Today I had just returned from a visit with Lewis—I tried and failed to get him to call Sarah, but I have hope that he will do it tomorrow—when Zezette and Danit met me, accompanied by an angel I did not recognize. Her hair was a sheet of black like a veil, and she had such kind eyes that I could not look into them for long.
“How are you, Asa’el?” Zezette asked.
I only bowed. It is getting harder not to answer that question rudely. The naked concern in my siblings’ eyes is painful to confront.
Perhaps seeing this, Danit extended one of her wings to the stranger. “Asa’el, this is Hatsumi. She hopes that you will make time for her in your schedule in the coming weeks.”
I was surprised—was Danit honestly proposing a collaboration, with me barely able to manage on my own? “Time to do what, precisely? I don’t know how much help I will be.”
“Asa’el, it is I who hopes to help you,” Hatsumi said. “You see, I am a Comforter, and I have been assigned by my seniors to care for you as one of my charges.”
This time, my surprise overcame my manners. “You take an angel as a charge?”
“Oh, yes,” Hatsumi said, her face serious. “The pains of the tainted Garden can affect us just as powerfully if not worse than they do the humans. And if these pains are permitted to fester, they can be carried even beyond incarnation and bring trouble in your human life. Several of my fellow Comforters specialize in helping our siblings through difficult times.”
I did not quite know what to say. I have seen Comforters work before, but I felt that to have one paying heed to me would be intrusive, somehow.
“Well,” I began, “I am grateful for your offer—”
“It is not an offer, Asa’el,” Zezette said, gentle but firm. “It is an order. We want you to take some time each day to check in with Hatsumi. It does not have be a long meeting, but you cannot be in this alone right now.”
And that was that. Again worried that I might speak rudely if I spoke at all, I bowed.
Zezette only sighed and brushed her wing across my shoulder before she departed. Danit lingered a moment longer. “We want you to be well again, Asa’el,” she murmured.
Somehow, that hurt more than anything they had said. I could not meet her eyes, and she, too, left.
Hatsumi did not say anything for a moment, and neither did I. The silence stretched between us. I spent it in looking at her—she is a restful soul, it seems, with an aura that is difficult to read. That is not surprising, I suppose, for as a Virtue she is stronger than me.
“I thought that you were supposed to make me well again,” I said at last, losing the battle against rudeness.
She was not offended. “In time. But I think you know, that you will and should be unwell for a while.”
This surprised me. “Should?”
“Of course. You have lost something that was dear and valuable to you. To be entirely well so soon after the event would be disrespectful. Your grief shows that Shannon was worthy of respect and love.”
Her words were like a knife to my heart, and yet what a cleansing pain! One after another of my siblings have expressed the wish that I could be happy again, that my suffering would end, that I could return to how things were. And I have been bewildered that I want none of that—that I have clung to my pain. To hear someone say that I have a right, even an obligation to hurt, was such a release.
I wept then, and Hatsumi let me, holding me in her arms and her wings and radiating warmth and understanding. She said nothing for a while after I had quieted, until I stirred and she released me.
“So,” she said, drying my tears. “Tell me about your Shannon. Whatever you are ready to tell, in your own time.”
In the end, I could not say much—the words stopped in my throat, closing my lips with grief. Hatsumi did not mind. She said that she was beginning to get a picture of Shannon, and that would help her to help me.
“Would you like me to talk to others and see what I can learn about her?” she asked.
“No,” I answered immediately.
My forceful answer did not seem to upset her, but I felt the need to explain. It took a few moments for me to put the words together.
“I sometimes felt that I was the only one in the world who loved her,” I managed at last. “I want—I do not want anyone to bias you against her.”
Hatsumi smiled. “Then I will wait until you are ready to tell me more, and I will learn to see her as you do.”
“Then we will both grieve,” I said bitterly.
She flicked her wings in a light shrug. “I am no stranger to grief, Asa’el. And if there are two of us who feel the same pain, we can help one another through it.”
And so I am now deeply grateful for what seemed at first a painful obligation. It will not be easy, working with Hatsumi, but she knows her craft. I feel lighter now than I have in more than a week, and though I know I have a long road to walk, I am glad that I do not have to walk it alone.