~ * ~

'I'm watching over you . . .'

Extract from 'A Night Without Armour' by Jewel Kilcher

Dylan
/ I had a dream last night / that a little girl came to me / Her hair was a halo of warm light / and colour dripped off her tongue // She was your daughter / and in her I saw the fruit / of everything I'd ever fought for / or believed in, or dreamt of //
I
Am
Not
from
Here
/ I am not from here / my hair smells of the wind / and is full of constellations / and I move about this world / with a healthy disbelief / and approach my days and my work / with vaporous consequence /    a touch that is translucent /    but can violate stone //

~ * ~
Late October, 1998
? ? ?

Taylor felt the warmth of light on his face. He squinted his eye open a crack.
What was that?
Cautiously, he opened both eyes. And gasped.

It was beautiful. Awe-struck, he could find no words to describe it. The path he walked on was smooth and cool, made from a stone he'd never seen before, but knew instantly was more precious even than gold. It led to a rippling circle of pure, pulsating light, so intense he couldn't look straight at it. The clouds above him were soft and gentle. Everything seemed suffused with a warm, tender glow. The fragile blue and glinting gold colour-scheme echoed with a whisper of peace and serenity.

'Beautiful' was the only thing he could think of, yet not even beautiful went far enough.

Soft harp music surrounded him, seemed to lift him, carry him with the melody. Its sounds were tranquil and strangely soothing, and so hauntingly beautiful it almost made him want to cry.

Where was he?

