And what I came to understand was this: The After is only a reflection of The Before. Wrapped in filters and soft focus, hiding the sharper edges that once drew blood or left us weeping, gasping for breath, struggling to find the reason embedded in the agony. It is a shimmering star of splintered glass bound by layers of fingertouch gossamer and immaculate cotton, an eternal, refracted interpretation of those moments where once we struggled to perceive the splinter of light woven into the barbed wire.

It was startling, that first breath, after those long moments when the world had spun in mad circles of centrifugal force and the ground rose so swiftly to meet us and I held my daughter's hand so tightly - so very, very tightly - and I tried to speak, to say her name, to push the words past the immeasurable press of gravity against my lungs and that growing, terrible silence and then: (eyeblink) there I was. Sitting in that small office, a halo of fluorescent lights ringing the doctor's head as she looked me in the eye. Parted her lips. And with a single word set free the doves: unleashing a torrent of emotion that began with an approximation of relief and then instantaneously spiraled into a cyclonic double-helix of joy and ecstatic revelation that threatened to tear the room free of its foundations and lift us, weightless, beaming, overcome by the moment, towards the heavens or someplace very much like heaven. I felt the waters break free and spill down my cheek, and I reached up to wipe them away with the back of one hand as I reached for my wife's with the other, the infinitely fractionated angles in the diamond on her fourth finger capturing and reflecting the light with a brilliance I don't know I'd ever seen before, and then we both looked to our son and and he looked back at us - catching our gaze, his eye contact strong and steady and unwavering, his own smile warm and knowing, two and a half and entirely lit from within - and said, "Can we go home now, Mommy?"

(this was)

And there I was: standing, blinking into the darkness, heart pounding so overloud I wondered if it might burst through my chest, toes gripping the thick woolen weave of the carpet as if trying to find the purchase to keep me upright and in place as I struggled for sense and clarity - my head still thick with sleep - and brought the phone to my ear, the air still vibrating with its sudden clarion cry, and my instinct (always: it was always my first instinct) was to try to quiet the moment, to undisturb the night and free you all to remain safe, secure, snug in your beds, but even then realizing that you were not there and glancing sideward across the vast, empty expanse of bed to the amber glow of thin numbers on a clock as a voice I did not know spoke my name and I said, "yes" and it was a woman and she gave me her name and the police department she worked for and the name of the hospital and said there'd been an accident (my heart so loud, I thought: she must be able to hear this, on her end of the phone) but that you'd been admitted and were stable and were asking for me and I was suddenly overcome with terror and gratitude and couldn't stop telling the woman thank you, thank you, thank you, thank

(this was not how)

And there I was, in the autumn sunlight, the air crisp and perfect and the ground beneath my feet a shimmering patina of emerald and reddish gold as the pine needles embraced the cooler joys of the season and drifted from the higher airs to the embrace of grass and earth, and I heard the sound - that clear, resonant sound that only accompanies a clean strike - and I looked up and saw the ball hurtling toward me and without thinking, acting on pure instinct and glad animal movements, I leapt into the air and trapped it against my thin chest, arching my back in perfect time to absorb the impact and kinetic energy, and then both ball and I fell to the ground and with practiced grace I tapped it slightly to my right and then - my left arm rising into the air in counterbalance - my right foot snapped forward and collided with the leather hexagon I'd targeted, the one just slightly off the ground, and the ball rose and arced and then came down across the yard just a foot in front of you, Dad, and you jumped back a bit to field it cleanly and then it was like you'd lost your footing and you came down on your hands and knees as the ball skittered past you and I laughed, because you'd fallen and it was funny, and for a moment you froze there on all fours, your head hanging down, and I waited for you to get up and I was just about to say your name when your face rose and I saw you smiling, embarrassed but laughing at yourself, and you said, "I'm okay, buddy," and I laughed again and you got up, you got up, you got up and jogged lightly after the ball and the air was so crisp and the day so beautiful and then we played some

(this was not how it was)

And they tumble by, one after the other, flowing in time not quite real, softening the blows and cushioning the impact as if trying to salve each and every (I remember) each and every (I remember them) each and every moment that had broken me (I remember them all) irrevocably. They tumble by, offering fresh sweetness and grace each and every time, but I remember. Am I supposed to remember? Am I supposed to recognize the needles hidden in the candy smooth shell? Am I supposed to recognize these undiscovered countries of pain and regret buried deep within these moments of what was not? 

What it is is what was not. A reflection. A refraction, through an imperfect lens. Moments tumbling by that I can see and experience and feel but know were never mine. A hell of my own making, I think, and the idea almost makes me laugh. Because I made none of it. But I am here. I am always here.

And then the moment begins anew.

Comments

[Charlie]

First, Gravity's Rainbow - now this.......My brain hurts. Dude, this was like touching an electric fence. Meaning, I want to experience it more than once.

[Susan (Trout Towers)]

Beautiful beautiful beautiful writing.

[Cheryl]

Breathtaking.

[Palinode]

I keep on trying to comment and shout out my love for this piece, but Typepad is being pouty. Maybe this time?

[katie]

I held my breath from the first sentence forward. I like that when I read. Thank you.

[Jett]

Oh man, the tears sprang, startling me.

When writing sneaks up on you it is indeed proof that it's the good stuff.

[foradifferentkindofgirl (fadkog)]

You know what I think, and sometimes you make me teary-eyed when I think it.

[TwoBusy]

You guys are all being awfully nice to me. Is this is set-up? Y'all are gonna dump a bucket of reindeer blood on my head when I go up on stage to claim my prom queen crown, aren't you?

[Jett]

No, I'm just going to indianwrestle you for it when you come off the stage.

Warning: I have my mother's thighs. They are very 'capable'.

[ms picket to you]

it better.

begin anew.

(as in you keep raising the effing bar... fucker...)

i am awed by this. humbled.

[Whit]

Damn.

[mongoliangirl]

Unbelievable. I am speechless.

[Pam]

I feel blessed and abused.