were all just waiting now, and there wasn't long left.

The thought had scared him at first, but he'd gotten used to steeling himself against that fear, and he immediately called into his mind images of the things that he would leave behind, and first and foremost there was always the violet. He'd planted it as soon as they'd gotten home from the lake, and that simple act had made everything so much easier.

The seed looked tiny to John. Strange how something so small can contain so much, he thought as he dropped it into the little hole that he'd dug into the soil with his finger. He was sitting on the deck at their home, under the overhang as the rain continued to drizzle.

He had wondered as he drove home from the lake what kind of flower he'd like to plant, and remembering something Mary had told him once he'd settled on a Violet. When they'd gotten home, he'd told Mary he had something to do, and had found the pot and seeds in the garage. At first he had considered planting the whole packet, but then he'd spotted the small plastic pot. Only about four inches across, it would work perfectly for what he saw in his mind, and after filling it with soil from the front flower bed, he'd gone around back onto the deck, which was where he sat now on a bench against the wall of the house, gently covering the seed with the soil he'd dug out for the hole.

He looked up and felt a sudden sadness fall over him; sadness, and yet mixed in with it a release. He looked out at the yard, it was hard to make the details out through the mist, and so he simply watched the rain fall, and listened to the sound of it pattering on the roof over him and the leaves of the trees: unconsciously committing the sounds and image to memory.

John turned his head as he heard the sliding door open to his left, and Mary stepped out on the porch.

'What are you doing out here?' She asked

He handed her the pot, and for a moment she stared at it

'A Violet.' He said. She looked up as he spoke, her eyes curious 'I wanted to plant something. . .' he went on 'something that would last'

Her eyes softened 'John. . .'

'I remembered' He said quickly, 'how you told me about that violet you used to have that flowered over and over again, and that you could cut pieces off and plant them. About how you had given them to some friends and they'd all grown and flowered, and I thought. . . well, I thought maybe you could do the same with this one' He looked down at the porch, feeling foolish for some reason.

She sat down next to him on the bench and gently placed the pot back in his hands, he could feel tears welling up, and turned and looked at her; there was so much he was going to miss, but he didn't trust his voice to speak. After a moment she leaned in and hugged him close, and he heard her whisper gently, her voice shaking

'I will John. . . I will.'

#

3.

Mary walked slowly as she returned to the room, a cup of water in her hand. She wasn't moving slowly on purpose, or even consciously for that matter, but it was too much for her to see John like this. He still seemed the same in personality most of the time, and yet every time she saw him now he seemed to have faded slightly. She knew some of it was the medication; as the pain increased, so did the dosage that was released through the IV drip, and there was a cloudiness in his eyes that she knew was because of it. But there was something else, a fading of spirit it seemed, not in the sense of a spirit as willpower, but his physical presence seemed to be diminishing somehow. Every time he closed his eyes to rest, which was more and more as the dosages were increased, she would wonder if he was going to open them again, and then when he did she had to hide her relief even as she noticed each time that it was as though less of him had come back.

She felt so tired now, as she approached the room; she'd been sitting with him for most of the day, and now that Sean was here she would be expected to go home; not because anyone would tell her to, but soon John would fall asleep and there was no point in her hovering in the waiting room at the end of the hall. But she could find no comfort at home. It was too quiet, and she was left with her thoughts.

She walked into the room and both men turned and looked at her, and Sean rose for her to sit.

'That's okay' She said, perching herself on the side of the bed. She handed John the cup, and he thanked her with a nod before leaning forward and, using the straw, taking a short sip.

'Ah' He said, leaning back 'that's much better, thank you'

Mary took the cup and placed it on the small roller tray on his right, then gently laid her hand on his arm 'Okay, I'm going now John. I'll see you tomorrow'

He smiled 'Okay honey, I love you'

She leaned in and gave him a kiss 'Love you too, sleep well'

She could see he was tired as she stood and turned to Sean 'Alright, well, call if you need anything'

He nodded 'I'm sure we'll be fine. Love ya mom.'

'Goodnight' She said.

He stood and gave her a soft hug before she turned, and after taking one last look at John -who looked to be sleeping - she turned and left the room.

It seemed like a long walk to the car, and as soon as she left the room she felt like she was missing something. She was too tired to make any sense of it though; every time she left she wondered if she would see him again, and every time she wondered that the weight on her shoulders seemed to grow. And so she made her way back to the car slowly, looking down most of the time, before she drove home and went to bed.

#

4.

Sean woke up with a start – he's been fighting a losing battle against sleep for most of the night. He was trying to stay awake, but as the night wore on it got harder and harder to stop his eyes from slowly closing. He glanced at the clock; it was almost five in the morning.

After his mother had left Sean had been amazed at how quickly his father had fallen asleep. They'd only been talking for a couple of minutes before his mother came back with the water, and only a short time after she'd left, he'd fallen asleep.

Looking at him now, Sean watched his fathers chest rise and fall with each breath, and wondered at how fragile he looked. The difference was noticeable day to day.

Probably in all of us. He thought. He knew he looked worn as well, but he didn't care.

~~~

John opened his eyes.

Dark. Too dark, the room never gets this dark. Wait a second, let your eyes adjust...

After a moment a light slowly appeared on his right, he turned and saw that the light was alone in the darkness, coming from behind a curtain. He could make out the silhouette of a man sitting next to the bed behind those curtains.

A visitor, for the man who never has anyone come and see him. Well, that's nice, strange though, that someone would visit in the middle of the night like this, wish I could see who it was. . .

With that thought John found himself rising up out of the bed, smoothly and without any effort.

Hey! No pain, what happened to the pain? He turned as he continued rising and saw himself lying in the bed, This isn't real? What's happening? Am I dead? Panic started rising up,

'Not dead John' the voice seemed to come from everywhere. 'This is a dream, in a sense'

He turned, the curtains were gone now, the man sitting there had turned and was looking at him, an expression of amusement on his face. He was unremarkable looking: a thin face, light brown hair and small eyes set with wrinkles around the edges. He couldn't tell how old the man was.

'Who are you?'

'I guess I'm part of your dream now.' A smile 'I thought I'd take a moment though, to visit him' He turned to the man lying in the bed and John found himself standing next to them. Looking down he saw an old man, pale and wrinkled.

'No one ever visits him' John said 'Do you know why?'

A sigh from beside him 'Oh there are many reasons John, there are many who are alone here, in this time. Some have done wrong, and so are alone in the end because they have made themselves a fortress to keep others out, sometimes the fault lies in others; in their indifference, their self absorption. Sometimes it's too much for those who love them to handle, and so they stay away out of fear. Does it matter? Whatever the case, alone is alone.'

'You're here' John said

'But not for him. I'm here for you John, I just thought I'd sit with him awhile first; he won't know I was here, but he may feel a little better'

The panic came back in a flood. 'Here for me? Why, if you said I'm not dead. . .' He turned back and looked to where he was sleeping, and saw the man now standing next to his bed. He joined him and looked down; he looked much thinner than he remembered himself looking. Slowly the light illuminating him spread to the other side of the bed, and he saw Sean sitting there, looking at him. His son looked pained; he looked like he was barely holding back tears. His hands were folded in his lap, and he raised one and wiped at his eyes, then put it back in his lap and looked down, releasing his breath slowly.

'You're a lucky man John. You have such a loving family'

John could feel himself shaking with emotion.

'You will be missed when you die' He continued. John turned to look at the man next to him, who smiled 'There is a great gift in that, you know. I've noticed you searching for a way to accept all this.'

John nodded 'Isn't that normal? To want to find reasons'

'Find reasons? Yes, that's normal. But the reasons for what? You know, most people want reasons to explain what's happening. I've never understood that, how so many want so badly to be able to explain their deaths - as if they'll have an opportunity to do so - and so they look for reasons. But not in the same way as you John, you wanted reasons for it to be okay. Now that's not exactly rare, but you had an interesting way of going about it.'

John looked back down at his sleeping form. 'So what difference does it make then? Can you tell me that? What difference, in the end, between someone like me and someone like those you just described? Or, for that matter, between me and that man lying over there? In the end, what difference does it make?'

'Not an easy question to answer John, and I have to point out, that's exactly the kind of question most people ask themselves over and over again. So, what's the difference. . . Come with me, maybe I can show you.'

John turned as a light appeared on his left, it was coming through the door, which now stood open as the man walked through it. John looked down at his sleeping body, then followed him out the door.

~~~

Sean watched as the nurse started making her rounds at the bed beside his fathers. Checking equipment and levels, then after writing a few things down on the chart in her hands she came to stand beside the bed opposite from where he was sitting. She smiled at him before turning to the machines.

Do you pity me? He thought as he watched her or him? Do you pity him? We're just temporary residents aren't we? I wonder if it's hard on her, or if you can get used to watching this over and over again. Does she get bitter? Lord knows I would; join the medical profession to help people and you end up working in the place they go when it's too late for that, watching them die over and over again.

He was looking at his father, sleeping peacefully. Hearing footsteps he looked up to see the nurse looking at one machine, then the other, then the chart. She suddenly looked too serious, and a tremor of unease flitted though Sean's chest. She looked at him quickly, then turned and walked back to the nurses station, where after a brief word, the other, older nurse rose and the two of them came back to the bed. Sean sat up straighter in his chair. The nurses ignored him as they arrived and the older one laid a hand on his father, who's eyes fluttered open just for a second before closing again. The younger nurse came around to his side of the bed.

