Every Blessing’s Debt – Abigail’s Prayer
Jed knelt on the floor of the hospital chapel and stared silently at the suspended figure of the Son, Jesus hanging from
the wooden cross behind the pulpit. It looked at him with open, unjudging eyes. Eyes that contained the compassion he craved
at this moment as he tried to assuage his own guilt. He had caused this. Trying to distract himself, he wondered if the figurine
was plastic or wood. It looked so lifelike in the candlelit sanctuary. He guessed plastic.
Everything was plastic. The face of his watch was plastic, not glass like in the old days. The tubes running all through
his Abigail’s body were plastic. Even Jesus was plastic. All of it was fake, artificial. He wished he could just wish
all of this plastic away and bring them all back to life. He could feel the unwelcome presence of the Secret Service Agents
standing just inside the chapel doors. They shouldn’t be here. They’d failed him and they’d failed her.
They shouldn’t be here.
He turned around to look at them. They stood there so solemn, so impassive. He was quite sure he could live the rest of
his life and happily never see another Secret Service Agent. But, remembering the night he’d just survived he wasn’t
completely convinced he’d be alive much longer either way. They’d been after him. Of that, he had no doubt and
his wife had paid the price. Had she known, he wondered. He wondered if she’d felt the threat and, in her infinite
love, had taken that bullet to protect him. He wouldn’t put it past her; she had always been so protective of him. He
might never know as she was the only one who could answer that question and it was one answer that she would probably never
remember, even if she did wake up. And she would wake up. Because, that was the only thing he could allow himself to believe,
to hope for after all this. He couldn’t ask for anything beyond that and dared not contemplate it. For he felt that
he’d counted and traded his every blessing in that desperate thirty hours that Zoey had been missing. She’d been
returned to him, but he was certain that he had not another to his name and that if anything, he owed God a blessing or two.
He just prayed that He wouldn’t choose to collect on this debt tonight. Not with her, not like this. He’d
give his own life as she’d been prepared to sacrifice hers if God wanted it. He only wanted her to live. He’d
give his own life. He’d give anything...
He stared at the altar on which so many candles burned. He should burn one for Abbey. He could barely find the heart to
stand and move, but somehow he managed. He kneeled in front of the tiny flames and could feel their heat dance across his
face, seeping into the cracks and lines reaching straight inside of him where every memory of his Abigail lived in leisure.
They began to burn at their edges, marring them until they were simply cinders on the pages of his memory. The pages of their
life turned and turned until the book closed completely. That time was over, but their love lingered sweet on his lips like
her kisses.
He could feel the world waking, reacting to the news that met them with their morning coffee. First Lady
Shot At Camp David. That would be the headline, the sound bite. He expected to hear it again and again for months, maybe
years to come. President Bartlet Resigns to Care for Brain Damaged Wife. That would be the headline when he got the
nerve to tell the staff. He was still adamant despite the doctor’s and his daughter’s reservations. No one else
had the right to care for her and as long as he could keep it up, no one else would. Neither faction brought up the most obstinate
misgiving to his idea of caring for her: the MS. He knew it in the way they shared their looks. He knew it was there, he couldn’t
forget, but as far he was concerned it was irrelevant. Abbey needed him, MS or no MS. He was going to do this. He just prayed
that God would shed his grace on him just once more. Or better yet, that He would shed it on Abbey. She needed and deserved
it more than he ever could. With a heavy heart and hope for the future, he lit the candle and began to pray.
“Lord, give me the strength to help her when I can; the patience to hold her when I can’t, and the faith
to love her when that’s all she needs. Give me your light to guide her through this coming darkness and your joy to
share in her laughter in the midst of the pain. Help me help her stand when she falls and allow me your gentlest touch to
wipe away her tears and to bind her wounds. I will dedicate my life to letting her know how deeply she is loved by You and
by me, if You only make me strong enough. Lord, give me strength.”
Just then, the door to the chapel opened and he turned around, fearing the worst. The agent whispered to the others standing
guard and nodded towards Jed. The agent stepped back outside. One of the remaining ones stepped forward.
“Sir, the First Lady’s awake.” He doesn’t think he’s ever moved so fast. The whole run, and
it was a run, back to her room was blur to Jed until he came upon her door. He had to stop himself from barging in; he wouldn’t
have been ready. He had to be ready. He stood still, hazarding only the slightest glance into the blinds on the window. She
was so still. He felt an ache in his heart, but quelled it immediately. She was never still. However, she wasn’t his
Abbey. Not yet...
But she would be.
He pushed the door open.
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