Hope’s
Window
By: Natalie Harris
There in bed she continued to lie.
The same bed she’d been in since it began. She couldn’t remember now, how long
it had been. She’d stopped counting the days. What was the point, right? No
longer could she recall what the sun’s journey across the sky looked like. She
had stopped looking out of the window. For her, the window was only a tease.
Like when your best friend runs to you and blurts out “Oh my goodness, I have
to tell you something! But I can’t tell you right now I have to go”, and there
they go, skipping away with the information that will make or break you. That’s
what she thought of when she looked at the window. Out the window. So she
doesn’t do that anymore.
Now she stares at the wall. So
bland, dull, unremarkable. They could have at least given it some color,
anything would do, anything instead of the utter absence of color that she was
sure was only helping the life seep away from her more steadily as the days went
on.
Weeks.
Months.
But she would rather stare off into
that life sucking void of off-white – nothing turned into a color – she would
rather stare into that and forget about time, than look out the window and be
forced to remember the things of that world.
She’d been gazing into the nothingness
for exactly 763 days. For as much as she tried to forget Time, he never forgot
her.
Two years.
Two years and thirty-three days
since she was admitted to the Washington Cancer Institute in our nation’s capitol.
Two years and
thirty-three days since her life began to ooze out of her every pore.
She
wasn’t always riveted with the oblivion that had been turned into a color and
was allowed to infect the walls in her room much like she pictured the cancer
infecting her body. Quite to the contrary, she once was full of confidence as
most are when faced with such adversity. Remaining strong for her family and
friends who had to wait around and wonder what would happen to someone whom
they loved. Remaining strong for herself, as one quite honestly must to get
through such times.
She
used to be fascinated with the goings-on outside of her window. She had loved
the window. She was on a lower level of the hospital with a front facing view.
She could see the coming and going of patients and staff. She would see the
smiles and the tears. Family and friends visiting loved ones and bringing
homemade delights to supplant the cardboard that the hospital tried to pass as
food. She hated the food. But it’s not forever, right?
The
thoughts that she processed as she viewed the feature presentation of her
window changed over time. In the beginning, looking out of the window was
merely an abstract thought. It was simply something to look at besides the
dreary walls and daytime television; captivating as it may be. She began to
notice, however, that Time came to visit her more and more frequently.
Reminding her of his presence. When she looked out of the window she tried to
remember errands that still needed doing, meetings and project deadlines at
work that would surely need her urgent attention, phone calls she needed to
return, but… she couldn’t seem to wrap her thoughts around anything. It was all
jumbled together in her mind. How often had Time been visiting her? Maybe she
would rather not know.
The
window soon became a reminder of her hope. As the people came and went she
would remember that she would soon be leaving too. She was going to walk out of
those doors, go back to her life, never to return to this unpleasant place
again. She would think of the people she hadn’t seen in what seemed like an
eternity. Nieces and nephews she hadn’t hugged, an old friend she’d seen only
days before stepping through the doors of the Institute. She began to plan out
her first days back in the world. Wondering whom she would see first when she
returned home, and how soon she could return to work.
One morning she
awoke to find that Time seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her
room. And now he remained by the window. Whenever she looked out of the window
she would see him. She never looked directly at him, but he was there. Always
there like a smudge on a small mirror, or the tip of a finger that was captured
forever over the lens of a photograph. Looking out the window became a reminder
of the things she’d never done. The places she’d never gone, instruments she’d
never learned to play, languages she’d never learned.
Would never do.
Would never go.
Would never play.
Would never speak.
She
began to hate the window. The window became her enemy. She needed the window to
be her enemy because it was the only enemy in the room that she could beat. She
didn’t have to acknowledge the window; she could cover the window with thick
fabric so as to forget it even existed. She couldn’t cover Time with a thick
fabric; he would still silently remain by her side. She couldn’t cover Cancer
with her make shift reality blocker; it would continue to silently destroy. But
she could cover the window. And covered it was. Not only in the physical with a
solid and bulky cloth, hand-selected by some loving relative or friend – that
she would never be able to laugh with or hug again – but also in her mind where
she captured the memories of all that was in the window and caged them. The
window was no more.
The
wall.
The
wall.
Now
all that was left in the room that she didn’t hate, yet, was the wall. Bleak
and empty as it was she didn’t mind it’s endurance, it’s ability to outlast. In
fact, she became accustomed to it’s countenance, envious of it’s cavernous
void. If only she could melt into that emptiness and be done with this for
good.
And
that is when she realized she was done. The fight had left her. The battles had
been waged bravely, but the war was lost. She was finally ready to go home.
Home.
In
all this time she had forgotten home. Not her cozy two-bedroom house in the
suburbs of Baltimore that she’d never gotten around to overloading with a
husband and children. Not her parent’s large colonial house on the western
border of historic Washington, D.C..
The
other home.
