Wings of Love

I step through the gates and into the human world, my heart almost splintering at the tableau before me, my own memories unbearably flooding back. I look at the mother, with a tiny baby in her arms and remember my own daughter, wrapped snugly in a blanket, one tiny hand tucked under her chin. She’d died, silent in my arms, as I stroked the downy hair on her forehead. She’d been my greatest gift, but one I’d had for such a very short time.

I come back to the present, taking in the fullness of the scene. Mum sits, lovingly rocking the baby. Dad crouches on the floor at her side. A priest stands, whispering silent prayers. There are three doctors in the room with them, making the space confined, and far too public for the palpable grief.

“I’m turning off her life support now. I don’t expect it will take long.”

Mum emits a sob and a single tear slides down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. She catches it with the tip of her tongue, swallowing it down as if to keep all her despair inside.

I quickly cross the room, knowing that no one other than the child will either see or feel my presence. As the doctor flicks the switches off and the monitor emits a continuous beep, I press my lips to baby’s, blue-tinged as her oxygen depletes. There’s a momentary silence, then a single beep, followed by another and another as the child grasps for a tentative hold on life. 

She isn’t out of the woods yet but she has a fighting chance. We belong to each other now and I will help her to live. She has to – she has an important role to play later on in life.

Pride swells within me. Hope fills the room. My first step as Guardian is complete. 

I stand back as the priest stoops to pick up a single white feather from the floor, glowing with a faint iridescence. He looks around, knowing he’s witnessed a miracle and tucks it safely into his Bible.