I don't know how they managed to track me down, here in the medical bay, sitting by Tamar's side. I watch his little chest rising and falling, grateful for every movement. Tomorrow, we'll see the doctor and hopefully get some answers.
"Mrs. Lancier?"
The name sounds foreign. No one has called me it in a long time. I glance up at the man in military uniform. He hands me a parcel, salutes, and departs.
Carefully, I open the wrapping and a silver band falls into my palm. It's smudged with ash. I clean it on the hem of my shirt, finally recognizing the design. Eric's. My heart catches in my throat, as if this presents the final realization he's truly gone. He had promised he would never take it off. A part of my heart withers and fades completely.
"Mama?"
I meet the blue-gray eyes of my youngest child, gripping the ring tightly in my fist. "I'm here, baby."
I can feel the metal warming, imprinting itself into my palm. Tomorrow, I'll cast it into the lake on our estate, and bid my final goodbye. Moving forward is the only option now.
Sunday, May 14
Tuesday, April 25
Visions
Lately, I find myself unable to sleep, my mind plagued by unclear images of my past. I watch my children and wonder how it would be if I had been afforded such innocence as a young girl. Would I be this conflicted in my adult life, if my emotions hadn't been so sorely tampered with? Built up and destroyed many times over.
Loss is a terrible thing to suffer alone, and you do suffer it alone, no matter how many people surround you, or how many happy moments you might have during the day. It creeps up, in the quiet hours of the night, or in contemplative moments by the fireside.
My family, friends, and business provide little comfort, when I feel this gaping hole in my heart. I don't know if I will ever be able to fill it again. I see glimmers of hope in the distance, but I don't know if I can grasp onto them...or if I want to.
Eric was, and always will be, a part of my being, and when that part vanished, I lost my grounding. I lost the man who provided me with the only stability I had ever known. Even now, things are so uncertain, and there is almost too much turmoil around me to focus clearly on a happy outcome.
When I close my eyes, I remember a woman, gray intertwined in her red hair, like ash among flame. I am reaching for her, for those pieces of fire. She whispers comfort to me, singing in a low, melodic voice. At first, I wonder if she's an angel, but no. My father tells me she was my grandmother, a fiercely proud woman with a gift for seeing the future.
When I was born, she took me from my mother's arms, he says. Mother protested vehemently, for she was and is that kind of cold-hearted woman, unwilling to share even a glimmer of joy with anyone else, but my grandmother did not listen. She drew me away to a chair in the corner of the room, my father kneeling at her side.
"She will be desired. She will be loved. She will be adored. Yet, her heart will know many sorrows, and she may never find happiness. She is my blood, and she will carry on my soul."
With a throaty breath, my father says she died there and then, and I let out a horrific wail, unable to be consoled for many weeks. My mother grew angry, blaming my father, and blaming me. Her hatred grew with each passing day of my life, until I fled.
I wonder why he never thought to tell me this story before now, when my heart is at its heaviest. Is this what drives me to foolishness? The fighting pits? Irresponsible situations?
I close my eyes, trying to find some rest, not wanting to rely on anymore drugs to blank my mind. She is there. The moonlight caught in her rich, auburn strands.
"Lasairiona Raske...my namesake. You will fly."
My eyes flash open. She is gone.
Loss is a terrible thing to suffer alone, and you do suffer it alone, no matter how many people surround you, or how many happy moments you might have during the day. It creeps up, in the quiet hours of the night, or in contemplative moments by the fireside.
My family, friends, and business provide little comfort, when I feel this gaping hole in my heart. I don't know if I will ever be able to fill it again. I see glimmers of hope in the distance, but I don't know if I can grasp onto them...or if I want to.
Eric was, and always will be, a part of my being, and when that part vanished, I lost my grounding. I lost the man who provided me with the only stability I had ever known. Even now, things are so uncertain, and there is almost too much turmoil around me to focus clearly on a happy outcome.
When I close my eyes, I remember a woman, gray intertwined in her red hair, like ash among flame. I am reaching for her, for those pieces of fire. She whispers comfort to me, singing in a low, melodic voice. At first, I wonder if she's an angel, but no. My father tells me she was my grandmother, a fiercely proud woman with a gift for seeing the future.
When I was born, she took me from my mother's arms, he says. Mother protested vehemently, for she was and is that kind of cold-hearted woman, unwilling to share even a glimmer of joy with anyone else, but my grandmother did not listen. She drew me away to a chair in the corner of the room, my father kneeling at her side.
"She will be desired. She will be loved. She will be adored. Yet, her heart will know many sorrows, and she may never find happiness. She is my blood, and she will carry on my soul."
With a throaty breath, my father says she died there and then, and I let out a horrific wail, unable to be consoled for many weeks. My mother grew angry, blaming my father, and blaming me. Her hatred grew with each passing day of my life, until I fled.
I wonder why he never thought to tell me this story before now, when my heart is at its heaviest. Is this what drives me to foolishness? The fighting pits? Irresponsible situations?
I close my eyes, trying to find some rest, not wanting to rely on anymore drugs to blank my mind. She is there. The moonlight caught in her rich, auburn strands.
"Lasairiona Raske...my namesake. You will fly."
My eyes flash open. She is gone.
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