'Excuse me' She said.

Sean rose on shaky legs as she passed him, and stepped back to stand against the wall.

~~~

A flash of light; John suddenly felt so heavy. The hallway vanished and he was lying down, someone was standing over him.

Pain. This hurts. No, let me go back, I need to find out, the answer. . . Let me go back.

He blinked his eyes and found himself back in the hallway, the visiting man stood a few paces in front of him. The man pointed to a door on the right/

'I guess we can start here. It's as good a place as any'

'No. I want to know, but who are you? Are you some kind of ghost? A spirit?'

The man smiled 'If that's what you believe John, I can be that. I mean different things to different people.'

'Are you. . . Are you god?'


 The man laughed, and his eyes almost disappeared into the wrinkles around them as he did 'Didn't know you were a religious man John. Different things to different people remember. Some would call me god because that suits them. Did I create the stars and the planets and send my only son and all that? I couldn't say, maybe I did. Maybe I'm just someone you dreamed up to help you answer some questions, right now that seems to be what I'm doing anyways. Can you take the answers you get from me without understanding me?'

'Do I have a choice?'

The smile faded 'You always have a choice John. You can go back to that room. Remember, you were just there. I have to tell you though John, this may not happen again. Nothing's certain at this point, not for anyone. So the choice is yours; I can help you find answers, but only you can say who I am to you, I can't help you there.'

'What's through that door?'

He shook his head 'Can't tell you that either John, you have to see it yourself. I know this is hard to understand, but what's through the door, well, that's actually up to you more than me.'

John looked at the open doorway; he couldn't see through it, but he felt a breeze coming from the other side; it smelled like the ocean. He turned, hearing voices coming from behind him, soft and distant - one of them sounded familiar - he turned back, and walked through the door.

~~~

'What's happening?'

Sean leaned forward from the wall as the older nurse turned and walked back towards the nurses station. The other turned to him and smiled softly.

'we just need to check on some things'

You're a bad liar. He thought as he turned and watched the older nurse coming back, she glanced at the younger one before turning to him and saying;

'Sir, could you stand back please, we'll need room around the bed'

Sean nodded and moved over to stand a few feet away from the end of the bed. His father's breathing looked slower to him. He raised a hand up and covered his mouth; he was shaking.

~~~

Waves exploded all around him as John stepped out onto a ledge. He was high up, but the force of the ocean around him pushed all the way to the top of the cliffs before erupting upward and then falling back to the sea in a light mist. He heard the same laughter again, coming from just beside him and turned to find his companion looking out in what appeared to be unrestrained joy.

'Where is this?' John almost had to shout to be heard over the thunder of the sea as it rocked against the cliffs.

The man turned to him and spread his hands 'I don't know, you brought us here.'

'I've never been here.' John started shaking his head 'This doesn't make any sense'

'Oh I don't know about that. You may not have been here John, but this makes a lot of sense to me. Look around, what can you see.'

'I don't recognize any of this.'

'Does that matter John? I asked, what can you see. Look around us, forget about why for a minute and just think about what's here.'

John frowned as he turned back to the view before him. What can I see? 'I see the ocean. The sky. Some birds out in the distance.'

'Okay, good. Now, what else? Closer. Look deeper into those things.'

Deeper... Is this some kind of game? What is he talking about?

'Look closer John. Tell me what you see.'

Okay, closer then. The sea... 'Waves... Rolling waves coming up the cliff' the sky 'I see white clouds and sun, I can see the moon too, barely but it's there, over to the left.'

'Good. So what is all this John? Why here?'

He looked over in frustration 'I told you dammit, I don't know!'

A smile 'Okay then... Jump.'

'What? Are you crazy?'

'It's you're mind John, I'm just here to help you get around. You want answers, well, turn around, you won't find any door back. Only way forward is off this cliff'

'What happens when I jump? No wait, let me guess, that's up to me right?'

The smile widened 'Now you're getting the hang of it. Alright, lets go' The man reached over and slapped John on the back and he felt himself flying forwards; arms spinning, feet skidding along the ground before he flew headfirst through a breaking wave and out over the edge.

~~~

The older nurse reached over and pressed a button on one of the machines. Sean followed the cords from it with his eyes but couldn't see where they were attached under the blanket, but it had stopped beeping with her touch. He wondered what that meant. The younger one had taken out a pressure pad and was checking his fathers blood pressure. She stopped and looked up to the older nurse, then said a something Sean couldn't make out. The older nurse frowned.

Shit. that's not good.

She looked back to the machine and pressed a couple of buttons.

Not turned off then, okay, so the machine's still working. What does that mean. . ?

The older nurse hung the chart she'd been holding on a peg at the back of the bed, then reached up and, taking hold of the curtain, began to draw it along. The younger nurse stepped forward as the curtain closed around the bed.

Neither had said a word to Sean, and he found himself alone, standing just by the door and staring at the now concealed bed before him.

~~~

He was falling. Not to the sea though, everything had disappeared the second he left the cliff's edge. As soon as his feet left the ground he'd been swallowed by darkness, and now he found himself falling through it; his feet and arms still moving as though running, but there was nothing underfoot. A brief thought flashed through his head.

Is this oblivion? Falling endlessly though and towards nothing?

Then suddenly his kicking feet found the ground and he was running. He heard footsteps to his left and looked to fund his companion running alongside him several meters away; the man turned to him with raised brows.

'Where are you going?'

'I don't know' John called back, the sensation of going from falling to running had left him feeling disoriented. He was running at top speed, not sure if he was on still going downhill. He looked forward as, with this thought, the world began to level out.

'I think we can stop now' his companion said 'If we don't know where we're going, maybe we've arrived.'

John glanced over to find the man grinning at him and he slowed to a walk. He stopped and leaned forward, placing his hands on his thighs and breathing deeply to catch his breath. He heard the now familiar laughter coming from next to him.

'well, that was interesting. How did you tilt everything like that? Very interesting'

'How did I what?' John stood and stared at him, still trying to catch his breath 'You pushed me! I didn't do anything'

The man looked up and let out a slow whistle 'Oh wow, now that's worth it'

John followed his gaze and his breath caught in his chest. Above him countless stars were splayed across the sky, bands of soft white light crossing the expanse as they clustered together in their millions. He found that if he focused on one place he could see deeper into the sky, to the stars beyond, and past those endless more layers, all held in the absolute darkness of the sky. Here and there were pockets of color; gases, he assumed, that seemed to twist and twirl in spirals. Within those gas clouds he could see still more stars. The sky was slowly spinning above him, moving clockwise and, in a slower motion, from left to right. Then a light shot from one side to the other, only to be followed by another and then another; then for a moment the sky was streaked in light as hundreds of shooting stars sped across, and when they were gone the darkness in their wake looked deeper and more profound than before.

'Well John' He heard from his side 'This was a good idea'

John let out a soft laugh as a smile broke on his face 'My idea right?' He shook his head 'I don't think I had anything to do with this place'

'You brought us here'

'Maybe I did, but if so, that's all I did' He eased himself down onto the ground, then laid back and stared at the vista above as he heard his companion lay next to him.

After a moment he heard 'You know John... It's never an easy thing. Dying.'

John felt a lump in his chest, for a moment he'd forgotten.

'Part of what makes it hard' the man went on 'is that people try to understand it. But it's the absolute unknown, your brain can explain as much as it wants, but your heart still knows the truth; you don't know what's going to happen, all you know is that everything you know will end.'

John was silent for a moment as he thought about his own efforts to rationalize his death.

'It's a scary thing' he said after a moment 'I feel so helpless'

'You are helpless though John. And is that really such a bad thing? Life and death: they're bigger than you. Why do you think you needed to see this? And where we came from, that ocean cliff? Can you see the significance of these places, or more importantly, what they represent?'

John thought for about that for a moment 'Are they like life and death? You said they're bigger than me. Is that what you want me to understand?'

'In a way. But what have you been doing for these last few weeks? Looking for ways to live on. Remember the violet John? Remember the relief it gave you? The acceptance?'

'I wanted something I could see, some... Proof, I guess that I wouldn't just stop.'

'Right, but look around John, you need to accept that there are forces beyond you that your life does not affect. That place we came from, that's raw nature, and it will continue to be just as it is for thousands of years. And on a larger scale, all we see above us now. No matter what you do, or did in your life, this will all go on; unaffected by the vast complexities of the millions of lives on earth.'

'You mean, I'm not important. Not to the grand scheme of things.'

'Well, yes and no John. There's different levels of grand, aren't there? You know, for some people realizing how small they are on a universal scale terrifies them, or sometimes makes them angry. They wonder what the point is then, if nothing changes whether they live or die. For others it gives them acceptance; it takes away some of the burden they feel knowing that on the large scale of existence, they're not as important... or perhaps responsible is a better word; not as responsible as they thought.'

They looked upon the sky in silence for a while then, watching the stars and galaxies slowly cross above them, and John thought of the scale of all he was seeing; it was beyond him, all of it.

'To this sky, my death changes nothing. Same with the waves of the sea, the clouds. I don't matter to them'

'I can't tell you how to feel about that John. Like I said, I'm just a guide. I'm sorry if it hurts'

'No, I don't think it hurts. In a way it's kind of freeing, though I feel somewhat embarrassed by how I've acted these past weeks.'

'Oh, you did nothing wrong. Remember how I said there were different levels of grand? Different scales to measure with. Close your eyes John, there's more for you to see'

John sighed 'Can we stay here for a while longer? It's comforting, somehow.'

'When you're ready John, just close your eyes. This time I know where we're going.'

John looked at the stars above him; watching the clouds of gas swirl, watching as the occasional shooting star streaked across the sky. It was huge; the scope of the universe was beyond anything he could ever imagine.

Never forget this he thought to himself, and he tried to engrave the image in his mind.

After a little while, he breathed deeply, and closed his eyes.

