The Resurrection of Hannah: A Novel Inspired by True Events

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Prologue

Rebecca and I spent the last six hours between two rooms, back and forth like tennis balls in a frantic game of life and death. We went to wherever we were most needed, providing comfort, hoping somehow to ease the transitions for our two dear friends. I was in Melissa’s room at the end of the hall, trying to make childbirth more bearable when Thomas, our appointed messenger, popped his head through the door, mouthing the words, Sammi, it’s time. Rebecca signaled me to go ahead, knowing I wanted to say goodbye to Julie, which she herself had done only minutes before.

I turned and hurried down the corridor to Julie’s room. The priest had just performed the Sacrament of the Sick with Julie’s family and friends gathered round her bed. I joined the circle, standing between Thomas and my boyfriend, Todd, holding hands as we sang some of Julie’s favorite songs, wishing to usher in a joyful and serene journey home. Her breathing had quickened, becoming noticeably shallower in the last ten minutes. I stood close by her side, and brushed the hair from her forehead, running my finger lightly over her cheek and the red birthmark she had tried so many years to hide. She had scoffed when we said that it looked like a heart because she was so full of love. The lids of her eyes were at half-mast, creating a fixed, hollow gaze that belied the bounty of life they once contained. Suddenly Julie lifted both arms toward heaven, a trace of a smile gracing her barely visible lips. I bent down close to her, hoping to hear perhaps the most significant words she would ever utter. I’ll see you soon, she whispered to me on that late golden August afternoon.

There was a sudden tap on Julie’s door. Her mother answered it, and then was shortly by my side, reporting that Rebecca was requesting my immediate assistance. I quietly took leave and hauled ass back down the hall. When I entered the room, Melissa was straining to lift her head. A mass of red curls were matted against her face and, without notice, she released a nail-biting scream. It nearly knocked my socks off, as I stood there helpless, not knowing what to do. I was amazed that Melissa had the guts to pursue natural childbirth and stood aghast as her pain became unbearable. She writhed in agony, perspiration clinging to every available inch of skin, a look of terror in her eyes.

"Melissa, please focus on your breathing. The way you learned in class. Come on, you can do it," I said, trying to mimic the techniques we had been taught. But it wasn’t working, for I failed to remember what we had spent all those weeks learning. Some coach I turned out to be.

The veins in her neck pulsated; her eyes bulged in their sockets. Something isn’t right. This can’t be normal. Tears welled up, but I blinked them back, not wanting Melissa to see my fear. Our friend Rebecca scurried about, rearranging the bedding, playing relaxing music, attempting to find a way to lessen her pain. Melissa’s pale, bloated belly was stretched to its limit. The midwife peered down between her legs. The baby’s crowning, she said calmly. Stay close by, assist with her positioning, remind her to breathe from the abdomen.

Concentration was challenging, but I stepped up to the plate, forcing my mind to clear. Finally, the knowledge I had gleaned from our birthing classes flooded back. Stooping forward, I held her hand, whispered soothing words and helped to guide her movements. The midwife seemed in total control, doing what she had done so expertly a hundred times before. I had promised my dear friend that I would be there for her, and I was trying tenaciously to uphold our pact.

Melissa let forth with a bellow, pushing so hard I thought her head might pop off. It was then that I noticed within me a growing tide of panic, as I witnessed a pinkish fluid escaping from between her legs. Be cool, Sammi. You’ve got to be strong. The midwife directed her every move, telling her when to push, which Melissa proceeded to do with all the strength that remained. Her head thrashed to and fro as though on a fulcrum, and with teeth clenched, she let forth with one final push, squeezing my hand, hanging on for dear life. Melissa then fell back against the raised half of the bed, limper than a dishrag, the color of her face a horrid reddish-purple.

