The
machines in the room hummed steadily. Wires trailed from them to the man in the
bed. Although the visible injuries—a bruise here and there, scraped cheek, cut
forehead—seemed minor, the real damage was invisible to the observer. The
soldier’s body, so strong on the outside, was betraying him from the inside.
Was it
really just yesterday that he had been working to clear the rubble? Searching
for survivors of the most recent attack? He should have waited. Should have
followed protocol. Walking into an unsecured structure alone was foolish. On the other hand, if he had waited, there would be five men waiting for death
instead of only one.
The
child’s crying had compelled him to enter. Perhaps it was his own imminent
fatherhood that caused him to rush. Perhaps it was simply the instinct built
into every human that spurred him forward. Whatever the cause, he could not
ignore the cry. What if it were his baby girl trapped inside? He would want someone
to save her.
The
bomb went off the instant he stepped inside.
The
immediate physical damage was minor—a few cuts and scrapes from flying debris.
It was what the explosion released that was deadly. A specialized airborne
pathogen that only survived in the air for a few seconds. But a few seconds was
all it took. It had become a favorite weapon of the enemy—non-contagious, short
life after exposure to air, and fatal results. Always fatal. Lured by a child’s
cry, caught unawares, a few seconds was all it took for the virus to take root
inside his body. At that very moment, it was eating away at the soldier’s body.
The medical technology could bring him comfort but not a cure.
It
wouldn’t be long now.
He
turned his head as a sound reached his ears. The door of the room opened to
admit a woman. Her skirt was long and full, her shirt soft and pink. Her short
hair was clipped out of her face, and there was a tag on her wrist identifying
her as a patient. There was no make-up on her face, but there was a light in it
that competed with the sorrow in her eyes. In her arms, she carried an infant.
She
approached the bed and carefully sat on the mattress. “I’ve brought someone to
meet you.” Her voice was soft and tinged with an accent. She angled her arms
toward him. “Meet your daughter.”
He
moved to lay a finger on the cheek of the child. His child. The child who took
her first life-giving breath at the exact moment he took the breath
that would cause his death. The child he would never see grow up. The child he
was meeting for the first time and the last time.
He
adjusted his pillows to sit up straighter then held out his arms. As he held
his baby girl, she looked up at him with bright, round eyes. He studied every detail.
Wonder and awe filled him as he gazed at her. Then, slowly, a feeling of pain crept
over him. Like the afternoon shadows, it soon overwhelmed every other emotion.
Tears flooded his eyes as he wept for the life he would never see. “Allegra,” he choked. “Call her Allegra.”
Allegra. A name meaning ‘joy’ and ‘cheerfulness.’
He wanted his child to bring laughter and love not to be a reminder of sorrow
and pain. As she grew, Allegra would be a symbol of the good times. She would
be a ray of sunshine in the otherwise dark days ahead. Features of the man she would never meet would
become defined on her face. She would share her father’s good humor and easy
confidence. She would be a part of him that would continue to live on.
He continued to gaze at her. His
wife pulled her feet under her and shifted to put one arm around him, the other
over his hand on their baby. She laid her head on his shoulder, her own tears sliding down her face.
And there they sat—both wishing desperately
to stop the clock. To freeze time. To make the moment last forever. But time is
cruel. It stops for no one. It gives no thought to one’s agony. It continues to
tick forward moment by moment. That is the circle of life. In that room, one
life was endiing while another life was just beginning.
…You do not know what tomorrow will
bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little
time and then vanishes. ~James 4:14 (ESV)
