The Beat of a Battered Heart

Caroline- 17

The day Sarah was born was full of things taken, and things given. A day Ashton and I both suffered unspeakable horror and the gift of redemption. Nothing was ever the same for us after that. How could it be?

We became parents. That, alone, changed everything.

But more- I was lost and found.

He was destroyed and reborn.

And neither of us would ever, ever take that for granted.

I recovered from that day. My fabulous team of doctors pulled me from the edge and delivered me into Ashton's arms. I got to open my eyes to his euphoric face. I got to see him hold our daughter and kiss her downy head with a reverence that bordered on holy.

I got to take her into my arms and memorize every curve and turn- her rosebud mouth, the sweet whorl of hair on the top of her head, the tiny ears that looked more like perfect little seashells. For all the drama of her birth, she is a quiet, gentle child. At eight, she is much more like her soft-hearted Daddy than her flighty mother.

She has a little brother now. There was no discussion when it came to his name. Jason saved Sarah's life and killed the person that killed me. Our son, his namesake, a busy five year old- may he be half as brave. He's had a good start.

I died that day.

But I also lived.

I got a glimpse of the glory I will someday be gifted with. I know, now, that I will see my Meg again. That she is waiting for me. But only once I'm finished here. Only when it's time.

And Ashton.

It was a long time- more than a year- before he could look at me without the shadow of sadness, of worry, beneath the surface. I cannot know what it has been like for him to love me. To lose me time after time and be blessed with another chance. Again. And again. Until he's sure he's used up all of his chances. More than even I, he takes nothing as a given. His love for me is real and boundless. He will do anything, be anything, for me and our children. He still doesn't let his guard down. Because, as he's said when he checks on me for the fifth time in a day- we've only rid ourselves of the evil we know. The world remains full of the evil we don't.

But I don't buy it. I can't believe there's any fate that would tear us apart now, after all we've been through. It is our time. It's our happy time. We should get to just BE. We've earned it.

I know, better than anyone, that bad things happen to good people. I have lived it. Ashton has suffered it. Sarah was born into it.

But now is our spring. Winter is over. We get to watch our babies grow. We get to sleep in each other's arms. This is our life now...and we are so grateful.

It is Christmas Eve.

Ashton is home with the kids so I can finish up just a couple of things in the city. The toy stores in Kansas City are bigger and have more to choose from. We are deep in Santa belief in our house and I love it. There is nothing like the wonder in a child's eyes at Christmastime. Tonight, once they've hung stockings, once the cookies are left for the big man and we've read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, Ashton and I will exchange our gifts for one another. I have a jewelry suspicion- I caught him hiding something small in his desk drawer. Of course, I'd never peek and I'd never tell him I'm guessing. He likes to surprise me- flowers, cards, impromptu date nights. Once, even a weekend in Kansas City for our anniversary, leaving the kids in Jason's and Misty's capable hands.

Me, I found an antique pocket watch. Ashton likes things with a history- the desk in his office, the old globe in the family room...us. History and a story. The pocket watch belonged to a slave liberator during the Civil War. It is engraved, "Love, Caroline." It seems impossible, I know, that a long ago freedom fighter would be loved by a woman with my name. Me, able to present it to the fighter for my own freedom. It was meant to be, then.

It's almost five so I need to get moving. I don't want to deal with rush hour the night before a holiday and it's starting to snow. I get on the highway heading out of the city, driving West. Happily, traffic isn't as bad as I expect and I'm crossing the bridge that leads from Olathe into Frost Hill before 5:30.

Christmas music plays on the radio. I'm looking forward to simply everything. I have had the happiest life, in these years after. In most people's lives, there is something that forges them into who they were meant to be. Delineates a before and after- marriage, death, career, birth. Mine just happened to have included a bit of all of that. But I am now squarely in the midst of my after. My blonde daughter with her Daddy's sky blue eyes. My happy son with the wavy locks and green eyes the color of his Aunt Meg's. There are freckles and dimples and humor. There's been sore throats and hurt feelings and nightmares, too. But those are so easy to get past when you have the amount of love we have.

Ashton was always the one. Even when he was 17 years old and learning how to love a troubled girl, I knew. No one could love me like he does. No one could adore my children like their father. Oh, he's still too good for me.

But maybe, just maybe, I finally feel like I may deserve him just a little bit. I make him happy. And that's all I ever wanted for him.

The snow is heavier now. Beautiful, fat flakes floating down and blurring on my windshield. Clouds, heavy with it, make twilight brief and then it's almost dark.

It's 5:28 and I'm almost home. So the darkness doesn't matter.

Ahead, I see it.

I see it and I know not to throw on the brakes. Especially not on a road slick with wet, newly fallen snow.

But it's instinct and reflex. A deer runs into your path and it's only natural to hit the brakes.

It's just physics, the result. Just physics- the way of nature. The brakes lock up. The tires can't quite find traction so slide along the pavement. You try to control the wheel but the spin is stronger than your might. You see oncoming traffic headlights tip and sway. Your wheels catch the curb on the shoulder and the momentum of your turn causes it to kick up and over the guardrail. You hear metal wrinkle. Glass shatter. As you roll, through the windshield: trees, snow, trees, snow.

When it settles, you open your eyes.

And you are not in the car but standing on the side of the road looking down. Your headlights are upside down, shining into the vastness of the ravine.

You watch strangers and familiar faces running from their halted cars. Some go after you, want to help. Some are already on their phones, calling for rescue.

Then, someone takes your hand.

My hand.

Someone takes my hand.

I look down and Meg looks into my eyes, her smile sad. I take in a breath. At least my chest doesn't hurt this time. Somehow, I am not surprised by any of this. I feel like I've always known it would come too soon. In the middle of every day life. That all of my big talk about it being our turn to just be happy was me, trying to convince myself that I had longer than I did. There is a symmetry in this leaving. Meg didn't have long enough. I am five times as old as she was when she was taken from me. It seems right that it's her turn at last.

"Now?" I ask. I put my arm around her shoulders and she leans into my side. Silently, she nods. I feel tears threaten. How utterly ironic to survive all I have only to be taken by something as common as a car accident.

"Will they be okay?" I ask. Ashton. Sarah. Jason. But I don't have to name them. She already knows.

"They'll miss you. But they'll talk to you. If you pay attention, you'll hear them. I always heard YOU." Her eyes are full of unimaginable wisdom. "And if they listen very hard, they'll hear when you answer."