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A World Apart continued. As the soft light of morning appeared across the waves, and cast shadows of morning on the glass, I saw a figure of a small woman. Shawl pulled tightly about her frail shoulders, blushed by fever, she was standing infront of the widow's walk windows, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband's returning sails. I watched, still bound, as she stood there, silently for a moment, her back toward me, contemplating, then she turned to me and smiling, pointed toward the horizon. I looked in the direction of the apparition's outstretched arm, and from the far distance, the white sails of a ship came into view, a clipper, just ever so slightly visible, across the waters. A longing smile lingered on the figure's face as she turned to me, and, placing her long and slender hand on my shoulder, I heard her say the words: "God's forgiving grace does not require death of thee, for your time apart has not been in vain." She turned once more toward the ship, this time a single teardrop appeared on her cheek, as she pointed, one last time, to the advancing sails growing larger now across the horizon. Sarah wanted to live, and for the first time since my return from Nam, nearly thirty years ago, I realized that I, too, wanted to live. It was then that the figure of the dying Sarah left me, never again to embrace the loving arms of her husband. I sat quietly for awhile; holding Gordon's letter in my hand, shaking a little, as I fully accepted the feeling of peace which filled my spirit. Sarah's words of: "God's forgiving grace", kept passing through my mind, as a final acceptance materialized. As a Registered Nurse in Vietnam, I did what I had to do, and for that deed, God did not require my death, but offered me a never-ending hope that there is, afterwall, some goodness in us all. As I watched the sails of the ship turn toward Rockport, a new day, full of hope, filled my soul. Picking up the gun, I passed through the main dining-hall, as I had done the morning before, through the spider-webs, and dusty hall. I had not thought of my leaving the villa, but my steps, out of the entranceway, felt lighter and full of joy. I placed the pistol in the middle of the large dining table, and carefully covered it with Gordon Albright's letter to his wife. "Thank you, Sarah," I whispered to the old room, with its memories of life and near tragedy. "You gave me my life, and I will never forget you." Turning, I once again saw the familiar figure of Sarah Albright, standing tall and proud near the large picture window. This time, with grace of dignity and acceptance, she smiled, nodded quickly to the door, and disappeared into the morning light. I walked to the old pine door and pulled it open, I was filled with a wondrous new understanding of my past, and what my life could mean for the future, having left my guilt behind. I had never forgiven myself for being human, for feeling the pain, which all of us have inside when life is taken without purpose, and without meaning. Sarah, in her pain and longing, made me realize that it is in tragedy that we continue to hope, and find the will to go on. Bravely stepping across the threshold of the villa and into the sunlight, I felt the warm and cleansing rays of joy once again on my face. Then, closing the door to my past, and finally to my time apart from myself, I took the first steps into God's forgiving grace. The End Copyrights reserved by the author. If in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' for details. |