~~~

Okay, prepare yourself. You knew this was coming. This could be the end. . . I'm not ready, not ready for him to go...

Sean paused in his pacing, he'd been making a short route of the small space he stood in front of the bed. It had only been a couple minutes since they'd closed the curtain. He'd stared at it at first, but before long he found his feet carrying him around in slow circles. His mind was racing; he began pacing again.

You knew this was coming. Be ready, be prepared. They could come out any time... Fuck –I'm not ready for this. How does anyone get ready for this. He stopped again and stared at the curtain. Don't go now, please don't go. He felt tears rising up and choked them back Don't you fucking die! He started moving again. Just the nurses though: they never got a doctor, if anything was really wrong they'd get the doctor. Right? Shit, how the hell do I know? I have no idea. Maybe if there's nothing they can do they don't bother with the doctor. . . No, don't think that. There's something they can do, there always is. They haven't gotten the doctor because everything's fine, this is just procedure, it must be. If everything's fine then why did they shut the curtains? Damn it, I don't know. Why aren't they telling me anything? This is torture, I wish this was just over. . . Don't die though, please dad, I can't handle it, I'm not ready.

Sean spun around as the curtain parted slightly to his left and the younger nurse stepped out.

'Is he okay? What's happening'

She looked at him without expression 'I'm sorry, it might be better if you waited in the hall'

Sean wanted to hit her, but instead he just nodded mutely and turned and walked out into the hallway. Hearing her shut the door behind him he stood blinking in disbelief in the light of the hall, then slowly he backed up until his back hit the wall and he slowly sank down into a sitting position, his knees drawn up in front of him. He folded his arms over his knees and lowered his head onto them, trying to shut out the world around him.

~~~

John felt warmth on his face and saw light as soon as he closed his eyes. He opened them to find he was now staring up at a sunny, open sky. Soft clouds drifted high above him, and turning from right to left the open sky appeared to stretch on forever. His gaze fell on his companion to his left; his eyes were still closed, a soft smile on his lips.


 John raised his head and looked out beyond his feet. A mile or so in the distance he could make out a line of trees marking the start of a forest. He raised himself onto his elbows and then up farther. Crossing his legs in front of himself, he looked around; they were sitting in the middle of empty fields, which stretched out around them, off to the horizon. He heard movement to his left and turned to see his companion sitting up next to him, a slight frown on his face.

'what's wrong?' John asked 'Not where you thought we'd be?'

The man turned to him, brows raised 'well, it's where I thought we'd be, just not when.

But,' the smile creased his face again 'this works. . . Better actually.'

'Why's that? What is this?'

The man looked surprised 'Why, it's an empty field John, don't you agree?'

'Yeah, so what does this tell me?'

'Is it empty John?'

'What do you mean?'

'Look down'

John looked down to the ground beside himself, and saw, spread over the ground, seeds everywhere 'It's been seeded, so I guess it won't stay empty'

'Exactly, now, did you have anything to do with this? Of course not, but at first you thought this field was empty, but it has to be empty, doesn't it'

'For it to grow, you mean.' John reached down and scooped some dirt in his hand, turning it over with his fingers he let it trickle away, watching as the seeds emerged, then fell through to land on the ground again.

'You just held the future John. . . How does it feel?' John smiled at the thought 'In answer to your question, yes. These fields have to die each year to be filled with life the next. Think of all the work that goes into them though; planting, harvesting, tilling. Caring for the soil to keep it fertile. These fields are precious, they give life. Now what do you think it would be like if they never died? If you could just plant them once and they'd produce forever?'

'I don't know, a lot less work I guess. A lot less effort.'

'Right, a lot less everything. Less time, care, and value as well. They'd lose their preciousness. Their life cycle is what makes them what they are. Same goes for everything else.'

John turned to him, felling suddenly angry at the thought 'So what are you saying? That it's a good thing I'm dying? I should be happy?' He stood and walked a short distance before turning, yelling 'What's the point of this?' He kicked the soil 'I don't give a shit about this field! I don't want to die!'

His shout echoed away as he stood, tensed and breathing heavily, staring at the man who still sat less than twenty feet away. After a moment he rose and started walking towards John.

'What I'm saying John, is what would be the point in living, if you never died?'

John suddenly felt exhausted, he looked down 'I'm not ready.' he said quietly

'No one ever is John. Most often though, you don't get to choose. These things don't happen on your time. You at least had some time though, didn't you? To do what you needed to do.'

'All of which was pointless though, wasn't it?'

'No John, none of it was pointless, not a single thing you've done in these past few weeks or in all the years before that. All of them mattered on your own grand scale and that of those who love you. To your family, what's going on right now is their whole world. Does that matter to the universe? To the tides and fields? No. But that doesn't make it any less important.'

Suddenly thunder broke across the sky, John looked up to see dark clouds quickly filling the space above them, and a cold rain began to fall, the thunder came again and again, closer each time.

'What's happening?'

The man looked up, then turned to John and said 'You have to go back John. It's not time yet' With that he quickly closed the distance between them and laid his hands on Johns shoulders, thunder crashed, sounding like it was all around them and the man yelled to be heard above the roar 'I'll see you again John' Then he pushed hard, and John fell backwards, his eyes closed and he landed, suddenly feeling very heavy, and opened his eyes.

At fist his vision was blurred, he could make out movement to both sides of himself, and could hear words being spoken and beeping coming from somewhere. Everything seemed harsh though, there was a sharpness to the sounds, and as his eyes adjusted the colors seemed too strong. He was staring up into the face of a woman;

I know her, what's her name? He felt as though his head weighed a hundred pounds, and he couldn't think straight as she leaned close and spoke.

'Okay John, it's alright. Just rest, everything's fine now'

Fine? What happened? I was somewhere else... Somewhere better.

He tried to focus on that thought but found he was drifting off, his eyes closing slowly, he breathed deeply and it felt like a huge weight had been laid across his chest, he tried to open his eyes as he said, quietly for he had no strength 


'it's too heavy. . . I can't. . .'

And then he was plunged into darkness.

~~~

Sean raised his head at the sound of the door opening beside him, time seemed to have lost all semblance of order.

Was I asleep? How long has it been? Realization slowly donned on him as he raised himself into a crouch and slowly straightened up be ready, he thought, this is it, she's gonna tell you he's gone.

He felt tears begin to rise and he struggled to hold them back as he looked up and turned to face the nurse now standing just outside the doorway. He searched for something to say to her but, finding he didn't trust his voice, he stayed silent. Seeing the look on his face she spoke

'He's okay. . .'

She kept talking but Sean couldn't hear her anymore.

He's okay, it's okay, he's still here. He breathed again for what felt like the first time in hours, the nurse was still speaking

'. . . will be in to examine him in an hour or so, you may want to notify the rest of your family so they can come down'

Sean was confused 'what? He's okay right?'

'His heart rate dropped significantly for a little while there, he came back to us this time, but he may not if that happens again' He looked down again as she said 'The doctor will have more information for you, but you have some time until then.'

Sean looked back up 'Thank you' He nodded as he spoke, then walked back into the room and turned to the bed. His father looked much the same as he had before, sleeping peacefully, the machines beside him beeping, their motors humming softly. He brushed his eyes as he felt the tears brimming, then sat down again and closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. He was exhausted, though he hadn't realized it until now. He opened his eyes again, and raising his head from the wall with considerable effort he looked back to where his father lay sleeping.

He's okay. Better call mom and Julie though, they should be here. He pushed himself up out of the chair and looked over to the clock on the wall 5:30AM. How long did all that take?

It felt like hours, but had in fact been less than half an hour. He left the room and started walking down the hall towards the waiting area at the other end, he'd call from there, and meet them downstairs.

PART 4

1.

Mary drove towards the hospital through what seemed like an endless tunnel; she wasn't much aware of anything around her, nor had she been since she'd woken to the sound of the phone ringing a short time ago. It had taken a moment before the sound broke through to her, as she'd lain in bed wondering what had pulled her out of her blissfully empty sleep. But the sound had worked it's way through the fog in her mind and, tuning to look at the phone she felt an intense fear filling her. 


I can't answer it, not now. She thought, even as she reached across and picked the phone up off the receiver. She held it for a moment before bringing it to her ear. From the other end came Sean's voice

'Hello? Mom, are you there' Her breath caught in her chest at the sound of his voice; he sounded like he was a thousand miles away, strained and tired as his voice was. She cleared her throat and hearing that sound he quickly continued 'Dad's okay'

'Yes,' she said finally 'he's alright?'

'Yeah, he's sleeping. The doctor's coming to check him out in a little while though. So, the nurse thought you and Julie should be here to talk with him when he does'

'Okay, I'll come over right away'

There was a pause 'Mom. . .' She waited, eyes closed. He sounded so tired when he spoke 'he. . . he came close.'

She waited a moment, not knowing what to say 'I'll be there soon honey, and I'll let Julie know too.'

