The Light of Darkness

The dark tunnel will not be remembered, nor will the light at the end. Loud forceful cries clean out her newly developed lungs. Her mother holds her tight and prays for a wonderful life for her daughter. Talking, walking, gossiping, and dancing. She is so much older now, about to begin a new chapter. It's the eve before her wedding with only a small lamp to illuminate her and her mother's face. Unspoken words fill the room. She knows her mother has concerns, but it will all work out, or so she thought. 10 years, 2 children, and a mistress later, she finds herself in a dark room with a candle to focus on. She prays for her life and for her children. She knows it will all work out, but for how long? She sits among her collection of cardinals: pictures, stained glass, and needlework. The real ones come almost daily. Her collection counts off all the years, her friends in flight count off the days. Four grandchildren, one great granddaughter, and one death later she is again trying to escape the unspoken words that hang in the air. She is surrounded by hugs, kisses, and "it will be all right." "When?" she replies. They shrug and walk away. Her daughter comes to visit. She has her grandmother's eyes. She brings her another cardinal for her collection. Is this really a year she will want to remember? She looks into her daughter's eyes, she is so beautiful. She find herself trying to reassure her daughter. "It will be alright. It's only a lump." They hug and kiss swallowing the unspoken. 3 surgeries and 50 pounds later her children are gathered in a dark room. The nurse's station and coffee machine splash light onto the somber group. How many times has the doctor said those words? Was there eye contact? A squeeze on the shoulder? What exactly is comfortable? Is it knowing what to say or not to say? What was said, what was not. It's good to be home finally she thinks. A cardinal perches on the windowsill and peeks in the window. "I'll be alright." she tells it. Her daughter squeezes her hand, trying to pass on her warmth. The warmth of her daughter's hand feels so good. As a matter of fact, she hasn't felt this good in a long time. The pain seems to be fading. She pulls her children closer to her with her words. Hugs, kisses, and tears, lots of tears. Her eyes are fading as her focus becomes clearer. She tries to make out the image but it is impossible, until He comes forward. She has never seen Him before yet she recognizes Him instantly. The tunnel was so long, but she made it to the light. "Yes," He says, "It will be alright." "I know," she replies. A great granddaughter makes tracks in the newly fallen snow. The blanket of white covers the cemetery. If it weren't for the tombstones you wouldn't be reminded of death. Life. She touches her flat stomach. An hour earlier the doctor had hugged her tightly as he told her the good news. She had given up so long ago; it seems an odd time to have such joy. There was so much darkness till now. Is she too old? Can she do this? A cardinal perches upon her great grandmother's headstone and chirps at her. It will be alright it seems to say.

by
Viann

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