"Some thing tells me you're not in Kansas any more Toto," the velvet voice came from behind him. He would have known it anywhere.
"Rhiannon?" Turning, Taylor was stunned.
It was Rhiannon alright; he could never mistake her. But never had he seen her as she looked now.
Her ebony hair fell down around her waist; it shone like spun opal. A white dress swirled around her ankles even though there wasn't a breath of wind and her face, although hers, was more beautiful than it had ever been before. She sat at an exquisitely carved Celtic harp, her slender fingers gently stirring the strings. The circle of light was behind her, suffusing her figure. She looked ethereal.
"Where . . . wha . . . I . . . what happened?"
"To you or me?" she asked quietly and smiled, her fingers not lifting from the harp strings.
"Uh . . . me," he managed to get out. Rhiannon softly chuckled. There was a tiny glimmer in her eyes; nothing he could say would touch her, she already knew.
"Don't stare Tay. You're on the Road,"
"The Road?"
"To Heaven,"
"To Heav-?! Do you mean I'm -"
"Dead? Not yet," her smile was small, but the affectionate warmth couldn't be mistaken. That gleam of knowing shone once more in the dark wells of her eyes, even as her fingers danced across the taut harp-strings.
"Well, what happened to you then?"
"I was healed,"
"O . . . kay," he said slowly, more than a little confused "If I'm not dead, then what the he- what am I doing here?"
'I can't swear. I'm on the Road to Heaven for Pete's sakes!'.
She just laughed. The sound tinkled like a wind-chime in a gentle breeze, harmonising with her singing harp.
"Your soul's been freed,"
"I must be dreaming! This all just a dream,"
"Well duh,"
"What do you mean 'well duh'?"
"Don't you recognise this place?" Taylor looked around. Now that she mentioned it, he did get the distinct feeling that he'd been here before.
"Have I been here before?"
"Everyone has. This is where the Soul flies in sleep. It is here where you dream,"
"So I'm dreaming?"
"No,"
"But you just said -!"
"You don't even remember do you?"
"Remember what?" confused, Tay watched her. She sighed; her smile now tinted with amused exasperation.
"Look," from nowhere, an orb appeared in front of him. Peering into it, he saw himself. He was lying on the ledge, unconscious; he could see pools of blood around his hands. Even more confused, he gazed at Rhiannon with a puzzled expression on his face,
"You slit your wrists," his eyes widened. He remembered now. The sadness, the loneliness, the overwhelming guilt. And the pain, "Jeez, you're an idiot Tay,"
"Huh?"
"You're an idiot,"
"Why?"
"You killed yourself," he looked deeply into those deep black eyes. She knew what had been dancing in his head, just as she always had. 'You killed yourself'. . . hang on a minute! Killed? She'd said he wasn't dead yet!
"How can I have killed myself if I'm not dead?"
"Always so full of questions," her smile softened, as if patiently explaining something to a young child, "Tay, how do you know someone's dead?"
"When their heart stops beating and they stop breathing. Everybody knows that,"
"Yet, some people whose hearts have stopped beating and whose lungs have stopped breathing can be revived,"
"I . . . um . . ."
"Your body's heart and lungs have stopped working, but you're not dead yet,"
"How come I'm here if I'm not dead?"
"This isn't Heaven Tay. You're in between Heaven and Earth,"
"You're confusing me," Taylor shook his head in bewilderment. This was all getting too much to handle.
Rhiannon smiled, unsurprised; it warmed his entire being. Her music put him at peace. The anxiety he'd worked up inside himself vanished.
"Come. Sit," she left her harp - even then the soft melody didn't stop - and sat on the Road. He sat beside her. Just being close to her, the real her, again eased his heart.
"I've missed you Rhee,"
"You've been torturing yourself Taylor," it was true, "Instead of learning to live with pain, you kept it close to you, fighting it at the same time. You couldn't live with that pain, but you couldn't live without it. So you killed yourself,"
"But how can I have killed myself if I'm not dead?!" she gave him an amused 'are you going to let me finish or not?' look.
"Taylor, when a person 'dies', as such, their soul is set free. The soul is what channels life-force,"
"Life-force?"
"It's what powers everything. When the soul is freed, there's nothing to channel life-force, so the heart stops beating, the mind stops working, everything shuts down,"
"But then how can people be resuscitated?"
"When the heart beats manually and breath is given, sometimes a soul will come back to their body. But most don't. They see the beauty of this place and they don't want to leave. Resuscitation usually only works when the soul hasn't completely separated from the body,"
"Then where does this life-force thing go?"
"When the life-force cannot be channelled, it leaks out of the body. It's given to others who need it. The life-force runs out, and there's nothing to start the body's systems working again,"
"English please?"
"It's like trying to turn on a light during a blackout,"
"Oh right. So what are you trying to tell me?" in kind disbelief, Rhiannon shook her head and stared at him.
"You want it all spelled out in black and white?"
"That would be nice,"
"Your soul's been freed, but you still have life-force. If you want to go back, you can,"
"I'm not sure I want to go back,"
"Don't do this for me Taylor. I've been healed already," she lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, as if to reassure him.
"But it's so beautiful here, so peaceful. Back there, everything's so hard. I don't think I could live with the pain. It's all right here, there's no pain here," he permitted himself a smile.
"No guilt either," she muttered, her eyes darkening slightly.
"Yeah," he agreed without thinking. Gently taking his face in her hands, she turned him to look straight at her.
"You blame yourself for my death?" unsure of what to say, Taylor just stared at her, "Oh Tay, what have you done to yourself?" there was a hint of sorrow in her voice.
"I killed you," he whispered.
"No, you didn't. My death was no-one's fault, not even my own and certainly not yours. Tay it was an accident. A terrible accident that had to happen sooner or later,"
"I threw you over the edge of that ditch!"
"You tripped. It was an accident," a tiny smile, "Do you hear me Jordan Taylor? An accident," the calm assurance in her eyes was enough.
Finally, he let himself believe and forgive.
It hadn't been his fault.
He felt an incredible weight lift from his shoulders. The pain was leaving him. After living with it for so long, he'd just let it go. It almost seemed too easy. Her smile warmed; she'd seen it too.
"How does it feel?"
"Better," was all he could say. A peacefulness settled within him, to replace the pain. He'd forgotten how it felt to be content.
"This place is one of healing. Now it has healed the both of us,"
"Am I dead yet?" she laughed.
"Why are you so eager to die?"
"Because death is life,"
"You read my diary?" she seemed slightly bemused, but not angry.
"Rachael gave it to me," he studied her for a second. "Rhee?"
"Mmm?"
"Are you an angel?"
"Do you want me to be?" her smile was a little sly, her eyes shone with a secret.
"What kind of answer's that?"
"The only one you'll understand. I am all that I am not,"
"Oh . . . um, okay," gazing out across the serene landscape, he rested his chin on his drawn-up knee, "What does Heaven look like? No! Don't tell me, I'll find out soon enough," the sad smile that graced her beautiful face made his heart melt.
"I want you to go back Tay,"
"What?!" he stared at her, unable to believe his ears.
He'd just found her again, and she expected him just to give her up?
No way mister!
"Tay, you don't belong here. It's not your time yet. You've got too much ahead of you on Earth,"
"So did you!"
"No, I didn't,"
"How can you know?"
"Trust me, I know. Just as I know that your place right now is on Earth. Your family needs you Tay, your brothers need you, Rachael needs you," she paused, her eyes pleading, "Liz needs you,"
"They can survive without me. I don't think I could survive without you,"
"But what if they can't? If you die, you're sentencing them to all the pain you put yourself through over me. Would you want to inflict that on anyone?" from that perspective, she made it sound as if he was acting very selfishly, and thinking only of himself. Playing the guilt-trip was the only way she knew to get him to return. And he had to!
"No," but he wouldn't look at her; his voice was small.
"Now that everyone knows how I died, they feel as if they've lost me all over again. Would you put them through the agony of losing you too?"
"No,"
"Taylor, your place is with your family. My place is through there," she glanced towards the circle of light. How come she could look straight at it?
"I can't lose you Rhiannon," he whispered. The sadness on his face was blatant. She only smiled.
"You won't lose me Tay; you never did,"
"But how -" her finger over his lips silenced him.
"Close your eyes," he did, "But don't sleep. Close your eyes, but don't dream,"

The voice was getting softer, he could feel the light dimming . . . shifting further away . . .

"Simply close your eyes,"

He was falling back, away from the Road.

"And I will greet you in my world . . . my world . . ."