'Okay,' he said, still sounding far away 'I'll meet you both in the lobby'

They'd said their goodbye's then and she'd sat in bed in the darkness for a few moments before calling Julie and relaying the message to her, telling her only the part about talking to the doctor. She found she couldn't bring herself to say anything more, as if in saying something she might make it true. After she got off the phone with Julie she'd quickly dressed and left, and it felt now, as she drove into the parking lot at the hospital, like everything had happened a long time ago, though the drive to the hospital had hardly taken any time. There were few cars there at this hour -it was only six in the morning - and she quickly spotted Julie's car and parked next to it, then got out and started making her way towards the stairs that would take her up to the lobby.

#

2.

Julie had arrived only a few minutes earlier, walking in to find her brother seated in the main lobby, his head resting on his arms on the table before him. She was in a state of high stress, and it took all her will not to run over to him and start asking questions. Her mother hadn't told her the truth on the phone, or at least not all of it. She knew that; she also knew better than to ask her what else was going on. She'd already been awake when the call came, lately she could never sleep for long. She'd wake up several times in the night, as if to check on her father, then realizing she was at home she would lie awake, sometimes for hours before falling asleep again.

When she finally got up, she still felt like she hadn't slept at all, no matter what time she rose from bed, which on days where she didn't need to be at the hospital until later on, was sometimes not until late in the morning.

But she'd been awake when her mother called, and had not been surprised by the phone ringing. She felt like in a way she'd been awake for the call, almost expecting it, and so after hanging up the phone she'd dressed and left within moments for the hospital, hoping to arrive ahead of her mom so she could get some answers from her brother.

He looked up as she approached him now, and the exhaustion on his face was obvious, but he smiled anyways, though it did a poor job or covering his distraught state.

'Hey, you got here quickly'

She pulled a chair out and sat down opposite him, trying to scan him for some sign of what had happened, he looked down quickly as their eyes met.

She sighed, 'What happened? Mom said we were going to talk to the doctor.'

'Yeah, he's supposed to be here within the hour now I guess.'

He was still looking at the table between them 'Sean, mom sounded like there was more to this. Is he okay?'

Sean looked up, his eyes betrayed the thin smile that slowly formed on his face, he looked like he'd seen a ghost, but he nodded;

'He's okay.' He let out a nervous laugh 'Scared the shit out of me though. . . The nurse says his heart rate dropped.' The smile faded and he looked down again 'they made me leave the room. I thought. . . I thought we were losing him.' he looked back up at her, 'She said he came back this time, but. . . Next time, who knows.' He sighed when he finished speaking and seemed to deflate, and Julie could understand the motion, she felt like a huge weight had just been laid on her shoulders. She tried to think of something to say, but couldn't find any words. There's nothing to say, she thought, what can I tell him? He said it there; who knows. . .

He had looked back down from her gaze, but quickly looked up and past her; she heard footsteps approaching.

Sean started getting up and she did the same as their mother walked up to them, then after exchanging hugs they sat back down. Her mother looked tired, and more stressed than Julie had ever seen her. Of course she is. Why does that even surprise me? Her brother seemed to have nothing to say, or at least wasn't venturing any information forward, and after a moment of silence her mother spoke

'So what is the doctor doing? Is he there now?'

Sean shook his head 'No. The nurse said he wouldn't be in before seven. So he won't be here yet'

Julie glanced over at her mother. Did she already know what had happened earlier? She must have some idea.

'But what's the doctor doing?' Her mother continued "Do you know why he's going to look at your father?'

Sean glanced up, eyes flitting between them, then looked back down shaking his head 'I don't really know, probably just a checkup of some sort. The nurse thought we should be here in case we want to ask any questions.'

She looked over to her mother who was nodding now, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. Oh, well done Sean. Probably just a checkup? Somehow I doubt you really believe that, but it's good for mom. She looked back and forth between them, both were looking down, avoiding her gaze. We all know though, don't we. We ask, because it lets us keep lying to ourselves for a little while longer, but we know. Why now, after all? The doctor hasn't seen him yet this week, there haven't been any other little 'checkups'. No, he's coming now because there's not much time left. She looked at Sean you know it too, don't you. You saw it tonight. Next time he may not come back.

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, addressing both of them; 'Okay. . . Can we go up? I think we should be there when the doctor arrives' She didn't know why, but she felt she needed to justify going upstairs, as if seeing her father wouldn't be a good enough reason. Sean slowly nodded his head and then pushed himself up and out of his chair. Their mother looked up and Sean spoke;

'Are you coming mom? Or would you rather wait here?'

'No I'll come' She rose slowly, and Julie could tell as she got up and stood beside her that the weight was on her as well.

As they started walking, Sean and Julie flanked their mother, and the three of them slowly crossed the lobby and headed down the hall towards the elevators.

#

3.

John opened his eyes to find himself sitting on a windswept hilltop, bare boulders breaking through the ground around him, surrounded by short grasses. In front of him was a deep valley, lined with hills, each one thickly forested around the base where they joined a river that cut in a winding pattern through the valley below. The water was a light blue, pastel color and even from this great distance John could sense it's icy cold. Following the hills up, the trees slowly thinned out until eventually they were gone, and the tops looked to be similar to the one he sat on now. The sky above was a deep blue, wisps of clouds trailing through it, and behind one of the hills the sun was just beginning to set, the clouds closest to it slowly turning orange.

He felt a presence at his side and turned to find a familiar man sitting next to him. He knew he'd met him before but couldn't place where, his long face and short light brown hair looked so familiar. John stared at him a moment before the man turned to him and spoke:

'Not a bad view? Eh John?'

'I know you, don't I?'

The man turned back, looking out towards the valley 'Nothing much changes here. That's why I like it, you know; people tend to forget there are places like this, places that remain untouched.' He sat silent for a moment and John looked back to the hills and up to the sky.

'I'm dead aren't I?'

A laugh from beside him 'You always assume the worst John. No, you're not dead.' after a moment 'wouldn't make for such a bad heaven though, would it.'

John turned and looked at him 'So who are you then?'

The man shook his head 'Guess I shouldn't be surprised you don't remember. Who am I? You have no idea how many people ask me that. Well. . . maybe you do.'

John turned to find the man looking at him, a warm smile on his face, 'Who am I to you John?'

John turned away 'I don't know. Maybe I just dreamed you up. This is a dream isn't it?'

'Well you're not really here, if that's what you're asking. Did you dream me up, well that's sort of right. I wouldn't exist if you weren't here.'

John shook his head 'What does that mean?'

'Lets just say I'm here now because you need someone to be here, and for you, that's me.'

'So I'm still alive then, somewhere else?'

John found the world before him suddenly dissipating, as if it was being carried away on the breeze, and then he was standing next to his bed, looking down on himself.

From beside him the man spoke softly 'Here John, you're still alive.'

John looked up as the door opened and he saw first his daughter, then his wife and son enter the room. They stood looking down on him for a moment, and his wife reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand. Johns breath caught as he both watched, and felt her touch from where he was standing, and he brought his hand up to where she'd laid her hand against his cheek. He turned then to the man who was standing next to him to find him looking back .


 'Wake me up. I want to see them.'

The man shook his head 'I can't do that John, I'm sorry. You're alive here, but you don't have the strength right now.'

John turned back to where his family was now sitting down, all but his son who remained at the end of the bed, looking scared. He felt helpless, he wanted to reach out and touch each of them, to tell them he was okay, that he was right there.

The man spoke again 'If you went back now John, they'd lose you for good. I know this will seem backwards, but sometimes the body can actually take more than the spirit. Your body is getting ready to start finally winding down, and it's just waiting now for your spirit to join it so it can let go.'

John turned back to him 'Why am I here then? What's the point of this?'

The man took his arm and gently tuned him around 'Come with me, they need this time'

John followed him and found that his second step landed back on the windswept hill; the sun was still in the process of setting, it was lower than before and the colors were spread farther across the sky now, those closest to the hill the sun was setting behind were a bright yellow, and they got lighter the closer they came, going from yellow to orange and then onto lighter pink nearest where they stood.

The man continued talking 'So John, what's the point of this you ask. Well, maybe it won't seem like enough to you, but there isn't really a point, besides what you choose to take from all of it. Everybody has a different way of doing this, this is yours.'

'Different way of doing what, of dying?'

'Well, yes, I suppose that's what you're doing. But it's not the act of dying, this is just your way of getting ready to go. I have to say, this is pretty good. You know, some people go to some pretty dark places when they get ready, and it takes them a lot longer to let go.' He spread his hands out to the vista before them 'This is nice though, shows some of your character I'd say'

John turned and looked out at the valley 'My character.' He looked back to the man 'So what happens then? What happens when we die?'

'Oh come on John' the man tuned to him, smiling 'How could I tell you that? What would be the point of anything if you knew? Besides, what makes you think I can tell you?' He shook his head 'Sorry friend, there's only one way to find out what happens next, you have to take that step alone.'

'Then why? Why go through all this? Why not just let me die and, like you said, find out for myself? This is just confusing'

'Don't ask me. I can't tell you why' he had an innocent look on his face 'this is your way of getting ready, remember, every spirit has it's own way of preparing for the next step, you chose this, the same way you chose to plant that violet so that you'd know something lived on. When you're ready, you'll know'

John felt tears rising in his throat, and he turned, speaking softly 'I don't want to go yet. I'm not ready to say goodbye, to leave all this. How do I know if I'll still remember any of it? I don't want to forget my family. . .' He nodded towards the valley before them 'forget all this. Will I remember? Don't suppose you can tell me that can you?'

