Previously…

“This is where…”
She looked out to glimpse Howard Bay; soft clouds obscured most of her view. The song, fitting it seemed for the moment, bounced around her head; her resolve sharp and focused, as if to push her along. She stepped forward and expelled a frustrated breath. She looked at the gun in her hand and shook her head; not to deny, but to lament what she was about to do. She raised the weapon to her head and pulled the trigger....

River Flows

As her eyes opened she saw the bright light everyone talks about; as if folks could travel back and forth between a hell on earth and paradise. But the light was harsh and she thought that an angelic being…what were they called? Seraphim? Another word from another class… Burning ones? It certainly felt hot enough to scorch. Had she fallen into the wrong place?

“Jerry?” the Seraph spoke. What a name for an angel. Not Uriel or Michael. She tried to move and her head burst forth with the heat of a thousand suns, or so it felt.

“You’re going to be alright.” The words, as simple as they were, disappointed her in a depth of sad profundity as she realized she had failed. She began to cry as she saw the woman kneeling beside her; the glare of an overhead light and the motion spoke to her in words of discomfort even as the woman next to her tried to help.

“You can’t even get that right!” The words seem to emanate from a dark shadow that covered her and dimmed the light a bit until she heard singing. As the words flowed from the woman, the darkness seemed to dissipate like so much smoke from a chimney in the face of a strong wind. The woman touched her cheek and kissed her forehead; probably the only time anyone would ever kiss her; at least if she had another chance to succeed in her quest. As the glare from the overhead light streamed its harsh rays into her mind, the ambulance seemed to fill with a soft, more welcoming illumination.

“This is where you prayed
And Heaven's light shone down
This is where you sang the angel song
Rising higher, rising higher to beyond”

The woman looked at her with a welcoming smile even as tears rolled down the woman’s cheek and onto hers. And while they weren’t quite twins, she recognized that the woman’s smile strongly resembled the smile of woman standing over her angel’s shoulder. Somehow earth and sky melded together in the ambulance as the taller woman spread her wings over them like…. (she struggled…) like an eagle ‘fluttereth over her young.’

She looked once more at the angel before her and realized the woman was exactly like her… human if not for any other resemblance. The moment was precious and frightening and warm and cold and sad and joyful at the same time. But her self-default of shame took over and she passed out even as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

Throwing light into the darkened cold
Hands that toil until the night grows old
Pure devotion of a faithful heart
The patience of one who knows Your Spirit

Sky Lakes Medical Center, Klamath Falls, just before midnight...

“I need to see my son.” The man appeared to be well kempt, as the old word goes, but his affect was tense and unruly in a way. He didn’t quite pound his fist into his hand, but the nurse got the message loud and clear.

“Chris is resting, Mr. MacIlroy. The doctor insisted that he get some rest until he’s evaluated.”

“I don’t understand. They told me that all he had was a cut to his head.” Christopher MacIlroy Sr. looked past the nurse’s station to the closed door of the ICU.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that, Mr. MacIlroy. Why don’t you have a seat in the waiting area?” She put her hand on his elbow to guide him, but he pulled it back; not angrily but still with a firm insistence. Glaring at her name tag, he insisted,

“I need answers now….Miss…. Johnstone!” He really didn’t need answers so much as her appeasement, as if she owed him some sort of allegiance. Connie Johnstone smiled and swept her arm in a broad gesture to indicate otherwise while directing him once again to the waiting room.

“When will the Doctor be in?” The tone was respectful enough, but almost patronizing at the same time; as if Connie was under his authority.

“Dr. Rahma is with another patient; she’ll be with you shortly. Please.”

“I don’t understand what’s so hard about getting a decent answer,” he snapped. She smiled politely at him while the thought occurred quickly to her but slow enough so as to be stopped before speaking it aloud,

“How about asking a question decently?” Instead she spoke.

“I’m sorry Mr. MacIlroy, but I’m not permitted to say anything to you unless the Doctor gives the okay; your son is nearly twenty and as such is an adult. You can, of course, wait until Chris wakes up or when Dr. Rahma is free.”

Christopher Sr. breathed out a heavy sigh of reluctant resignation and walked to waiting room and sat down.

“You gave us quite a scare.” The woman said. He looked up to see another welcoming smile like the ones he saw in the ambulance.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he lowered his head; what she meant as sympathy was taken as a complaint. She had seen enough of that gesture over the years to know shame; the same shame that had motivated him to take nearly irrevocable action.

“I’m sorry that you are sorry, young man. You’re too valuable to lose. We shall see what we can do to help you know that as well.” She smiled at him once again.

“Miss Johnstone tells me your father is here and wants to speak to you. After I speak to him, he is free to speak to you….” She noticed the growing redness on his face before he lowered his head once again.

“Let me do what I do best, okay, Chris? I’ll be back shortly after I talk with your father.” She stepped outside and walked up to the nurse’s station, blowing out a relieved breath; someone had the foresight to get the boy…the young man… to sign a consent form so that she could talk to his father. As she went to the desk to replace his chart, she spotted a very intense looking man and at once regretted the signed form in her hands.

