Rising Up

4. Ember’s Loss

4

Ember’s Loss

Ember jumped, startled. A phone call was coming through her Alt. An upbeat tune from the city’s Top 40 shattered the stillness. Its lyrics taunted her; they were a purposeful reminder that life was blissful, ideal. Yet, the music grated like a shrill saw. She was discouraged and deeply troubled.

“Hello?” She breathed into her Alt, immediately realizing that whispering was unnecessary. Her mom slept on, undisturbed.

“Ember—this is Chief Medic Abutor. Beautiful day in our fine city. Your mom—resting comfortably?”

“Oh, Medic Abutor! Thanks for calling. I’ve left messages for you for days now . . . I’m really concerned about my mom . . . she hasn’t eaten or spoken for a week. She doesn’t wake up. She needs something–something to help her! Isn’t there anything more you can do?”

Ember looked around the room, searching, almost as if she could magically conjure something up to help her mom. Instead, the room’s walls seem to close in. The antiseptic smell of the hospital room, partly disguised by a lavender fragrance, clung to her clothes. It added to a nausea created by anxiety.

“We’ve tried everything, Ember. Remember working with your mom and the doctors? Traditional healing methodologies, all utilized. Laughter sessions, check. Music therapy, throughout. Imagery used as well. There was no genetic abnormality to correct with GFX. In your mother’s case, sadly—those haven’t worked. Bewildered the medical team. Never even identified the disease at all. Pretty challenging finding a specialized cure. Way beyond our skills.”

“But my mom’s a fighter, Doctor! She went running every morning and worked her shifts at the museum just days before she was admitted here. No one in the community even realized she was sick. She was always the one engaging others in positive conversation. My mom never complained or cried. There must be something you can do! I’m not even able to communicate with her! What if these are my last moments with her? I can’t even say goodbye!”

“So very sorry, Ember. That time has passed. We’re still monitoring her Alt carefully along with her other vital signs, but there’s absolutely no emotional activity on her Alt.” No wonder I can’t feel her emotions, Ember thought. And her aura is gray and dim. “Try some breathing patterns—they help prepare people for the worst. And, talk to your mom. Who knows? Possibly, she’s still able to hear you. Again, I am sorry.”

Ember eyes filled with tears as she saw the upside-down face on the Alt’s screen, an icon verifying the end of the conversation.

Her eyes now on the Alt’s surface, Ember realized it was time for monitoring her emotional state. She loved her Alt. Her most precious possession was sensitive and absolute, a good friend. The emotional monitoring, unlike unexpected phone calls, was a welcome activity, comforting in its ongoing presence, its feedback necessary for life to stay peaceful and happy. But this was not a typical day.

She sucked in a deep, jagged breath. Her mother’s life was ebbing away, triggering a tightrope walk with Alt readings. Depression was a severe sin in the community, the Alt noting it with ease. What would it r******w?

Ember tapped on her Alt. Place her index finger . . . wait ten seconds . . .

Her reading came up, blinking neon pink. Respiration rate— twenty-five breaths per minute, heart at 100 beats per minute. “This is accelerated . . .” She caught herself talking aloud. The “C” measurement—the Cortisol hormone secretion protecting the body from stress—was elevated. She had to concentrate.

Ember’s Alt vibrated and started to ping. To her dismay, a downward arrow popped up in the display. It appeared as a solid form but soon began to transform into a repeating downward arrow. A bar of red appeared at the bottom of the Alt’s face, indicating that she had bottomed out in the red zone! Don’t panic, she thought.

Her tears threatened to break free, but Ember couldn’t allow herself the freedom to cry. A tear had its price. A tear was a risk. Even a simple, reactive thought was fatefully significant. Ember gazed out the hospital window tonight and sighed. As with all nights, every window was wet with rain. The raindrops were like tears, tracing with their tracks her difficult journey.

In spite of what was happening, it was vital to battle emotions. Even death was not an excuse to be weak or sad! She had to breathe deeply and be calm! Think positive thoughts!

As if she was on the outside step of a moving merry-go-round gripping the iron bars, Ember hung on. A thought settled into her unbalanced psyche—a reflection back on her early schooling when she had her Empowerment Teachings. Those teachings throughout her life had successfully enabled her to overcome negative energy. Ember concentrated on slowing her heartbeat by repeating a common mantra: “Happiness is a choice that requires effort.”

Ember struggled not to cry and kept reaching over to squeeze one of her mother’s hands from where it listlessly dangled over the side of the hospital bed. Her childhood history came to mind, memories streaking through like meteorites in the night sky. She saw her mom pushing her on a swing when she was four. She saw the homemade birthday cake, iced in pink, that her mother placed in front of her; saw, too, how her mom brought sparklers out for an extra surprise, her own eyes as bright as the fiery shreds. She remembered notes in her lunchbox with positive affirmations and heard her mother singing as she dressed for the day, not hitting the proper notes. She saw her mom pouring essential oils into Ember’s bathtub, remarking they were “magical.” She saw her mom at forty, graduating to Status Level Fourteen, her face radiant as a pearl newly formed, as she received a set of silky purple clothes. Each change in status meant a new color to wear. Purple was the color everyone wore at Level Fourteen, but Ember thought that the color looked more magnificent on her mom than anyone else in Tranquility. All these scenes projected in her mind as if in an old-fashioned film, now crushing toward “The End” in the final frame.

When Ember was eight, she achieved the first level on the Continuum’s Spectrum. Her mouth curled in a smile as she remembered the beautiful white dress her mother had sewn for her. In a special Status ceremony called Renew, Ember graduated from wearing pale pink, the color of all Tranquility’s children, to wearing white. White symbolized purity of thought and new beginnings.

Ember squeezed her eyes shut, willing these memories to take hold and register on her Alt. Love was the ultimate emotion. Pure. Stronger than all. She believed that love could prevail. As if in confirmation, she felt a vibration on her wrist . . . an encouraging sign.

Mom’s ruptured breathing from the hospital bed grew louder. Could her mother feel the love, too? She breathed in deeply, willing her own breath to repair her mother’s.

“Mmm . . .”

What was that? Had she heard something other than her mom’s irregular breathing? One of the machines made a soft whirring sound . . . okay . . . the machines were making adjustments.

“Mmm . . .”

Ember sat up in her chair. Wait! It was Mom making that noise! Maybe Mom was rallying?

Ember leaned in toward her mother. “Mom? I’m here . . . it’s Ember, Mom.” She put her hands on her mother’s face. “Mom . . . I love you. Please . . . can you talk?”

Only silence answered.

She had been so hopeful that what she had heard was more than just breath. She placed her hands around her mother’s face and silently begged her to respond.

Ember closed her eyes, again remembering the carefree days with her mom before the illness slithered stealthily into her near-perfect body. The most dominant memory . . . her mother’s shining blue-green eyes noticeably twinkling when she smiled, her hugs all comfort and selflessness, her values exemplary.

Ember took her hands gently from her mother’s face. She turned her eyes to the clock on the wall. The clock’s muted ticking was both a comfort (all clocks in the city at large were programmed to soothe), but yet, the tick-tock was a reminder that time slowed down for no one, not even in Tranquility.