'Sorry John, I'm afraid not' he felt a hand settle on his shoulder, a soft touch 'but you don't have to go yet, we can stay here awhile if you'd like.'

John nodded, sniffling he wiped away at his eyes as he felt a tear track down his cheek, then composing himself, he nodded again 'Okay. . . alright. Just until the sun goes down then, I'd like to at least see that'

The hand lifted and he heard 'Sure John, that sounds fine to me.'

Looking out over the valley, John breathed deeply, trying to push away the fear in his chest. The sun broke past the hill then in it's descent, and the world before them was lit in gold, John felt the tears again, but this time made no move to wipe them away as he stared in wonder at the beauty before him.

#

4.

These were the hardest times. As he walked through the halls of the hospital, going through various floors and seeing patients with various illnesses, the Doctor unconsciously did everything possible to delay his coming meeting with the Comely family. He walked slowly, the green horizontal stripes on the walls of this, the third floor, following him as he made his way back to the elevator. He'd always wondered at how much the patients understood of the hospitals layout: it was uncommon for most people to see more than two of three of the floors in their lifetime, and of course those that did often weren't in much state for logistical contemplation. He, on the other hand had just that 'luxury'; if it could be called that. For him, mentally at least, the higher you went from floor to floor, the less likely you were to move back down. The first floor of course was not to be included in this theory, since the emergency department kind of bunched everything together down there.

He had spent two years in emergency when he was young, his career just starting out. Those had been hard times, the constant stress of the unknown was almost too much at times, and there had been many occasions when he'd thought he was burnt out - nothing left to give - but then he would open the curtains to his next patient, and he would find someone in pain, someone he could help, and some inner reserve would kick in. The busy times in the emergency stations were easier then the slow ones, when he had time to think between patients. When it was busy he could operate almost like a machine, working tirelessly on instinct and adrenaline, then eventually there would come what he always dreaded – a lull. He'd leave a patient and turn to find no one waiting for him; no nurse standing outside of the curtains with a chart in her hands and a serious expression on her face, and his heart would sink. It was then that the numb exhaustion would settle in, ebbing it's way into his body and mind, until at last a nurse would come for him, and, feeling tired beyond belief, he would rise again and draw from what seemed to be an endless reserve to help someone new.

He had often wondered, in those slower times, if there was a limit to such reserves, if someday he would simply run out; be unable to get to his feet when the nurse came for him, and someone would suffer because he wasn't strong enough for them. But that had never happened, in all those long days, and even longer nights; all filled with brothers, sisters, parents and children in need, he'd never run out, and when the opportunity came to move on he'd been able to do so with pride. And so he'd begun his work as a family doctor, and had started caring for patients that ended up, for varying reasons, on one floor or another of this hospital, that was when he'd begun to notice the layout of the floors. Aside from the specialized departments located wherever space and convenience allowed, there was a fairly set path of movement between levels.

A patient, for example, on the third floor, almost always came from the second floor, and would move to the third to be monitored. Someone in this scenario would most likely spend their time moving between the two floors, and usually had a good chance of going home. If, however, the patient worsened and needed surgery, then they'd have to go to the fifth floor to be operated on, and depending on the success of that surgery they would either return to the third floor and continue with their back and forth between second and third, or they would go to the sixth floor, and from there the likelihood of them going back down was low, at best. For a child the system worked exactly the same, but children went to the fourth floor instead of the sixth. It was always hard for him when they told him his patient had moved to the fourth or sixth floor respectively; he knew that at that point the odds were against them. With older patients it was easier, each person only had so much time anyway, and he could accept when someone's time had come to an end due to them living a long life. Of course modern science gave death different names now, but when someone was old it was just natural, no matter what it was technically named. With younger patients though, it was harder: not necessarily for the patient themselves, but for the families around them. They often had an almost impossible time accepting the facts about what was happening, even though he would tell them, as was his duty. And he couldn't help feeling like he'd failed them somehow, when they would look at him with hope, even after he'd told them there was none. He knew he could not hold himself responsible for what assailed his patients, and could not be expected to perform miracles beyond the possibilities of modern medicine, and yet when he looked into the eyes of a husband, wife, or child of a patient who he knew was going to die, and he saw there that hope - that disbelief that their loved one was being taken away - how could he help but feel he had failed? Even in a situation like this one, with Mr. Comely, when there had never really been anything he could do but offer suggestions to make things more comfortable, he still felt like he should have been able to do more.

He turned before he reached the elevators and opened a door on his left. Entering into the stairwell he began his ascent to the sixth floor. The nurse had explained to him the events of the previous night in a message left on his cell phone, and he'd listened to her evaluation on his drive over to the hospital. There was no surprise in what she'd said: he'd known that this was coming, the only thing that surprised him was that she told the family he would be coming to check up in Mr. Comely, when in reality there was little worth in doing so. What was happening to John was nothing anyone could do anything about, it never really had been. He looked up upon reaching a landing. One more floor and he would be there, where he knew Johns' family sat waiting with breath held; waiting for something he couldn't give them, no matter how much he wanted to.

#

5.

Sean looked up as the doctor entered the room, and after a brief nod to the nurse who glanced up at him from her station, turned to face them and the bed.

They'd been sitting in silence for at least half an hour now; it seemed no one could think of anything worth saying, and Sean suspected they were each struggling with their own internal monologue, trying to either avoid thinking about the upcoming meeting or preparing themselves for it. He couldn't really be sure though, which category he fell under. His own mind had been oddly blank for the last few minutes, and before that he couldn't recall what he'd been thinking about. The doctor looked tired though, an almost disappointed look on his face, as if perhaps he'd been hoping to find the room empty; all of them gone home and in some miraculous turn of events this meeting avoided.

Glancing over to his right, Sean found his mother still looking down, and beside her his sister was looking at their father, who continued to sleep. Both appeared to be unaware of the doctors presence. Sean rose slowly and cleared his throat, drawing both their gazes as he extended a hand to the doctor, who now stepped closer to him and nodded.

'Hi doc' he said, 'thanks for coming'

The nodding continued as they shook hands and Sean heard his mother and sister rise behind him, neither stepped forward to greet the doctor, and he seemed unperturbed as he turned and nodded to them each in turn.

'Hello Mary, Julie.' Sean continued to look his face, but could find no answers there. The doctor turned to the bed for a moment, then back to them, 'If you'll excuse me for a minute, I'll have a look at him and then meet with you in the waiting room at the end of the hall'

Sean nodded 'Okay, thank you'

He turned to his mother and she glanced from the doctor, back to him and then away as she stepped past him and out of the room, Julie following behind her. Sean looked over to his father as the doctor made his way around to the other side of the bed and looked down at him. He thought he saw something like sadness in the doctors face, and it struck him then that there was nothing medical in this moment: the doctor already knew, just like he did, and he was doing his little checkup for the benefit of them, the family, who expected it of him. Sean looked back to his father again as he made his way to the door; he looked so peaceful. He turned away as he reached the door and stepped out into the hallway.

#

6.

Mary watched as her son stepped out of the room and slowly made his way towards where she and Julie now sat in the small waiting room. He looked up as he approached and offered her a smile, but failed in holding it, and she could see the pain and exhaustion in his eyes. I bet that's the same look I have, she thought as he arrived and slowly sat down on the couch opposite them. The furniture in the small room was of a homely nature; two soft couches, both matching brown and a cream colored chair in the corner, next to which was a small side table with a stack of magazines. The light in this room, though open to the hallway on one full side, was soft in contrast to the harsh cold lighting of the rest of the hospital.

She wondered if what they did now was not being repeated on the floors below them, if directly under where she sat now, in other rooms just like this one families were sitting, tensed and stressed and exhausted, waiting for some glimmer of hope for a loved one. Pain is too common a bond in this place. For us it's so important, but we hardly have the time to spare for others going through the same emotions, almost too much isn't it? Too much to deal with our feelings in our own family, let alone anyone else's.

She looked over at her daughter, sitting at the other end of the couch, hand on her lap, eyes downcast as she looked at the floor, then across at Sean, who was looking straight ahead out the window, though by the glazed look to his eyes she suspected he was seeing nothing of what was in front of him. She was proud of them, proud of how they had handled themselves through all of this. They shouldn't have to go through this - she'd thought that many times - it wasn't fair for them. For her it was different, she was older and she felt responsible for them, for keeping them safe. But she couldn't protect them against what now assailed their emotions, she couldn't help them face this, she could hardly keep herself from falling apart.

A familiar frustration rose within her: she felt so helpless in the face of all this, no way to even protect her own children. She wished she could just hold them and tell them it would be alright, but she couldn't tell them something she didn't believe, no matter how much she wanted it to be true. Truth be told, she had yet to really come to terms with it herself. She'd known all along that John was going to die, but somewhere along the way she had built some kind of wall within herself - a blockade against it all - and even at this point the truth was unable to sink past that wall into a place where she could work towards some kind of acceptance. Perhaps it was the notion of fairness that so blocked her, her anger towards the injustice of all that was happening. Not just for them, but mostly for John: she couldn't get her head around why something like this would happen to someone like him. A good man, a loving father, he didn't deserve this, he should be allowed to grow old, to see his kids grow up. None of it was fair, not to her, to her children, not to him. But there was no one to blame, and that perhaps was the hardest part of all. With no one to point the finger at, no direction for this anger within her, it all stayed inside, coiled up and eating away at her. She looked down to the floor at her feet and waited, waited for something she knew would never come.

