Seven Days VII: On Sunday, A Visitation

Seven Days is a writing experiment telling the story of the life of one man through the events on seven non-consecutive days during his lifespan. (Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental...that's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

The introduction and prologue is here

Part 1, "On Monday, A Funeral", is here

Part 2, "On Tuesday, An Awakening" (which contains sexual situations...just FYI in case such matters disturb you and you wish to opt out of reading this part of the story) is here

Part 3, "On Wednesday, A Letter Home", is here

Part 4, "On Thursday, A Smile", is here

Part 5 (which contains sexual situations and some profanity...again, just FYI in case such matters disturb you and you wish to opt out of reading this part of the story) is here

Part 6, "On Saturday, A Wedding" is here

* * * * *

The end of visiting hours brings an end to the ongoing wake and I can't say that I'm unhappy about that. Here and now, I need to be alone to wait. To wait for the angel.

The nurse had released something into my IV that was supposed to put me right to sleep. But it didn't...and that's fine with me. I've got plenty of time to sleep. Here and now, in the antiseptic-scented darkness...in this cool, faceless room with the constantly humming machines...in the minutes of the last act of my rollercoaster life...I need to be awake. The angel is coming...I can feel that in my soul...and I do not fear her. Regrets I have plenty of but the time for them is passing.

I am an old man...an old man I have been for longer than I truly realized until this very moment.

I never really believed in God and yet here I am waiting for the angel to come. I'm a silly old man to the very end.

Amanda knew that the angel was coming...I could see it in her eyes. All of them probably knew it but Amanda was the only one who gave voice to it. She cried and teased me about leaving her alone...the last of the children of Sarah and Robert Josephson...and I just nodded. There was nothing I could say that would comfort her...nothing I could do to change the course of the of my life. The angel was coming and that was that.

Nikki, Keith, and David lingered long after they had sent their own children back to the house. We didn't say much...there was nothing left to say. I had no more apologies...no more blessings...no more admonitions to give them. I gave a prayer of thanks for the three of them, the only things in my life that I got pretty close to right (and even then that was much more Angela's doing than mine), and then I made them leave.

I wonder whatever happened to Miss Elizabeth. I never got to thank her for what she did for me (though I'm sure she wouldn't have thought it was something that merited thanks...but I did and do.)

I wonder if David will ever get back with his April.

I wonder if there's something beyond this life. I wonder if I'll get to see Mary and Robert, Jr. and Alice again if there is.

I wonder if Angela and Ellen know that I loved them the best that I could (even if that wasn't nearly enough.)

I wonder if the angel will be beautiful...

"I would certainly hope that you would think so, my boy," a melodic, distinctly familiar voice says suddenly.

I look up and there at the end of the bed was a circle of golden light, soft as fresh cotton and warm as the sun in springtime. And then, just as suddenly, there was a woman standing in the light. And then the light drew close to her weaving itself into the fabric of her flowing gown until only the woman remained.

She was tall and she had skin the color of newly spun caramel; her eyes were dark and welcoming as the night, and her smile was demure and utterly reassuring.

"Mama?" I croak, a feeling of peace sweeping through me. "Mama, it's you." More than six decades since I had last seen her, I knew her by heart.

She...floats would be the only really accurate description...closer and touches my face. Her eyes go softly liquid as she strokes my face. "Yes, it's me, baby," she says, her voice as magical and musical as I always remembered it to be in my dreams.

"I can't believe you're here," I say, feeling more light and strength filling my being than has been there in many a month.

She sits on the edge of the bed. "Where else would I be, child?" she says, affectionate mock-reproach coloring her voice. Then she smiles proudly and says, "Lord, look at how you've grown."

Feeling incredibly old, I look away from her. "I'm an old man, Mama," I say. "Older than you ever got to be..."

Mama takes my head in her hands and turns it until my gaze meets hers again. "I got what we all get, Malcolm," she says serenely, "I got a life. No more, no less. I ain't got nothing to complain about." She pauses and then adds, "and neither do you."

I sit up in bed, shaking off some of the tubes and wires connected to me. "I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, Mama," I admit in a small voice. "So many mistakes...I've left a lot of pain in my wake..."

"Boy, we all have mistakes to live down," she replies, maternal sternness filling her voice. "The past is in the past and that's where it will stay no matter how much you fret over it."

She glances upwards and then looks back down at me. "We aren't charged with being perfect when we're on this Earth, Malcolm. We are charged to BE."

I don't completely understand the difference but I nod and say nothing.

We sit in silence for a long time and then I touch her hand and feel a white-hot tear slip down my cheek. "I hated you for a long time," I say in a small, guilt-permeated voice. "After you...left...I mean..."

Mama takes my head and pulls me to her bosom. "You never hated me, child," she says, rocking me ever so gently. "I would have known if you had. You just let that nonsense go right this minute."

We rock like that for long moments and then Mama says, "I never stopped loving you...all of you...and I never stopped watching over you."

Deep down I had known that...all of my life...but it was wonderful to hear it from her. I take a deep breath and sit back away from her. "Have you come to take me away?"

She smiles patiently and shakes her head. "The journey to the light is one that you have to make on your own. I can't 'take' you anywhere."

"Then why are you here?"

She strokes my face again. "I didn't want you to be scared of what's to come. I wanted you to know that we were all waiting for you."

I look up. "We? You mean Robert, Jr. and Alice and...Mary...are with you?"

"We're all together," she replied, just a bit wistfully. "Your father, too."

A flash of anger shoots through me. "I wouldn't expect that he would be welcome," I say as evenly as I can.

Mama sighs. "Everybody's welcome, Malcolm," she says patiently. "Everybody's welcome and everybody's forgiven."

The lifelong animosity I felt towards my father held no currency in the light of her serene words. And so I just nod. I know that I was ready to take the next step and my mother knows it too.

Mama steps back to the edge of the bed and the light dances out of her gown and forms a golden circle once more.

I reach out. "Mama, will they be all right?" I ask, referring to my children and my grandchildren...referring to Amanda and her Malcolm and his family...to Angela...and even to Ellen, wherever she was...to everyone who would be left that I loved and hurt and loved even though...

"I don't know the future any better than you do, child," Mama says quietly. "They will BE and that will be enough."

I nod and, at long last, I really understand.

Mama smiles again. "See you soon, my boy." And then she is gone.

But the light remains. I stand up, slipping free the bonds of medical care and life itself, and walk slowly towards it. I glance into the light and see what's there. I glance back over my shoulder and see all that was being left behind.

"Thank you," I say to no one and everyone, and I embrace the light and let it embrace me.

My body will attended to scant seconds after I'm gone. They will try to revive me and then they will pronounce me dead.

My name was Malcolm. Malcolm Eli Josephson. I was born in a small town in Mississippi. I died in a state of the art intensive care unit in a hospital in Los Angeles. I made countless foolish mistakes in my life...but I also got a fair number of things right. I loved and, despite myself sometimes, I was loved.

My name was Malcolm...and this was part of my story.