The room was filled with a heavy silence as the midwife gently pulled the baby from her womb, holding the lifeless form in her arms. It was in that horrible, frozen moment, in the space between the still warm baby’s entry into this world and her mother’s recognition that her dear Sarah may have been born dead, that I, too, ceased to breathe. Thomas was suddenly tapping on the door, which served to knock us into action, and in an instant the midwife was all over the tiny girl, doing whatever she could to get her breathing. Thomas and Rebecca fought to keep Melissa calm, but were hard-pressed to contain her, as she cried out repeatedly for Sarah. As Melissa tried to get to her baby, the midwife worked desperately to clear her throat of mucus, breathing into her nose and mouth, pressing gently on her frail chest. Thomas was losing his grip, causing Rebecca to become hysterical right along with Melissa. All I could think to do was call 911, which was unrealistic since we were many miles from the nearest medical facility.

It was during this heightened state of frenzy that the baby let loose with the largest wail I had ever heard. A large, life-grabbing, beautiful wail. Certainly to be cemented in my memory for as long as I walk this earth. All the craziness stopped in that instant, as Thomas let go of his ward, and we rushed to the infant’s side. As we peered down at the petite fighter, the survivor of one hell of a mighty birth, the midwife checked her vitals and looked for any other signs of a problem. She then cleaned Sarah, placing the baby in her mother’s welcoming arms. Oh, my gosh. She has a birthmark on her cheek, and it’s shaped like a heart, Melissa said.

No one moved, as one thought invaded our minds. We looked over at Thomas. Julie just passed, he said hesitantly. Her family asked that I tell you right away.

So Julie was gone, gone forever from our lives. Or was she? I ran my finger like a feather over Sarah’s birthmark. She’s got this because she’s so full of love, I said. Everyone stood huddled together, nodding in agreement, overwrought with the emotions of the day, knowing how truly blessed we were to have said goodbye to a dear soul on the same day we had welcomed in a new one.

Later that night, hours after Todd had fallen fast asleep, I lay awake in the quiet, reflecting on how I had come to find myself in this most curious state of affairs. It was something I have asked myself a dozen times in the past nine months. At the start of it, with Melissa barely pregnant and Julie’s cancer worsening, I had found myself with little choice than to help my two friends in need, offering them rustic, albeit free, lodging at my newly acquired wellness center. I hoped that residing in such an environment would provide nourishment for their spirits as well as their bodies, while searching for whatever answers they hoped to find. Julie and I had become inordinately close through the months since she flew to Florida to visit with Rebecca, when she first confided in me about her unfortunate health status. Her attempt to live whatever time she had left with her parents bordered on a fiasco, being way too stressful for all concerned. There was too much history between them for it not to repeat itself. Thus she found herself down and out, with little emotional reserves to fall back on and a dwindling bank account. I had also made a promise to Julie that I would be by her side as she made her transition to whatever world awaited her, surrounded by those who loved her most.

On the other side of this picture of unhappiness I found Melissa, plagued with a sweet- and-sour pregnancy. For years she had longed for a baby, but it wouldn’t be too far from the truth to say that her husband abandoned her soon after hearing the news. On top of that, her family resided eons away in Canada, and the salary from her counseling job offered minimal financial support. Florida had been Melissa’s home for too many years for her to flee back to a country where she now felt a stranger.

I remember the day our pickup truck rolled into the patch of secluded woods about fifty miles outside of Saint Petersburg, Florida. I climbed out of the truck along with Todd and two of several friends who had invested in my dream. We kicked up dirt while carrying bags of peat moss and cords of firewood, stacking them in the back of the Welcome Center. I had recently signed the final contracts, giving me ownership of eighty-eight acres, close enough to nowhere as I could find without moving too far from my beloved St. Pete, the place I’d called home for the past sixteen years. Several months prior, my mind had actually expanded enough to take in the concept that most successful business entrepreneurs have spouted: You have to think big, to make it big. Big risks make for big lives. So I did it. I jumped in with both feet, leaving behind at least some of my small-town ways of thinking. When I bought the land, it already had the existing structures needed for our start-up operations, which were slated to begin in two months. Between my own financial reserves, some friends and colleague’s personal investments, a few donations, and community assistance, my goal of an independent wellness retreat and counseling center had become a reality. Never in a million years would I have imagined undertaking such a complicated business venture – then again, never would I have imagined the twists and turns my life has taken.