~ * ~
Early December, 1998
Tulsa, Oklahoma

'My world . . .' the whisper echoed through the mist that clouded his mind. 'My world . . .'
"Mrs. And Mr. Hanson," a sympathetic voice wafted through the thick fog, "Your son's been unconscious for more than a month . . ."
Why was his brain so hazy? Why was there a mist clouding his mind? Why was the simple act of thinking so hard? He fought to push the fog away. It was so thick!
"No change in his condition . . . still in a deep coma . . ."
He felt like he was trying to push his way past a wall of water, miles thick! But he had to get through! He had to!!
"Lost so much blood . . . pointless . . ."
Pointless?! What was pointless? He was here!
'God help me! Rhee! Help me get through!!'
He could almost hear her voice, he knew what she'd be saying.
'I can't do everything for you Tay. Some things you have to do on your own'

"Mrs. and Mr. Hanson," the doctor looked around the room. Thousands of 'Get Well' cards and flowers had been sent to the ghostly pale teenager lying in the bed. He was almost lost against the pure white of the hospital sheets; he already looked like a corpse. The doctor looked around the room. The life-support machine beeped mechanically by the bedside. This boy's only source of life. One button could turn it all off. The doctor looked at the boy's thickly bandaged hands. How many times had he seen it before? Despite the numerous blood transfusions they'd given him, he still didn't wake up. The doctor looked at the boy's distraught parents. Worrying themselves sick with tears and prayers, how were they going to take what he had to say? The doctor looked at the wall. He hated this part of the job.
"Yes doctor?" Diana's voice was hoarse with tears.
"Ma'am," how could he break it to them? "Your son's been unconscious for almost a month now with no change in his condition. He's still in a deep coma; the only thing that's keeping him alive at this point is life-support," the doctor saw the crack in the woman's composure. He sometimes wished he'd never become a doctor; did anyone else know the guilt and the heartache a doctor experienced whenever they had to tell family that a loved one wasn't going to pull through. Did anyone understand what it was like to ask a mother for permission to turn off her child's life?
"You're going to give Taylor another transfusion?" Walker asked, hoping against hope. The doctor just shook his head.
"I'm afraid sir, there's not much point. Your son lost so much blood initially, another transfusion would be pointless,"
"What are you saying?" the desperation and grief was so evident in Diana's voice, it nearly broke the doctor's heart. He couldn't help but wonder, what had driven the boy to try and commit suicide? What was it that made so many teenagers feel they had no other choice; that they had no-one to turn to? There was so much wrong with today's society, why did it pressure children to take their own lives?
"Ma'am, in this time, there's usually some change in condition. Your son has shown no change whatsoever. We're asking for your permission to take him off life-support," the parents stared at him as if he was some kind of madman. The first tears broke the threshold of Diana's eyes.
"But then he'd . . ." all the doctor could do was nod. He swallowed a sob of his own.
"I'm sorry," was all he could say. How shallow those words were. What kind of comfort did they offer? None at all. They were just words. How could words compare with the wild grief of signing away one's own child to Heaven? Diana stared up at her husband, then buried her head in his shoulder. Walker had tears rolling down his face. What could the doctor do? He left them a minute or two to their grief before pulling the legal forms from his coat.
"Ma'am? Sir?" he gently prompted. The two simply stared at each other. There wasn't any other choice was there? Couldn't they keep him on life-support another week? Another day? Another hour? Surely, he'd wake up. Wouldn't he? Diana broke down. There was no other choice.

Walker picked up the silver pen the doctor had put on the table. He couldn't cry, he had to be strong, for Diana's sake. A wheeze came from behind him. He turned back to his wife, to comfort her. She was staring at Taylor. He was about to go to her, when he heard it.
"Mom?" it was as hoarse as a frog and softer than a whisper, but he'd heard it. Surely, the doctor had just said -?

Watching her son's eyelids flutter, Diana felt her heart jolt. She blinked her disbelieving eyes. They had not deceived her. Her prayers had been answered!
"Taylor?"
"Mom?" his voice was as weak as water. Paralysed in joyous shock, the corners of her mouth slowly turned up. The tears fell twice as fast down her cheeks. Tay's fingers twitched and he looked pleadingly up at her from the pillows, as if he wasn't convinced himself that he was alive. A tearful smile graced her lips as she walked forward, disbelieving, and took his thickly bandaged hand in hers.
"Mom," he whispered, the ghost of a smile on his face, "It was so beautiful," she hugged him. Hugged him and cried her eyes out.

Walker came forward, almost hesitant, joy coursing through his veins. Could this really be happening? He had to be the luckiest man alive!
"God be praised," he whispered. Taylor wearily opened his eyes, aware that something was missing.
"Dad?" he breathed, too weak to make it any louder. Quick as a wink, Walker was sitting on the bed, his arms around his son and his wife.

There they sat for a long time, simply holding one another. The doctor watched, a strange warmth around his heart, and he couldn't stop a tiny tear falling from his eye.

The bell interrupted them. Visiting hours were over. Walker reluctantly stood up and chuckled in parental joy. Taylor, nestled between his parents, had fallen asleep on Diana's shoulder.

* * * *

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