Somehow, I know he’s right, and that damn bird will end up coming back with us, but that’s okay. It will be a complete menagerie around here between Phil, the bird, and the new kitten he knows nothing about.
5
Anight where we hope the whole world experiences peace.
No matter your race, wealth, religion, sexual orientation, political beliefs, or lack of any, may you find peace this one night surrounded by people who love you down to the core of your soul. May love’s pure light keep you glowing warm from the inside out so the holes in your heart seem to mend.
That’s what Christmas Eve means to me.
I’m standing in the nondenominational church in Collyer where many of the residents have come to listen to not only the service but the a cappella choir. The cafetorium is so crowded, the reverend decided to limit seating to just the few who absolutely needed to sit to ensure all who showed would fit. Everyone else was asked to stand.
Even with Phil’s arm supporting me, I shift from one foot to the other. I feel anxious, and I can’t understand why.
As Pastor McGowan finishes his sermon about how the birth of Christ is a celebration, I feel a hard jostle in my side that knocks me into Phil, throwing us both off balance. Righting myself, I meet the hate-filled eyes of Joseph Bianco.
“No amount of absolution will save you, Doc. Not if I have anything to say about it,” he hisses. He’s clutching a squirming bundle close to his chest. Baby Grace.
Heartbroken, I feel Phil push up close behind me. People around us start to murmur. “Let’s step outside, Mr. Bianco,” I suggest quietly. “Leave these people to their peace.”
“Why the hell should they get peace when I don’t have any?” The room around us gets abnormally quiet. Even Pastor McGowan gets quiet at the pulpit. “How long did you stand there before you did anything, Doctor?” he sneers. “How long did my fiancée lie there dying before you got your precious hands dirty?”
“Long enough for me to move your child to safety.” His shocked gasp doesn’t come as a surprise. Joseph pulls back far enough to look down into baby Grace’s face and pales. “I moved her to my vehicle and immediately began triaging the situation. Mary told me she was only two months old. I wanted to make sure she was safe,” I choke out. I can’t stop the tears that fall anymore. “I’m so sorry. I did everything I could. I’m just a man.” My head drops and I lift my hands slightly. “I’m just a man.”
Joseph opens his mouth to speak and then closes it, pulling Grace tight to him.
Phil tugs me gently. “Come on, Jace. We’re leaving.” I nod, too emotionally raw to stay.
A voice intrudes. “No, Dr. Ross, Mr. Freeman. It’s Joseph who will be leaving.” A burly man who I know I’ve run into occasionally at The Coffee Shop, clasps Joseph by the shoulders. “Come on, son. Let’s go home. “
Eyes glistening, a broken Joseph Bianco looks up at his father before nodding.
The senior Bianco pushes his son in front of him gently, before turning back to me. “Thank you, Dr. Ross. It’s hard to imagine now, but what you just told him will eventually penetrate to help him start to heal.” Nodding, he disappears into the crowd that seems to hug me and Phil as they close back around us.
Slowly, too slowly, the buzz in the room picks up. Without another word, Pastor McGowan gestures to the choir. Within seconds, I’m sobbing against my husband, letting out all of my frustration, anger, and hopelessness at not being able to save a young woman for her family as the strains of “Silent Night” surround us.
* * *
With my motheron a cruise with her husband, and my father on call for the holiday, this is the first Christmas Eve in a long time where Phil and I don’t have plans to drive to one of their houses immediately after mass to spend the rest of the evening with one of my parents. While I was disconcerted by that earlier in the month, after the confrontation at the church, I’m incredibly grateful.
I want nothing more than to be home wearing an old sweatshirt, flannel pajama pants, and sitting in front of a fire with an eggnog heavy on the bourbon. I thought with all of the extra love and care I’ve been receiving from Phil this week, I’d begin to recover from the events that happened just a few short days ago.
I was wrong.
I am no more healed from the loss of the woman who wasn’t even technically my patient than any of the others I’ve lost on the table in my ten years of medicine.
My head leans against the cold window as Phil navigates his way deftly through the streets. I’m so out of it, I don’t realize he’s pulled up to a cemetery until we’ve actually stopped. “What are we doing here?” I’m baffled.
“I’m trying to give you some closure,” Phil says quietly. “Come on.”
Sliding out of the warm car, I burrow deeper into my coat. Love is equal parts companionship, lust, faith, and trust. I trust that whatever Phil is about to do won’t harm me further than anything else has tonight, but maybe it will close some of the fissures in my cracked heart.
Phil pulls something from the back seat of the car. It’s a bouquet of white roses and forget-me-nots. New tears fall from my cheeks, different from the helpless ones I shed at services. The ones falling now are because my husband knows on this night, I need to find something that’s been eluding me.
Peace.
“Come on, babe. She’s over here.” Phil’s voice is low. He takes my hand and guides me up the withered stone stairs. Our feet crunch on the frozen grass surrounding each plot as we make our way to the recently upturned ground.
There’s no marker; it’s too soon for that. I imagine her family chose something beautiful for the new mother especially if the riotous blooms that are slowly decaying in the December cold are anything to go by. It’s too soon. They should last longer.
