Vista Dome

And John Crossfield felt the resolute strength of Tetsuko-san once again, felt in his heart what it had cost the old woman to forgive him, what it meant to open the gates of her monastery to the enemy - even as radioactive ash swirled around the trees and flowers of those sundered grounds. Maybe she too had felt peace when she let go of her despair, let go of her hate.

Maybe one day, Crossfield said to himself. Maybe one day he would completely let go of all his anger and despair, but until then he would try to forgive. Himself, most of all, because without that one first act all others would ring hollow.

He looked at Rebecca, and at Mary, at all he had in this life to be thankful for. Perhaps, he said to himself, it takes strength, too, to be thankful.

So, he would be strong. For Mary. For Rebecca. So that he could at long last be thankful.

And finally, he would try to be strong for Clair. So much of his life had been defined by the bright light she had shared with him, even if ever so briefly, and though he had never really understood her life, and the demons that eventually consumed her, it was clear to him that his life would forever revolve around their brief time together.

So, despite all the forlorn hope for a love he had ultimately proven himself unworthy of, the mistakes and false steps that had led them all to this point in time, he lived the life Clair St Cloud had bequeathed him. He had Mary, for however long he could hold on to her, and he knew now he would have to reconcile his diffident anger at Rebecca with all his human fallibility, and somehow, someway, become worthy of love.

Of Rebecca's love, And Clair's.

He felt Rebecca's soft skin on his own, the warmth of her being coursing through his consciousness once again, and he felt Mary's hair running through her fingers, onto his.

In that moment, and perhaps for the very first time in his life, he knew, really knew, what it meant to feel love. Perhaps, too, in that brief, crystalline moment, as if in the blinding flash of creation, John Crossfield finally understood just how much he had to be thankful for, and just how fleeting and precious time really is.

It would soon be Thanksgiving, after all, and there was so much to do. Because really, just as Dorothy said on her return from Oz, there's no place like home, and feeling his skin on Rebecca's he understood at last where his home would always be.

(c) 2014 AWAL