#

7.

The doctor stood looking down at the man lying in the bed. What was he supposed to do? He felt helpless. All his training, all his science and medicine, none of it made any difference now; none of it could stop time, and time was the only thing John Comely had run out of. There were lots of different ways of saying it, but that's what it all came down to.

He leaned forward until he was close to Johns ear 'I'm sorry John, sorry there wasn't anything that could be done.' He felt like he needed to explain himself but couldn't think of a way to do so 'Sometimes you see. . . Sometimes a body just starts winding down. We knew it was coming with you, we always knew John.'

He stopped, realizing he was trying to justify himself. What am I doing? Trying to absolve myself? I haven't failed this man, haven't failed his family. He let out a sigh, 'it's just your time John, no matter what anybody calls it, when your time comes, you go.'

He straightened and stood back a couple paces from the bed. That's what I'll tell them, no mumbo jumbo, no medical terms. I'll just say "I'm very sorry, but it's his time to go, nothing can change that" and leave it there. What's the rest of it for anyway? Just to make them feel better, to give reason to something that is without one? Forget it, just the truth, it'll help them accept it anyways.

He looked down on John, remembering that first day when he'd told him the news, how he'd been so unwilling to accept it, so determined that there must have been a mistake.

Ah, but that didn't last long did it? He thought, No, someone like you can't lie to themselves for long. Some can, they go on, not believing what they know to be true simply because they refuse to accept it. But not you John, it didn't take you much time, because you knew didn't you? As soon as I told you, a part of you knew it was true, and that part wouldn't listen to the lie. Did it help? I wonder, did the acceptance help you? Or do you wish you could have just denied it, denied yourself and gone on not believing for even just a little while longer. In the end I suppose it doesn't matter does it? Well, I am sorry.

He started moving towards the door, then as he reached it he turned and took one last look, and speaking almost in a whisper said 'Goodbye John, ' and stepped out into the hall.

#

8

Julie looked up as she heard footsteps approaching, and saw the doctor coming towards them along the hallway. She looked across to her brother and found him staring back at her, a knowing look in his eyes. To her right she heard her mother stand as the doctor entered the room they were waiting in, and Julie got up and walked the few steps over to stand next to her mother as Sean rose and turned to the open hall. The doctor stopped and looked at each of them in turn before speaking.

'There's no easy way to say this' She heard her mothers breath catch, the doctor went on 'his body has started shutting down, I'm very sorry, but there's just nothing left to be done.'

She felt numb, she'd known he was going to say something like that, but somehow actually hearing it seemed to make it real. He mother slowly lowered herself back down onto the couch, and Julie glanced down to see her sitting staring at the floor, one trembling hand covering her mouth. It was Sean who spoke next.

'How long?'

She felt like her heart stopped as she looked up at Sean, anger rising inside her. How long? She knew it was the right question to ask, yet somehow it sounded so cold, so accepting. The doctor glanced down at their mother before turning to Sean, breathing deeply he said,

'Not long now, maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. It's impossible to be exact at this stage, but there isn't much time left'

He seemed like he wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words. Julie sat down after a moment and took her mothers other hand, then glanced up to find the doctor looking at them. She felt sorry for him, for this impossible task that had been laid at his feet, but she knew she had, just like her mother, been hoping for some impossible comfort from him. She wished she could find words for him, something to say to let him know this wasn't his fault - that she didn't blame him - but she could think of nothing, and so after catching his eye briefly she just nodded, and looked back down between her feet.

After another moment she heard Sean speak again 'Okay. . . Well, thank you doctor. . . For everything.'

'Yes well, I'm very sorry'

She nodded again mutely at the doctor words and listened to his footsteps begin to retreat as he walked away. After a moment she heard a sigh followed by the sound of Sean sitting back down. Her mother was sobbing quietly beside her, one trembling hand still held by her own. She felt tears rising to her eyes but pushed them back, feeling a lump in her chest from the emotion assailing her. She felt so numb, it all seemed almost surreal in a way.

They sat that way for a while, her mother crying softly and her brother sitting quietly as if in shock, and had she bothered to think of it, she would have realized that's exactly what they were in.

PART FIVE

1.

The last rays of light slowly faded from the forest and river below as the sun sank down beneath the horizon between the two centre hills at the far end of the valley. As it went down the stars slowly began emerging above them, only a few at first, then more and more until they filled the sky. Looking up at that sky brought a familiar feeling to John, one of comfort and awe.

They were sitting now, looking out at the valley before them, and John breathed deeply, speaking for the first time in what felt like hours.

'I wouldn't change a thing you know.'

He heard a soft rustle next to him 'About what John? Dying?'

John smiled 'No, well yes, but that's not all. I wouldn't change any of it.'

'Ahh, your life you mean. Well that's good I guess, no regrets.'

'Oh I've got regrets, plenty of them. But I've been thinking about it all, the way my life played out, and you know, every regret was necessary.'

'That's interesting, I'll have to remember that one "every regret was necessary"'

'I spent a lot of time at first you know, going over what I'd done in life, trying to find meaning to it. Now I know it all had meaning, not just some of it or bits here and there, or just the good deeds or bad ones. All of it. Not one thing could have happened without the things that happened before, and all those things came together pretty well I'd say.'

'You should count yourself lucky, you know that John?'

'You mean because of the life I've had?'

'Well, yes but that's not what I meant. You should count yourself lucky because you recognize how good your life was. Some people never do, they just get stuck wishing this or that had been different: a cycle of guilt and regret. Wanting to change the past never helps anything. You'd think that'd be obvious, and it may sound like it is, since of course you can't change the past, but that doesn't stop a lot of people from wishing that they could; obsessively in some cases for those who are faced with their own mortality.'

'You see, that's what I've realized. It's not necessarily that there aren't things I wish I could change, but now I know that without those things something good might not have happened. The bad parts - the regrets and things like that – they were necessary steps towards the good, and so I'm grateful for them too.'

'I'm happy for you John, I really am'

They sat in silence for a moment, and John glanced up to the star filled sky above.

'Wish I could have known before though' He said after a moment

A laugh came from the man next to him and he felt a hand settle on his shoulder, 'Always something to wish for isn't there? You learn things when you're ready to learn them, it's as simple as that. After all, what have I told you? Not much really. You came up with the answers by yourself for the most part, you just needed a place to think, and maybe someone to bounce ideas off of. Someone to listen John.' John turned to him to find the man smiling that soft smile 'That's all I really am, just someone who listens. I'm not here to judge or explain things, and look at all the things you've figured out. So, you say you wish you'd known earlier? But that goes against what you know now anyways, about everything being necessary, what did you call them? "Necessary steps" You're chasing yourself into a corner John. Besides, I think that's what you wanted to learn, that's the answer you were looking for isn't it?'

John shook his head 'You lost me. What did I want to learn?'

'You wanted to find the point of it all didn't you?'

'And did I? I'm still not so sure I see it.'

'Well maybe there isn't one then. Maybe life just is. With what you know now though, the question really is this: don't you think that's enough? Who cares what the great purpose of existence is and all that, does it matter? You wouldn't change a thing anyways right?'

'You're right. I don't care about the rest. My life happened just the way it was supposed to because, well. . . because that's how it happened. And no, I wouldn't change anything.'

'Well John, I think you found it'

'Found what?'

'Acceptance. And an appreciation for your life. All of it.'

Looking out into the valley John could now barely make out the river flowing far below, just a small silver shimmer now and then in the darkness. The hills rising to either side of it were also fading into the darkness of the night, their silhouettes only really noticeable by the absence of stars. He heard the man next to him get up and brush himself off.

'Sun's down John. I'm afraid that means our time's up'

He nodded turned and looked up at the man, who smiled at him, then reached forward and offered his hand,

'lets get you back to your family. They'll have things they need to say before you go.'

John thought of his family. They'd be okay, he knew that now, although it would be hard for them, he knew that just like him, the things that happened in their lives, including his death, were all necessary for the paths their lives would now take. There was some comfort in that thought, some lifting of responsibility, and it felt good to know that all this was just part of something much, much bigger. John nodded to himself, reached up and took the hand.

#

2.

Sean pushed himself up out of the chair feeling as though he was in a dream. His sister and mother looked up at him at the sound of his movement; both were wearing guarded expressions, and he imagined he had the same look on his own face. Too many emotions going on for his face to pick one, and so it had settled on this blank look.

'I'm gonna go sit with dad.'

He wanted to say more, something about being there in case he woke up, but he didn't feel right saying it. His mother nodded to him.

'okay honey.'

His sister had already dropped her gaze back to the floor at her feet. He turned and walked down the hall towards the room, stopping when he reached the open door. After a few deep breaths he walked in. His father was lying just like before, looking like he slept peacefully. Sean walked around to the left side of the bed and stood looking down on him. He felt tears rise to his eyes and looked down while he waited for the feeling to pass, he didn't want his father to wake up and find him crying. Why that mattered he couldn't say, but he felt like it would be a failing somehow on his part, and so he waited until he felt calm, or as close as he could hope to get, and then he sat down next to the bed and looked back up.