“Are you my son’s doctor,” he spoke without any acknowledgement or greeting.”

“I am the physician here, yes.” Another breath; deep and long.

“What’s wrong with my son? Why won’t you let me see him?”

“Let me answer both your questions, but please, we should discuss this in private.” She used her hand to usher him into a secure area. He followed, if altogether reluctantly.

“Please let me assure you that your son is receiving the best of care.” He exhaled slowly and gathered himself as he spoke calmly.

“I’m sure he is. But what's wrong? Why is he here? They told me when they called that he received a minor head injury…some bleeding and all that.”

“First? No one had the authority to say anything about his condition over the phone. I’m sorry you were misinformed.” Christopher Sr. bowed his head a bit and furrowed his eyebrows.

"And I should say that there is nothing wrong with your son. He is, however as they say, not out of the woods."

“I’m confused. You just told me that he’s going to be okay.”

“Yes, Mr. MacIlroy….he will be. Eventually.” He went to interrupt but she put her hand up in a calm caution.

“Chris sustained a minor laceration to the scalp; with the bleeding, it appeared to everyone to be much more serious than it actually is. But that’s not the reason for his need to be here. The laceration was addressed and nothing more of him has been harmed.”

“Harmed… I’m not following you! Who did this to my son? I need to know.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can only give you assurances that he will be okay. But he needs to be here overnight for observation; to evaluate if he’s safe. Dr. Glenys will be by sometime within the hour and she’ll be able to give you an answer shortly after that.”

“What needs to be seen, if he’s alright?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. MacIlroy, but I never said he was alright. He is doing very well; much better than expected; he will be alright, but we still have to see to his safety.”

“I can’t believe this. What is keeping him from coming home?”

“Do you own a gun, sir?”

“What difference does that make? No, I don’t own a gun.” He spat the words out like a childhood bully making threats on the playground.

“It’s just that in these cases, we want to get a bigger picture.”

“Picture of what? What are you talking about?”

“Chris tried to kill himself. He missed hitting his temple by mere inches. We believe that a last second 'remorse' may have stayed his hand enough to force his aim off target. He…” Christopher Sr. cut her off.

“What? He tried to kill himself… oh no. That can’t be right? Someone must have shot him and dropped the gun.”

“That’s what we thought when he was first brought in.” Dr. Rahma sighed as she looked past him and to the nurse’s station. A pretty woman in her late forties stood at the desk, looking very anxious. Christopher Sr. turned around to follow Dr. Rahma’s gaze.

“Oh… “He barely got the word out when the woman rushed up to him and began to cry.

“They told me he was hurt. Where is my son?” She looked around nervously as if she was searching.

“He’s resting right now. You can go visit him in about an hour; he’s had a very long and trying day.”

“Long and trying? What about me?” The man demanded. No ‘we’ or ‘us.’

“I can expect today has been hard on you both.” Dr. Rahma smiled at the woman. “You must be Mrs. MacIlroy?” She held out her hand.

“O’Bannon. Keeva O’Bannon. I’m Chris’ step-mom. His mother died when he was little.”

“Keeva…it sounds Hindi, but I’m not familiar with it.

“Actually it’s one of those Gaelic names that spells much different than it sounds.*”

“Ah…well, Ms. O’Bannon. Chris asked about you. As I said to your…” She paused, looking at the man’s left hand; seeing no ring, she continued.

“As I said to Mr. MacIlroy here, Dr. Glenys will be here at about three, and you can talk to her after she’s seen Chris.”

“What…will he be okay? Oh dear God in heaven…” Some people use expressions like that to emphasize or even to express anger over disappointment. Keeva O’Bannon said it like the prayer it was.

“He’ll be okay, Ms. O’Bannon. He just needs help to recover. I was just explaining to your…to his father that we strongly believe he tried to kill himself. He hasn’t admitted as such, but neither has he protested. I believe he is a truly sad young man.”

“Oh, please. He’s just a little depressed. Tell her, Keev….”

“I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks that he’s very distraught…almost hopeless. He’s been seeing a therapist..." She turned to face Dr. Rahma.

"Dr. Ragazza... for a while. It’s all about how he feels about himself….” She paused, almost in thought as she spoke of Chris in the reflexive pronoun in hesitation.

“Oh, dear God in heaven,” Christopher Sr. said; not in any resemblance of prayer.

“He’s a boy, Keev…”

“No, Chris! Your son is not a boy…” She turned to Dr. Rahma.

“We’ve been going to a specialist. He’s so conflicted and sad. I was worried he’d do something he’d regret.” She shook her head as her face grew red with shame. Too much of that in the family, as if their self-worth was genetically impaired.

“He’s in the best of hands. Dr. Glenys is very good at what she does. I’m confident that Chris will be alright.”