The
home that you should come to at the end of your days. The home where the grass
is always green and the flowers are set in a permanent state of bloom. The home
that is surrounded by streets and walkways paved in gold and your neighbors are
angels.
She
prayed.
She
prayed to God to take her there. She told Him that she finally understood that
her time was up and all she had to do was stop fighting the inevitable.
She
had always thought that to stop fighting meant she was giving up. Letting the
enemy win. She told Him that now she understood it had nothing to do with the
enemy. To stop fighting was simply to let God end her suffering, give it to Him
so that He may banish it forever and bring her to stand with Him in heaven.
Time
became a comforting old friend to her, a constant that would never change. He
would continue where she wouldn’t. He would always go on. And as pleasant as
his presence became to her, she knew they would soon part ways, only now, that
thought no longer frightened her. Instead, she embraced the notion, enjoying
every last moment she had to spend with him.
In
the end she had the cover taken off of the window so that she could once again
admire the wonders within its frame. Enjoying the beauty of all the life that
was around, all the things that her body’s intruder couldn’t destroy. It was
like watching her favorite movie one last time.
She
slept.
When
she woke, she wasn’t looking out of the window anymore. There were no walls slathered
in putrid emptiness. She didn’t even believe it was possible for such a
non-color to exist where she was.
Where
was she?
She
began to look around but couldn’t think of words to describe what her eyes
rested upon for the first few moments. Everything was glowing, no, that wasn’t
quite right. So luminously, radiantly vibrant were her surroundings, she
thought she’d never leave. If all she could do was ceaselessly gaze upon her
new habitat, then she’d be content for all of her days.
Days.
That
word seemed to be wrong somehow. As if the concept of a day no longer remained.
This was true for any other measure of time she could think of. As she sat
there it was as if Time had never been. As if he was merely an abstract
thought, blowing away on a spring breeze, never to return to her. She didn’t
mourn the idea of Time’s departure. In fact it seemed impossible to mourn
anything. She was sure such things like sorrow and doubt would never again be
able to weave themselves into the fabric of her being.
She
would never leave this place.
She
stood and began to explore this new realm of her existence. Not sure of how
long she’d been sitting, nor did it matter. Under her feet there was grass. But
not just any grass. This grass was greener than any she’d ever laid eyes on.
And it was soft. It was so soft it reminded her of feathers in a warm down
comforter or maybe what a child would imagine a cloud to feel like before they
learn about the science of water in the earth’s upper troposphere.
There
were flowers here. There were flowers as far as she could see. Some she
recognized and some that had never been introduced to her. They were all there,
every flower ever created all together for her visual satisfaction.
She
heard a trickling sound, as if there was a brook or stream near by. She slowly
made her way toward that sound. There was no need to rush; in fact, the concept
of rushing didn’t even make sense. She stopped to study every new species of
flower and bush and tree that she met along the way, coming ever closer to the
gentle lullaby of the peaceful stream.
When
she finally came to the water she saw a man standing there, at the waters edge.
If ‘man’ is what she could call him. He seemed to be more than that somehow.
She gazed at him for a long time, studying him. All the flowers around his feet
seemed to be reaching for him; water from the stream occasionally lapped
against his feet and seemed happier as it continued on its way. And she wasn’t
sure but it seemed as if he was lighting the
entire place. There was no sun or moon to be seen in the endless blue of the
sky. And there was no obvious evidence that he was the only source of light,
never the less, she was sure of it.
He
called to her but she had been moving towards him before she was beckoned. She
stopped next to him and fell to her knees. He was the most beautiful person
she’d ever seen. His eyes were endless; when she looked in them she was sure
she was looking upon the whole world. She continued to stare into his eyes and
she saw her own life. She saw herself, from the beginning and all the way
through to the end. She watched it all. Every moment of joy, pain, triumph and
defeat. She saw every obstacle that was ever thrown in her path and saw the
choices that she made to deal with each, she also saw the choices she didn’t
make, and where those would have led her. It truly was her whole life. Each and
every direction she could have gone.
She
was amazed. She wanted to look into his eyes forever.
But, finally, he
spoke.
His
voice was lovelier than the most beautiful music she’d ever heard. It brought
joy to her heart the way a baby’s laughter would, it made all the colors around
her seem brighter somehow. She longed to hear more, like the first birds
singing on a beautiful spring day after a too long and too cold winter.
He
bade her to stand and follow him if she would. And she couldn’t imagine doing
anything else.
They walked alongside the creek and she
continued to be amazed at how the water seemed to become more excited to be
near him. She watched as the flowers continued to bow towards him and the trees
seemed to stand taller as he approached.
They were walking in the opposite
direction of the waters flow towards a large gateway. As they drew nearer they
stepped away from the stream and onto a path leading to the large golden doors.
The path under her feet was cool and smooth and when she looked down she saw
that it was gold. She was walking on gold.
They stopped at the doors and waited as
they opened. He then extended his hand to her and asked if she would enter with
him.
Hope took his hand, and together they
entered into heaven through golden gates.