His father was breathing softly: to Sean the breaths seemed far apart. He looked back down at his own hands resting in his lap, opening and closing the fingers as if trying to stretch out the tension he could feel coiled within his whole body. Reaching forward he took his fathers hand from where it rested beside him on the bed and held it for a second, waiting to see if there was any movement from his father. There was none. After watching him breath for a moment Sean spoke quietly,

'Hey Dad' his voice sounded odd to him, strained and alien 'I wanted to thank you. Seems late now but. . . Well I don't know if you're gonna wake up so. . . I just hope you can hear me.' He looked up to clear his eyes and sighed, 'You did everything right, you know. With us. And I'm sorry if I didn't . . . you know, for the times I wasn't there. ' he felt a tear roll down his check and brushed it away 'I'm gonna miss you dad'

He couldn't go on, the emotion rising in his throat choked him and so he just hung his head, still holding his fathers hand, and waited.

#

3.

After her brother left, a few minutes passed in silence before Julie felt a gentle squeeze of her hand. She looked up to find her mother looking back at her, a soft look to her face, the tears now gone.

'Julie, maybe in a few minutes you should go back in too, but give your brother some time.'

Julie shook her head 'What am I supposed to do mom? What can I do?'

Her mother smiled, a tired and knowing smile 'Just be there dear.'

'And what about you?'

She sighed 'I think I'd like to sit somewhere quiet for a while.'

Julie nodded, there was nothing left really for any of them to do anyway, just wait, and each moment that ticked past was one that would not come back. It was strange, she thought, that time was often working in such an opposite pattern from what people needed. When in anticipation - waiting for something good to happen - it seemed like minutes lasted for hours, and yet now, when she just wanted things to slow down, time seemed to be speeding by. Every time she looked at the clock on the wall beside where her mother sat, she felt her heart sinking further. More time that won't come back, we waste so much of it, assuming there will be more, and now. . . Now we're running out so quickly.

Her mother leaned forward and gently drew her into a soft hug. Julie closed her eyes against the tears within her; she wanted to disappear into that embrace, to just stay there forever, but though she wanted to stay she found herself pulling back after a couple minutes, and wiping her eyes she looked up as her mother rose from the couch they'd been sitting on.

'I'm just going to take a short walk, I'll be back in a little while' She said and then turned and walked away.

Julie sat watching her go, and stared blankly at the hall for a time after she'd gone. Then she rose and headed towards where her brother still sat, head lowered, one hand holding her fathers as he slept peacefully.

#

4.

Laughter echoed through the playground as children ran this way and that, going from one playset to another. A young couple sat on a bench off to one side, keeping one eye on their children, they spoke while other parents cris-crossed their way through the playground. The two on the bench had smiles on their faces as their son and daughter ran across in front of them and over to the swing set, followed by two other kids about the same age that they'd been playing with for the last ten minutes or so. The children arrived at the swings and the girls both jumped up into them, the boys taking position behind and starting to push, glancing back and forth to each other as they tried to push their swings higher and higher than each other. They were so intent on their pushing that with each shove they would almost fall over, and right themselves just in time to catch the next backswing.

'Sometimes it amazes me that they don't get hurt more often' John said as he watched.

Mary looked at him with one brow raised 'I don't know who's kids you're looking at' she said 'but Sean seems to do something to himself every day. Of course, you get to go to work during the week, so you don't have to patch him up.'

John looked over at her and smiled, putting his arm around her and pulling her close he kissed her head 'that's why I married you, you know, skill with a band-aid.'

'Maybe we should switch for a little while, hmm? I could go to your office and you could stay home and spend your days herding the kids.'

'herding? what, are they cattle now?'

'Sometimes' Mary said, 'I can't see the difference. I really can't.'

'Well then, what we need is a cattle dog then, don't we. Something to nip at them and keep them moving in the right direction.

'John!' She laughed 'Anything that nips at my kids is going to meet my boot!'

He glanced back to the playground 'You may have to take out that swing-set in a minute'

She looked back to see her son and the boy next to him laughing away, the swings now coming back almost too high for them to reach as they tried to jump and push at the same time. Mary called over:

'Sean, not so high' The boy didn't even turn at her voice, just kept smiling and watching as the swing swept out in front of him, a look of triumph on his red face, he seemed to answer almost instinctively:

'Okay mom, sorry' And let the next couple of backswings go by him before stepping in and starting to push again.

'I think he may have practiced saying that a few times.' John said

Mary sighed 'They're growing so fast. Seems like yesterday we were bringing Julie home from the hospital. Now she's almost four.'

'Her brother seems pleased though doesn't he? She's old enough to play with now.'

Mary turned to her husband 'We should try and get away sometime, go camping or something.'

John turned to her 'Camping eh? We haven't gone with Julie yet. Both of them in the tent though, I don't think it's big enough. Sean almost destroyed it on his own when we went last, and he was only two.'

'Well, maybe we need a bigger tent then. I still think we should go, besides, you haven't taken any time off in months. The kids are going to forget who you are.'

He turned back to the swings 'I know. Funny, I actually thought running things myself would give me more freedom. I was way off though. Even when I'm at home I'm at work these days.'

'This was what you said you wanted John, a company of your own'

'It still is. Just hasn't gotten up and running as fast as I'd hoped'

'Some time away might help you know, to clear your head. Sometimes I can't figure out which way to go until I step back a little. You've been right in the middle of everything ever since things started moving. Maybe a week in nature with your family will help you see the picture you had in your mind when you started.'

He sighed 'Okay okay, you win. You always win.' He tightened his arm across her shoulders, pulling her closer. 'I'll find a way to take some time in the next few weeks, we'll find ourselves a quiet lake somewhere and just go.'

At that moment they heard a quick countdown of 3. . . 2. .1! And looked just in time to see both girls launch themselves off the swings, landing feet first and then toppling forwards to roll on the ground before jumping up and running towards the climbing bars another twenty meters away, their laughing brothers running to catch up with them.

Mary patted Johns leg as she pushed herself up off the bench.

'Well that's enough for now I think. We should get back home and put some food in them. Don't forget to look into the tent though.'

John kept watching the kids for a moment before saying, almost to himself:

'I don't think a tent will do. . .'

Mary smiled at the memory, looking at the empty playground across from the front of the hospital. The sun was still rising and the street on this side of the hospital was quiet. So many memories. She could see John in her mind, young, a full life ahead of him, and somehow it didn't seem possible that he could soon be gone. I just didn't seem right. Not what we planned. But she knew that death cared nothing for her plans, for how she'd pictured things: it would come all the same, indifferent to the disruption it caused. She looked up at the grey sky above her and could see the clouds starting to thin with the coming of day, Are you awake yet John? she wondered, will you see the kids one last time? She wanted to go back, but there was nothing for her to say to him that he didn't know, she felt that somehow she didn't belong in that room, she could see him right where she was now, happy and young: just the way she would remember him.

#

5.

Julie stepped softly as she entered the room. Her brother looked up to her as she walked over to the side of the bed and looked down on where their father was sleeping. She glanced over at Sean:

'Has he woken up?'

Sean shook his head no. She looked back, and after a moment heard Sean sigh and rise to his feet:

'I'll be just down the hall.'

He walked past her and out of the room, turning to glance back just as he left. She sat down where he'd been and watched her fathers chest rise and fall slowly with each breath. She knew she would miss him, more than she could even imagine at this point, and wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come, and so she sat in silence, struggling to give voice to the emotions swirling inside her.

#

6.

John found himself in darkness. He felt like a great weight had been laid on top of him, and he didn't have the strength to move beneath it. Somewhere far away something was beeping, and he could hear a voice. So familiar. . . I know that voice. If I could just move, get this damn weight off me. I can't even speak. The voice got closer as he focused on it, but it faded in and out

'. . . don't know . . .'

A woman's voice. I know her.

'. . . wish you'd wake up dad. . .'

The voice trailed off again. Dad? My daughter, that's my daughter. It felt as though a fog was trying to close on his mind but he pushed it back. Julie. My daughter Julie. She said wake up. . . Am I sleeping? Maybe I am. He felt like he was pulled backwards then, and the darkness covered him completely, the sound of her voice fading until he could barely hear it. No! I have to wake up! Mentally he grabbed hold of her voice, he couldn't make out any words but he used the sound to pull himself forwards, through the fog.

Wake up,

Her voice got a little louder.

Wake Up,

The darkness seemed to thin and stretch.

WAKE UP!

He pulled himself clear and saw her begin to take shape in front of him. She stopped speaking as he opened his eyes, everything looked blurry, and he blinked several times trying to clear his vision. Slowly she came into focus, and he felt a surge of warmth within himself as she smiled and brought her hand up and covered her mouth. He tried to speak but all that came out was a whisper:

'heard you.' he took a breath and she leaned closer 'heard you talking.' He saw tears in her eyes as she reached down and he felt, very faintly as she took his hand.

'I'll get mom.' She said, but he shook his head, she leaned in again as he whispered:

'she knows. . .' He smiled and tried to squeeze her hand, though he couldn't tell if he did or not 'I love you honey.' tears were running down her cheeks now.

'I love you too dad'

John's vision began to dim again and he realized it was his eyes closing, as they closed he whispered 'I'll sleep now, and see you when I wake up.' Just as the darkness closed back in he heard her say:

'Okay dad.'

He smiled, feeling her squeeze his hand even as her voice faded away.

#

7.