Rebecca, Julie, and Melissa moved in the first night. I moved in a week later. Todd was never far from my side, breaking his back to make the center a haven for any who sought spiritual and emotional support. He quit his job, throwing himself totally into the venture, our love growing in exact proportion to our burgeoning campus. Other friends helped in whatever ways they could, providing business plans, organizing workshops, teaching classes, whatever they could do in their areas of expertise.

Being a daughter of a minister and a nurse, I was taught that helping others is why we are here, and I still try to live up to those ideals and values. Years ago, I moved down south to escape the bitter, gray days, just like almost every other person I ever met in Florida. A few years after finishing graduate school and my clinical studies, I became a licensed psychotherapist, managing to build a thriving private practice, catering to a comfortable, egocentric crowd in the Tampa Bay area. No real challenges or surprises, but busy enough to keep skipping along, hanging out with various friends in trendy establishments or on the beaches that dotted the western coastline. My boring and sometimes self-indulgent lifestyle was certainly a form of self-asphyxiation, just dolled-up in pretty clothes so it could sneak by undetected.

But I think what helped open my eyes was the dawning realization that I was too fixated on outward appearances, mine included. Others often said, You’re still really cute, or You’re holding up well for being almost forty. I’ve tried to maintain my slim figure through regular exercise and by sticking pretty much to a healthy diet. I guess keeping my blonde hair long has lent itself to that youthful appearance. I’ve kept my exterior polished, buffed, and shined, and bedecked with rather fashionable duds, hanging onto my sporty convertible so I can buzz around town looking cool.

Beneath my veneered facade, however, was a person who cared much more deeply about what really counted in life – a caged bird hungry for flight. Becoming disenchanted with my predictable lifestyle and safe existence, I began turning inward, which I knew was what every great religion and mystic has taught for thousands of years. Perhaps you could say that I started searching for that elusive deeper meaning to life. And guess what? I found it, as they say, right in front of my very own eyes. And the finding was an adventure that I shared with those around me for a good part of a wondrous and strange year.

Here is how it all began.

Chapter One

I woke to the sharp snap of a dry branch as it broke against the living room window. On nights when sleep evaded my grasp, I sought refuge on the couch. Last night my eyes refused to close until many hours after midnight, despite the various attempts to lull myself to sleep. I had been preoccupied with the demands of the holiday season and all that was upon me, doubting whether my energy would last through the next few weeks. Brushing the hair out of my face, I grudgingly opened my eyes to face the new day.

It was a balmy Saturday morning and I was thankful the workweek was behind me. At times I enjoyed my occupation as a psychotherapist, but it could often be emotionally and mentally draining. In November I had made plans to meet early in the afternoon with a group I participated in that discussed metaphysics. At this point in time, however, the last thing I wanted to do was use my brain in any capacity. It would have thrilled me to no end if my biggest decision was whether to cook my morning eggs sunny-side up or poached. Not that I didn’t love this group of six that met faithfully every month. I just wasn’t in the mood to open my mind expansively or engage in any group experience. An uneasy feeling had begun to develop, the seed of it taking root during the night.

As I abandoned my comfy couch and stumbled toward the bathroom, I slammed a big toe against the doorframe. Collapsing into a ball and muttering obscenities, I managed to hobble to the tub. Working the faucets, I cautiously stepped in and lowered myself into the rapidly rising warm water, willing myself to relax. Lately, it was obvious that my nerves were shaky, and I was lacking in the concentration department as well. But what troubled me more were the increasing bouts of insomnia and fatigue.

My reverie evaporated the moment the phone rang. I scrambled out of the tub and checked the nearest handset, the Caller ID displaying the name of my friend hosting our one o’clock group. My association with Rebecca ran deep, beginning as colleagues ten years ago and building into a relationship steeped in mutual trust and respect. I had noticed immediately that she had a curious mix of traditional male and female characteristics. She had thick, naturally wavy blond hair that I could not help but envy, and strong, attractive features with premature wrinkles around her thirty-six-year-old eyes, mostly from spending half of her life outdoors. Rebecca was vertically challenged, five feet was a stretch, with a compact, muscular build. She was a naturally gifted sailor, runner, and tennis player, so much so that I questioned whether she had sprinted out of her mother’s womb with crosstrainers on her feet. I scooped up the receiver and imparted a cheery hello.