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, all he needs is to ‘man up.’ Forget that B.S. his teachers fed him before he finally saw the light and went to Bible college.”

“The college isn’t for everyone, and certainly not for a kid who’s.” Christopher cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Don’t start. I really don’t need to hear this right now. I just want to go talk to him. Get him to come around.”

“Don’t you see? Your insistence upon ignoring what he’s been saying…Damn it, Chris. The doctor says…”

“The doctor says…the doctor is wrong. I have a son…You hear me?” She could hardly have missed what he said; he stood only inches away and while he didn’t yell, neither did he whisper.

“A son.”

“Dr. Glenys will be talking with Chris and then you can go in and visit. He’s been asking about you. “

“See…” Christopher Sr. sounded almost like a little kid who had won an argument about Pokemon or Matchbox cars.

“I’m sorry, Mr. MacIlroy. I’m afraid I didn’t make myself plain enough. Chris is allowing you access to his medical information. But.” Aliya Rahma kept her stoic professional presentation but inside was almost glad for the information. With a Yemeni father and an Israeli mother, she was used to conflict. Both her parents had emigrated to the United States despite protests from both families, Reconciliation took an uncomfortably long seven years, but in the end, both families embraced the couple and peace settled upon each household. She smiled.

“Chris has asked to see Ms. O’Bannon only for the time being.” He struggled to control himself with some success, but his face grew red.

“But he’s my son!” He protested.

“And he’s an emancipated adult.” Aliya smiled politely and continued.

“He doesn’t want to see you just yet. He hasn’t talked much at all, but he’s making enough of a recovery already that he might change his mind. But I must say that for your child’s sake that you hold off for the time being, okay?” She failed to include that he would be barred from the hospital altogether if he insisted.

“Chris… your…” Keeva paused, wanting to say ‘our child,’ but thought better of it. She did, however say something almost as provocative to her ex-husband.

“Face it, Chris. Your child has been crying out for someone…anyone to pay attention. I know that his time with Dr. Ragazza has been good.”

“A fine job she’s done. He just tried to kill himself, for Christ’s sake.” It wasn’t for Christ’s sake that Christopher MacIlroy, Jr. had lost hope, but some might say that Christ never lost hope in Chris…both Jr. and Sr. so to speak. But for the moment, it was all about Senior and his disappointment with his only child.

“He’s….your child has lost hope. No one tries to kill themselves if they have hope.” Keeva shook her head and her eyes teared up once more.

“We’re not going to go over all of this until you child has had the opportunity to be seen by someone who will help, okay?” She put an encouraging palm on Christopher’s back, sending a shock up his spine.

“Let me see if Dr. Glenys is around. She can talk with Chris and then we four can all talk after that.”

Keeva turned and held her arms out from her sides as if to say, ‘well?’ He looked away.

“Chris… I’m sure he loves you… He’s just not so sure that….” Her voice trailed off, which almost led to a very frustrated and rude interjection. She followed quickly,

“Chris needs to know you believe in him, okay?”

Keeva touched his arm; an abandoned gesture from a not-too-distant past. Instead of pulling away, he turned and faced his ex-wife. She noticed just a glimmer of sparkle in his eyes, which were set off nicely by the tears that had welled up. Hope. She put her arm in his as one being escorted instead of the adversary she had grown to be in his eyes. Christopher Martin MacIlroy, Sr. put his head down slightly, feeling somewhat ashamed. And as you may know, feeling ashamed for something you actually did or said is a good thing; it leads to change. Hope.

They walked off, leaving Dr. Aliya Rahma feeling hopeful as well. And behind her, a tall, handsome looking woman breathed deeply before exhaling a relieved breath as her wings stretched out to span the sixteen feet between the cubicle and the door to the ICU....

And at the same time, across town, a solitary soul knelt by her bed in the darkened room. She almost looked posed, with her hands together palm-to-palm like a little girl praying. She wasn't little, but she had the heart of a child, some might say.

"Help that poor boy find hope?" Nothing demanding in her tone; rather a plea backed by a lifetime of faith in someone greater than herself. She hadn't meant for this to get so personal. Nevertheless, her eyes welled up with unexpected tears as she put her head on the bed and cried.

Had the room been lit or maybe if she wasn't so intent upon entreaties once again that excluded her but included the world, she would have noticed a tall, strong looking woman standing beside her, bathed in a soft, almost imperceptible glow. Her wings wrapped around the woman like a down-like coverlet. She leaned closer and began to sing even as Rianna sang softly to herself.

And the river flows
Through eternity

Down through the ages the Truth will survive
Turning the pages the Light cannot die
Down through the ages the Truth will survive

*Caoimhe (pronounced Kee-vah) from the Gaelige - ‘precious’

Next - Beyond these Shores

Hinba (Reprise')
from the album Open Sky
written and performed by Iona
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&v=zpnJpcJfivg...

River Flows
from the album Book of Kells
written and performed by Iona
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CDbFtU994Bw