John opened his eyes and found himself standing in a field, mist swirling around him. To his left he could barely make out the line of a wooden fence, and beyond it dark trees. On his right the field stretched out, slowly winding down a gentle slope and disappearing into the mists. He knew somehow that past that, if he followed the stretch of the field, he would find yet another fence like the one to his left, and beyond it more fields, going on and on until they reached the hills that rose in the distance. But that was not where he needed to go, as he found himself walking directly ahead to where he knew he would come to the road. He reached that road in what seemed like no time at all, and turned north towards the hills and the lake at their base; and he knew all that was around and before him.

He'd been on this road before, he knew not when, only that he had. And so he set out to find the lodge that was waiting ahead of him in the fog. As he came to a bend in the road he quickened his pace, knowing that just ahead of him he would reach the lodge, with it's memories of past times, it's warm fire and welcoming company. He rounded the corner and turned to the clearing on his left to find. . . Nothing. Where the lodge had been he could now see only foundations; a lone table and chair sat on the ground amidst scattered bricks and pieces of wood. Where the fireplace had stood there was nothing left but a square of blackened bricks, only two or three rows tall in the highest places, but from it a small curl of smoke still rose into the air. It was then that John noticed a figure kneeling before it, hands out over the fire. He stepped forward and the figure rose and turned to him. It was a woman, bent and old, her face a mass of wrinkles, her hair had barely a hint of blond. John felt he'd seen her before, when the lodge stood strong, and yet she'd been much younger then. How long had he been away? She smiled to him as he stepped over a board at what had one time been the end of the stairs leading up, but now marked only the beginning of wreckage. None of this made any sense.

'What happened here?' He asked

Her voice was soft when she spoke 'time, I suppose. Can't keep a fire that big going for that long without something happening.'

He looked down as he inadvertently kicked a small silver frame lying on the floor. He bent and picked it up, running his fingers around the edge, they came away black with ash. 'You had a fire?' He asked, 'I mean, the lodge – it burned?'

'Yes,' she sighed and glanced at the hearth behind her, then turned back to John 'that was only the end though. It was already faded, worn away and dried out. Happens to everything eventually.' she motioned in front of him 'Have a seat, I'll be right back.'

She turned and walked through the wreckage of the once cozy lodge, back to where John could now see a single wall in the back. Turning, he walked over to the only table and chair still standing and sat down gently, testing the strength of the chair before lowering his weight onto it. He put the frame he'd been holding in his hand down on the table before him and glanced around the wreckage of the lodge. Aside from the back wall there was almost nothing left standing other than what remained of the fireplace.

The old lady returned from where she'd been at the back, and set a glass and an empty plate down before him.

'what's this?' he asked after a moment, and looked up to find her looking about the room, a small, sad smile on her face. She glanced back down at him.

'you used to come here all the time when you were young you know.'

'not me.' John said. 'This place does seem familiar, and I seem to remember it and everything out there' he nodded his head toward the road a short distance away 'but I've never been here. I have no actual memories of here.' He turned back to find her looking down at him.

'No, your right, you don't remember, but you were here. You've been coming here your whole life John, less since you grew up of course. But still. . . every now and then'

John shook his head 'No, I'd remember'

She smiled 'Oh really? So sure are you? No sleep is without dreams John, why do you think everything seems so familiar? When you were young, and you'd wake from a bad dream, scared and alone, and then fall back asleep, where do you think your mind went? Somewhere warm and cozy, with food and everything else you needed. This lodge, John, is where you came to truly rest. I've watched you your entire life, even hung on to some memories for you' She tapped the frame on the table before him 'Until the fire of course.'

'And now what?' John asked, 'how can a dream burn?'

'It's your dream John, and you don't need it anymore. Don't need me anymore. . . but I'm glad to get to say goodbye.'

The lodge around him began to fade, the edges of his vision blurring, John looked down at the empty plate before him, then glanced back up as the old lady seemed to sink into the emerging gloom.

'Wait! What's this then?'

As darkness closed in he heard her, as if from miles away, saying softly:

'Everything you need John, everything you need.'

John peered into the black before him, but could see nothing, even his own hands were invisible as he raised them in front of himself. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply;

'Goodbye then, and thank you.'

* * *

Julie sat beside the bed, holding her fathers hand and staring at the floor. She looked up as she felt, more than heard him take a deep breath, and watched as he smiled in his sleep. The smile held only for a brief moment before fading away as he slowly exhaled, and she knew he was gone.

END

Epilogue

People filed past in a constant stream as Sean sat, with his sister and mother to his left, in the front row of the old church they'd visited as a family when he'd been young. He'd fallen into almost a trance during what seemed like an endless procession of old friends, distant relatives and business acquaintances of himself, his father and the family as a whole.

Everybody was sorry, or every now and then so sorry, for his loss. He was so used to the solemn pattern now, that his own thanks to all who came to add gentle words sounded old and practiced to his own ears. And yet, what else was he supposed to say? What other possible response was there for genuine concern and sorrow for his position? He'd never done well with sympathy, on any level, and he found himself tired and bitter at the end of each day, and although the funeral was over now, he knew the sympathy would go on and on.

***

The snow crunched underfoot as the young woman made her way along the edge of the lake. A thin layer of ice had formed on it's surface, and Julie stopped her walk and knelt down, reaching out and testing the ice's strength by pushing against it with her index finger. It cracked with only a bit of pressure, and she pulled her hand back and watched as the water seeped slowly through the crack and began to form a little pool where her finger had been.

She looked up and out over the lake in front of her. She'd only been here in winter once, and she'd been much younger then: in her teens and horrified about having to spend some of her spring break here, alone with her family. But now she would have given anything to have just that. Wrapping herself tighter in her winter coat, she stood and a gust of wind blew against her face; a light snow was falling, and the flakes lit on her cheeks just before melting.

She'd risen early to get here with plenty of daylight to spare, not knowing what she'd expected to find, but the peace and quiet was well worth it so far. She'd felt the need to return to the lake ever since her mother, only a few days ago, had told her about how her father had hoped to visit one last time as a family. She wished there had been time to do so, and had decided that a trip up might help her feel better in some way.

She was finding it next to impossible to adjust to this new life; for a while things had been a blur, friends visiting, relatives calling all the time, and then the funeral had come and gone, and she'd been left alone, for what seemed like the first time in a long while. It had baffled her as those other people had returned to their normal lives: going back to work or school, back to their families. She'd thought that those first few days, that whole first week in fact, after her father had died would be the hardest she ever went through; and the first days may have been, but she found that these recent days had been a close second, now that everything was over, and she was left to try and find her way again.

She was having trouble doing that, it seemed: finding her way. Her head couldn't quite get around the thought that he was gone, and she couldn't make sense of that, since she told herself over and over again. But now, standing at the lake she wondered if maybe he wasn't really. Maybe he was still with her, but in a different way. The thought lent little in ways of comfort, but she felt better anyway.

She started walking back along the beach, remembering that last time she'd spoken to him, their last words to each other. She couldn't sleep for the first few nights after he'd died, and it had been then that this memory had come to her mind, and she'd been able to sleep again. And so now she thought of it every night when she went to bed. She'd remember his words: 'I'll sleep now, and see you when I wake up.' and she'd smile at the memory, then answer 'Okay Dad' And close her eyes.

***

Mary opened her eyes to find the room still dark, the sun not yet risen outside. She turned over and looked at the empty bed beside her; it had taken her a long time to get used to sleeping alone. She didn't really understand that at first, since she'd slept alone many times when John was away on business, and then when he was in the hospital, but somehow that had felt different – even when he'd been in the hospital, she'd been able to tell herself that he would be back, but for almost a month after he'd died, she'd been unable to get used to the fact that this time he wasn't going to come home, this time he was gone. For a while that had shocked her each morning when she awoke, feeling like she had barely slept at all, but gradually the feeling had faded, and she'd gotten used to him being gone. That realization had brought her to tears when it first hit, the first time she realized that she was actually used to him being dead, and she'd felt as if she'd somehow failed him. Slowly though, she had come around to the knowledge that there was no fault in accepting the way things were now; in moving on to place where she could live without him.

She rose from the bed and walked through the hallway, stopping to look at the pictures the way she did each time she passed them. At first it had been almost too much to bear; all these happy memories of their life together staring her in the face whenever she was home, but now she was grateful for their presence, and would stop for several minutes and remember a happy time before moving on to the rest of the house. As she did so now, her path brought her to the living room where they'd sat and watched the sunrise in what felt now like a past life. Opening the blinds she looked out at the yard: several feet of snow now covered it, and the snow closest to the house was lit in a multitude of colors by the Christmas lights above. John had always insisted on putting lights on every side of the house, 'What's the point if it's dark when we look out our back windows? he'd said. And so she'd had Sean continue the tradition, and the memory was a comfort to her every time that she looked out on the yard.

She turned and walked back to the hall and across to the kitchen, where after turning on a light she went and set the kettle on the stove, turning on the element beneath it. Glancing up her eyes caught upon the three small pots sitting in the window above the sink: those on either side had only a small, green stick with a leaf, but the violet in the centre pot had grown quickly, and as she studied it she noticed the first buds beginning to emerge. She realized then with a start that she had no idea what color it would be: John had never told her, if he even knew himself, and now she smiled at the thought.

Living on... That had been the whole point in planting this violet, and the two shoots now growing in pots beside it, which she would give to her children, were the realization of Johns wish that even after his death he would able to continue giving, and have a place in the world he'd loved so much.

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