"Hi Sammi. I am so glad you’re home," she said, her voice tinged with anxiety.

What’s wrong? Are you okay?

I just got in from jogging and checked my machine. I’m worried about Julie. You know, my friend from New York. She left a message about a mass or something on her ovary. I’m not sure, and I’m having a hard time getting ahold of her.

Rebecca was most surely clutching the phone, her face contorted as she revealed this information. She was easily excitable and at times given to histrionic behavior. She was born into a privileged background by parents who were known to be generous with the bucks but tight with the love. You know, poor-little-rich-girl syndrome. Her mother’s moodiness and insecurity were definitely visited upon the child. Right now I knew it was my job to step in and offer reassuring, sensible advice. After she calmed down, we made plans to go out that night for dinner. I added that I needed some objective insight into a recent disturbingly vivid dream that was haunting me.

I’m really looking forward to the two of us just relaxing and talking, but as usual, I’m putting the cart before the horse. Guess I’d better get some cleaning done before the gang gets here. Thanks again for listening.

Anytime, you know that. It’ll be good to go out and have some fun. Anyway, I’ll see you soon, I said, antsy to get going. I needed to tackle some errands before going to Rebecca’s. I grabbed my to-do list, and headed out the door.

My first stop was Nature’s Health Market. I shopped there weekly because of its eclectic clientele and earthy-smelling produce. I got on the organic bandwagon many moons before it became popular, enduring shit from my friends for doing so, figuring I’d live a few more years in which to kick their collective butts. When I entered the place, the smell of rich, exotic coffee overwhelmed me. Allowing the aroma to fill my lungs, a feeling of familiarity inundated me, but I had no idea why. Suddenly, my body jolted upright. I grabbed onto the nearest shelf to catch myself, sensing I was going to faint. This was followed by a tremendous rush of lightheadedness, accompanied with the sensation of butterflies in my stomach. Todd, the manager of the store with whom I was acquainted, rushed to my side as my legs gave way to the floor. Once Todd was able to steady me, he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. Samantha, are you all right?

My tongue felt thick, making it difficult to form words. I reached out for assistance, but my arms were dead weight. Please, help me up, I said, overcome with embarrassment for causing an unseemly ruckus in the midst of the gluten-free aisle.

Are you feeling okay?

Not really … I feel queasy.

Just be careful getting up, he said, offering me a hand. What happened?

"I have no idea. If you hadn’t rescued me, I probably would’ve split my head open." Perspiration clung to my brow as we walked to the café. Todd fetched his poor patron some Evian, then excused himself after urging me to rest for a few minutes. What the heck was that all about? It couldn’t be my hypoglycemia acting up; breakfast was just two hours ago. I’m probably more stressed than I realized. I’m forever running around – trying to do too much in too little time. After taking a minute to regroup and feeling more like my old self, I set about mindfully finishing my errands on the way to Rebecca’s. I still felt a bit wobbly as I rounded the corner to my friend’s house, but tried to forget my perplexing spill, pushing aside the feeling of spacey detachment that was increasing daily. Bursts of sunlight were beginning to poke through the thinning layer of gray clouds. It’s going to be another beautiful day.

Two scruffy tabby cats greeted me as I approached her front door. I surveyed the browning lawn and unruly vines that had choked the life out of several potted plants. The porch was lined with cracked bricks that had lost their color from countless years in the sun. The front door burst open as I stood there observing my friend’s lack of housekeeping skills, one of the several traits we had in common.

"Hello, Missy, Rebecca said, using the fond nickname we shared only with each other. You’re here! Give me a hug, now. The sheer force of Rebecca’s energy nearly knocked me over. It is so good to see you. It seems like ages since you’ve been here."

