He rose, took his copy of the book from his desk, and read these lines to them:
"I bit my lip, rising, perplexed with longing to embrace her, and tried three times putting my arms around her, but she went sifting through my hands, impalpable as shadows are and wavering like a dream."
Wavering like a dream.
O'Neil stopped, the book cradled in his hand. He knew what was about to happen.
All along, he had hoped it would happen when he was alone or else with Mary. He entered an interval of time that felt suspended, and in that instant, he found he was at once aware of who and where and when he was, the physical parameters of his consciousness, and all the weeks and months that had brought him to this moment—the planes and airports and rental cars. The long white hours of the hospital. The jaws of the open moving van.
He knew that soon he would begin to cry and that the force of it would blind him. He would cry and cry and cry and struggle for breath, like a man who is dying. Until another moment came, and the tears separated on the surface of his eyes, and he would see again. See the world through tears.
He felt all this coming toward him, a rumbling in the hills above. And then it did, more powerfully even than he imagined it. His hands found the table so he would not fall.
"Mr. Burke, what's wrong?"
"Shut up, idiot!" someone said. "Didn't you hear? His sister died."
His children, why had he thought they would not know? Of course, they would know. And then he realized everyone knew. They'd only been waiting for him to tell them.
The bell was ringing, but he sensed no stirring—no familiar shuffling of feet or papers or books. No one moved. Others would come; the changing period was moments away. But then he heard the sounds he longed for: the shade being drawn over the small square window and the quietly locking door.
"Shhh," a small voice said. And he felt their hands upon him. "It's alright."
His children were around him. They had sealed themselves away. The moment would pass, but until it did, no one was going anywhere.
Holly Margl is the award-winning author of Witnessing Grief; Inviting Trauma and Loss to Our Coaching Conversations, An Enneagram Perspective, coach, coach mentor, and trainer specializing in grief, trauma, and the Enneagram.
