Megan let out a huge yawn, smiled and closed the refrigerator door. The dishes were done, tomorrow’s lunch was packed, and her morning tea bag and supplements were laid out.
Twenty minutes later, she was ready for bed, having washed her face, showered, and moisturized. Easy enough in her studio apartment close to the hospital campus.
Eric would have his surgery in the morning, and she wanted to be well-rested and ready. Pulling back the covers Megan slid into bed, plumped up the pillows and opened her laptop.
Bill Sullivan had been great with Eric, and his comment about being scared as a child stuck with her, so she Googled him. She read the Wikipedia article, scanned the information about his baseball career, then saw it: he had lost his parents when he was eight years old and was placed in foster care. Natalie was mentioned and there was already an update about his accident. Not finding any more information about his parents Megan closed the laptop.
Opening a medical textbook, she started to read, knowing it would help her fall asleep. Five minutes later she was yawning, she turned off the lamp and settled under the blankets.
Her sleep soon became fitful, her arms and legs twitching occasionally, expressions of anguish washing over her face.
Megan woke, finding herself in a hospital bed, with her mother and father on one side and old Doctor Kohl on the other. Her husband, Rick, had flown into a drunken rage over something and started hitting her. Trying to get away to protect their unborn son she remembered falling and hitting her head on the wall. Before she passed out, he had started kicking her.
“My baby?” Megan asked, dreadful.
Doc Kohl shook his head. Her mother and father had tears running down their faces. Her mother was gently squeezing Megan’s arm. Her father was shaking.
“I’m sorry, Megan. The baby didn’t make it. We were lucky to save you,” replied Dr. Kohl.
“That bastard is in jail,” her father added, his voice trembling with rage.
Two weeks later Doctor Kohl dropped the other shoe. Because of the damage from the assault, she could never have children of her own.
Megan’s face softened, and her breathing became more relaxed and rhythmic.
The gently sloped hillside upon which she and Thomas sat was a vivid green and filled with bright yellow dandelions. The muted sunlight seemed to come from everywhere. Thomas started picking flowers and squashing them in his fingers, staining them yellow and green. He was dressed in a yellow tee shirt and blue jean shorts. His eyes were hazel, and his hair an auburn color.
Thomas jumped up, moved away, and picked more dandelions, a huge handful this time, then started running in circles, shredding the harvest, letting it fall through his fingers, a green and yellow rain.
Megan smiled. He was getting so big.
Thomas seemed happy as well. I could see that on his beautiful five-year-old face.
I patted the ground beside me, wanting him close and Thomas came and sat. He was still for a few seconds and then scampered away. A butterfly stopped him, as he watched with wonder in his eyes, his mouth forming a small joyful smile. He looked at me and pointed, making sure I noticed the pure white creature, different than any I had seen before.
I patted the ground again and this time he came and laid his head in my lap. I could almost feel him.
He was off again. This time Thomas flopped unto his side and rolled down the hill. He would start to fade when fifteen feet away, stop, get up, run to me, and start over.
Thomas smiled at me after a few more minutes and this time kept rolling until he disappeared with a smile on his face.
“I’ll be back, Mom.”
I was glad. Thomas visits me a few times a year. I wonder when it will be the last time.