She stood in an open field. The sky, a vast blue dome, stretched to infinity above her. Sunlight warmed her face. Crickets chirped, and a bird sang somewhere in the far distance.
She breathed in deeply, the clean, fresh scent filling her lungs. Never had life felt so vibrant, so colourful, so full. It was like she was seeing the world around her for the first time, as though some gauzy material had been covering her eyes for her whole life, and only now it had been removed.
The wind slid around her, subtly changing with every passing moment. It moved softly through the field, a whisper among the grass, like the murmured words of children talking at bedtime; then it was a swirling eddy that ruffled her hair and made her think of the ocean on a gusty day. Salt on her skin.
A bee hovered nearby, searching for bright flowers, looking to gorge itself so it could return to the hive, fat with nectar and dusted with pollen. She felt like that bee, wanting to drink in this view forever.
She wished she could stay, but she knew she had to go back for a little while, because soon it would be all over.
Grey daylight filtered through the blinds, shafts of light falling onto the white blanket. There was no warmth in that sunlight, nor in the blanket that covered her legs.
There was a steady, rhythmic beep somewhere behind her, to the left, that became almost comforting after a while. Like a lullaby, or the soft songs she used to make up when one of the kids were having trouble getting back to sleep. Sweet, musical gibberish to let them know she was there, that she’d always be there to protect them, to comfort them, to love them. After a while, they would surrender to sleep, and their fat little faces would bunch up as they slumped against her chest. She imagined they could hear her heartbeat. In those moments, the feelings of love that coursed through her were like nothing she’d ever experienced before, or would ever experience after.
Now, those children, grown up and with families of their own, gathered around her bed.
Everyone looked so sad.
The pain of childbirth had been terrible. Excruciating. So why had she gone through it five times? The answer she gave people was that the pain was forgotten immediately after the doctor handed her the baby each time, that a feeling larger and more real than mere pain flowed through her in those moments: a deep, pure love for the strange, squalling creature that still had streaks of blood on its skin. There was just no room for any other feeling, she would say.
But that was only a half truth. Because there was another part of her that would have done it even if the pain continued, had stayed with her after the baby was born. Each child she birthed was more than a mere extension of herself, as she knew some parents considered their children to be. No, they were infinite beings to her, beings that she had the privilege of helping to create and nurture. Each one unique and complicated and almost unreal. Her children were her proudest accomplishment.
The pain of childbirth was nothing compared to the knowledge that she would one day have to leave her children behind to face the world without her. She knew they were all adults now, some of them raising and protecting children of their own, but she would always see them as her babies, the ones she held to her breast moments after they were born. The fierce desire to protect the defenceless little bundles of perfection never left her. Even now, her body hurting and failing, her mind adrift, a distant part of her dreaded the inevitable leaving. One more moment, she prayed to no one, just one more moment to embrace each one as they stood around her bed, one more moment to take the feeling of them with her.
There was another presence in the room now. It was nowhere in particular, an invisible cloud that slowly filled the gaps between the people around the bed. Everyone could feel it.
She wanted to tell them it was okay, that she was happy. Because, at that moment, she was filled with the love she knew they all felt for her, and the love she felt for them. That’s all she’d ever wanted: to love her children, to make sure they were happy.
Trying to speak hurt. There was no longer a tube, but her throat was still dry, and her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. Still, she tried. A hand grasped her own, and she felt the vitality there, the life. She tried to squeeze it back, to let them know in some small way that it was fine, that she would be okay, that she loved them.
She felt the presence at her side now, gently touching her elbow, like an usher at the theatre, guiding her somewhere. It was easy; quicker than falling asleep after a long day.
A final breath.
The presence was gone from the room.
It was 12:08 PM.
The field around her was now full of carnations in bloom.
The colour, the undeniable beauty of it all, astounded her. In all her life, she had never known there could be colour like this, and would never have believed it if someone had told her. Part of her ached that it had taken her so long to see something so beautiful, but another part was simply happy that she saw it now.
Her children were happy, she knew that. And, in some way, she’d always be with them. This knowledge made leaving easier.
A hand slipped gently into her own.
Time to go, she thought, as it led her away from the field of colour. The light was bright, dissolving the world around her. Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.
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