Hi, there, I said, hugging her close, I’ve missed you, too. I’m glad to see you’re in better spirits.

Rebecca ushered me inside her cozy living room. Yeah, I am. I’ve decided to lighten up. She picked up her hair and flicked it to the side. I need to start taking things, as they say, one day at a time.

Sounds like a good idea … for both of us, I said.

Hey Sammi, before I forget. I want to hear about that dream you mentioned earlier on the phone. You know I’m into that stuff.

We don’t have time now to get into it, but I’ll tell you over dinner. It was so unbelievably powerful, it unnerved the hell out of me.

Sounds perfect for analyzing, Rebecca said, peering out the front window when she heard the slamming of a car door, bringing our conversation to a halt. Great. Kelly is here. Let the fun begin.

I immediately plopped onto the midnight blue leather sofa to claim half of it as mine. Kelly, Thomas, and Melissa arrived in quick succession, the latter two carpooling to save on gas. Rebecca busied herself pouring herbal raspberry iced tea into crystal goblets. We chattered away, catching up with the recent events in one another’s lives. Melissa started telling one of her bawdy jokes, something she often did, more for the shock value than for the course subject matter. She’s a big girl with some extra meat on her pretty bones, but manages to carry her weight effortlessly. Maybe this is more due to the creative outfitting that so well disguises her pounds. Melissa’s porcelain face is punctuated by large eyes the color of emeralds and perfectly framed by a voluminous head of red hair. She is all too aware of her angelic appearance, and takes advantage of her entrancing looks and bubbly personality on many occasion, but not in a corrupt or hurtful manner. She simply uses them to get want she wants, and it works.

After Jason rambled in last, around quarter past one, everyone found a spot in which to get comfortable. We were pleased that all were able to make it today, for often there was one or two who couldn’t attend, leaving us with a feeling of incompleteness within our little circle. The smell of lavender oil from the aromatherapy heater permeated the air. Thomas took it upon himself to light the candles that had been placed strategically throughout the room. The soft trickling of the indoor fountain was especially calming, causing my stress to melt away as I kicked off my shoes, curling my feet beneath me.

Having found myself in the role of ringleader, I spoke up first. Okay everybody, let’s begin. Last time Kelly touched on dream reentry and conscious, or lucid, dreaming. We were supposed to read up on them and then practice on our own. Did everybody get to do this?

Jason shifted in his chair. He was the youngest, and the least intellectual of the bunch. His tousled blond hair and boyish good looks kept my sluggish hormones limping along. I’m still confused by the whole thing. I tried controlling my dreams for three nights in a row, but couldn’t stay focused long enough to get anywhere. It’s frustrating. Others shook their heads in agreement.

Kelly jumped right in. We can go over it again, Jason. Kelly thought of herself as the resident dream expert, eager to expound on the intricacies of these topics, usually sounding like a scientist when she did so. When watching her, I noticed a broad face splattered with freckles of varying dimensions, with eyes set quite close to a fairly prominent nose. Her body was to die for, and she had the habit of sticking her ample chest out whenever she talked, almost in an attempt to divert attention from her face. "I’ve read various definitions about these techniques, so I’m going to present my own interpretation that hopefully makes sense. Dream reentry and lucid dreaming are two well-known methods of actively participating in our dreams. To me they’re both kind of connected. Dream reentry is just that, wanting to re-enter a dream for whatever reason, and a desire to relive it or alter its content. Conscious dreaming involves the act of increased awareness during the dream state in order to control your dream, or taking a fantasy from your conscious mind and then willing yourself to dream that experience. For example, my mother died three years ago, but I recently dreamt we were back in my childhood home, baking chocolate chip cookies. It was so emotionally satisfying that I became obsessed with reenacting the dream. I eventually realized that it was my intense motivation that made it possible to develop this skill. But it can take months, even years, to learn how to control them."

I’ve had emotionally charged dreams and to some degree, was able to go back into them after I woke up. I’ve re-experienced similar dream content, but haven’t been successful in going back to the exact same dream, Melissa said.

Kelly