“You won’t,” Mark said, wiping my face. “You won’t forget.” He walked into the kitchen and brought back a tiny cassette and the answering machine. He placed the cassette inside the machine, sat down on the sofa next to me, and pushed Play. It was Sean’s last message home on the night he died. I closed my eyes and tears streamed over my lips, into my mouth.
“Hey, Mom, I’m on the road,” he said. “I left an hour ago so I’ll see you in a couple more. I’m going to be losing cell service in a few minutes but call if you need me. See you in a little while. Love ya.” See you in a little while. Time would pass so quickly for Sean.
We both sat and cried as Mark played the message over and over. It was the first time we had really grieved together. Mark handed me a tissue and I wiped my face. My head pounded; it had been an exhausting few days. “He loved you, Patti,” Mark said. “Sean always loved you.” I twisted a soggy tissue in my hand and smiled. “Do you think God parted the clouds today so Sean could see us?”
“I think he probably did.”
Mark was quiet. “Sean’s Christmases have been a whole lot better than ours.”
“I know,” I said, holding the tissue on my eyes.
“He’s waiting for us, Patti.”
I leaned my head on the back of the sofa and nodded.
“Did God send an angel to hold her hand?” He was thinking of what Emily had said at Longworth Farm.
“Yes,” I said. “I believe her.”
“Was an angel holding her mother’s hand?”
I shrugged. I couldn’t and didn’t want to answer because I knew where Mark was leading.
“Was an angel holding Sean’s hand?” I wanted to hold back the tears but there was no use in trying. “Did an angel hold him at the end?” I began to sob and Mark pulled me in to him. My head throbbed but was reeling with so many questions. Is death God’s final act of mercy in our lives? Does He send an angel to help us through our last seconds on earth? Does He send an angel to hold the hand of a frightened child who’s waiting for her mother, who will never return home? Did an angel go through Sean’s accident with him? “He wasn’t afraid,” the young doctor said that night. “He was calm as he spoke to me. Everything about him was peaceful.” Was it God’s presence that had given Sean that peace?
“I love you, Patti,” Mark said. He held my arms and looked at me. “If I could bring Sean back I would, but I can’t do that. I don’t want to lose you, too, but I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know what you want or what I can do to help you. All I know is that I have never stopped loving you, Patti.”
I closed my eyes and sobbed. Mark was a good man. He had always been a good, kind, and decent man but I somehow managed to drive him away. I looked at him and saw the same handsome face that had smiled at me after he spilled spaghetti all over me so many years ago.
“Why did you stay?” I asked.
He looked up at the ceiling. “Because I took these crazy vows and the minister made me believe that they were real!” I smiled. “Let me tell you, nobody would repeat those things if they knew the anguish, turmoil, grief … and happiness that came with them.”
I tried to laugh but cried harder.
He took hold of my shoulders again. “Do you love me?” He had to ask because for years I hadn’t given him any reason to believe that I did.
“Yes,” I said, so quiet I was certain he hadn’t heard me. But he had. He leaned over and kissed me. I pulled away and looked at him. How could we have been lost for so long? We walked upstairs and I opened Emily’s door so Girl could take her place at the foot of the bed. Emily was asleep. Mark and I walked into our bedroom, closed the door, and talked into the night. I doubted I would ever know who rang our doorbell that day but I knew enough: four years after Sean’s death God had sent two angels to me at Christmas to save my life. One had given me a gift from my son, and the other, a five-year-old named Emily, had given me reason to hope and to teach me about my son’s death: God wasn’t a liar. He was with Sean to the end, just as He promised.
Roy was right; it was time to live again.
NINE
Hope and fear are inseparable.
—François de la Rochefoucauld
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Mark asked.
I shook my head. “She has to be with a foster family.”
“How long would it take for us to become a foster family? We could hurry up and do it and then she could stay with us till she’s adopted.”
“There is no hurry up and do it,” I said. “It takes three months.” There was nothing we could do. We’d been up through the night trying to find a way for Emily to stay with us but there wasn’t one. I turned on my Palm Pilot and found the phone number for a foster family I’d worked with many times over the years and called them. Yes, they would take Emily. I hung up the phone and looked at Mark. How could we give up a child that we loved? I had to go to the office and begin the paperwork. I hadn’t been to the office since I picked her up and I needed to file the necessary papers. I couldn’t put it off any longer. I hoped to be home by the time Emily was awake. “When I’m finished I’ll call and you’ll need to bring her to the office.” I got my coat and Mark took it from me, kissing me. Throughout the night I knew why I had brought Emily home with me; God had enabled her visit to bring Mark and me back together. But what did that mean for Emily? What would happen to her? Those questions weighed on me as I drove to work.