“Be here now.” She reached under her  scarf and gently caressed the gold necklace engraved with the words. The words were her motto. Her mantra. Her talisman. They centered her, restoring her to the present whenever the darkness resurfaced, blotting out every ray of sunshine in the world.

Sometimes a light touch of the necklace was all that was needed to extract her from the gloom that descended upon her without warning. It was like entering a tunnel on the highway at high speed, the pupils of her eyes suddenly enlarging in the darkness as she struggled to focus on the tiny speck of light ahead. She could feel the excruciating ache of her heart as her pupils dilated. It was as if the airbag, tightly compressed into her steering wheel, had explosively deployed, crushing her breasts, removing all air from her lungs, replacing the breath of life with the pain of emptiness. But then, by touching the necklace, she could focus on the end of the tunnel, the dot of light widening as she hurtled toward it. The dot erupted into bright sunshine, her pupils shrinking back to normal size. She could breathe again, her heartache a memory, the black passageway fading in the rearview mirror.

Sometimes, though, a fingertip touch of the three words on the chain dangling above her heart was not enough. Sometimes, she needed to grip the words with all her strength, the sharp jagged edges of the cold metallic letters digging into her palm as she searched for warmth and light in the vain hope of driving away the encroaching night. Sometimes, she was afraid that her death grip would crush the words, leaving an unrecognizable mass of metal shards. The words gone forever, she would be left to wallow in an ocean of despair, lost and rudderless, sinking to the bottom, a bottom inhabited by predatory creatures hunting for sustenance, endlessly, with no light or hope. She feared joining them.

Today, as she sat behind the wheel, her car parked across from the playground, she knew that even a tight grip on the three words would not be enough. Despite the cold, she rolled down the window and listened to the excited squeals of unburdened innocence mixed with overly protective parental admonishments. Her gaze shifted from the swings and monkey bars, painted in cheerful primary colors, to the light snow blanketing the adjacent field.  Outside of the play area, a sterile whiteness dominated.

Unable to look away from the snow covered landscape, she was transported back to the white room, her grip on the necklace, her talisman, failing her. Four years ago, to the day, she had been there. The ceilings and walls white. The coats white. Her husband’s face white, as he asked the same questions again and again, knowing the answers but searching, beseeching, hoping to conjure a prayer powerful enough to avert the severity of the decree.

“Can we do another, higher resolution ultrasound?

“No need, we can see it clearly on this one.”

“Intrauterine surgery?”

“The heart and brain are damaged beyond repair. We need to end it now.”

“Can we try again?”

“No, I’m sorry. At her age the risk would be too great.”

The answers, the letters black and indelible, swirled around her, closing in, accentuating the stark whiteness of the room. She could only lie there, the tears rolling down her cheeks, staining her white papery hospital gown. She rested her hands on her belly, feeling the reassuring rapid beat, the occasional kick, but knowing that it soon would end. The unrestrained joy of the last few months at an end. She would be left with a swollen belly devoid of life. Her own life in tatters.

The gold had withstood her grasp. She could feel the three words returning, the whiteness now dotted with returning reds, greens and blues as she turned away from the unremitting field of snow to the brightly colored play area. She tried harder, blinking away the teary haze impeding her pupils from focusing. Be here now. Leave that white, colorless barren place. Be here now. BE HERE NOW.

She reached in her bag for a Kleenex to wipe her eyes. She checked her makeup in the mirror. She put a smile on. A smile bereft of joy. Then she opened the door and walked past the playground to the building behind it.

At the door to the day care center stood a young woman, her face tired but satisfied, ready for an end to the work day. The hand of the young woman held the tiny fingers. The boy, now almost two years old, looked up as she approached, the smile widening, his luminous eyes emitting rays of brilliant sunshine. Her own smile changed from artificial to real, in anticipation of the hug that would follow, the delicate hands of her adopted son gripping the back of her neck, in contact with the necklace.

She was here now.

Eric M. Jacobs recently returned to writing as a creative outlet after the loss of someone close to him. His first work of creative nonfiction, describing that loss, is entitled “Entering and Exiting,” and was published in Snapdragon Journal. When not writing, working as an in-house attorney for a life science service company, or just enjoying life with his family and friends, Eric can be found playing tennis or running along Forbidden Drive in Philadelphia’s beautiful Fairmount Park.