Good Man

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure: then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
- John Donne



It was well after midnight; only a few hours earlier Avarielle Wright had entered into this life, bringing with her a sense of joy and happiness to those around. She was awake, moving her little arms as much as possible; tucked so securely in her pink blanket, laying in her 'plastic bassinet' in the nursery.

Well, at least that's what everyone was referring to it as. A plastic bassinet. No one could figure out the technical name for it, even if their life depended on it. Billie Joe offered up the term of 'baby bin' but that was shot down because it sounded like the babies were pieces of garbage being thrown into a garbage bin.

After midnight, however, everyone had finally seemed to disperse. Adrienne had since gone home, along with Estelle who had showed up briefly with Mikey and Chloe so they could peer into the nursery to see their new cousin but left shortly after with Ramona and Frankito. Ramona had been sent home to pick up her brother and then Estelle and Caroline's kids. Well, Caroline considered Estelle to be her kid as well, so basically Ramona was sent to also pick up Caroline's three kids. Tre's parents had showed up, as did Paul and Joanne -- Caroline and Giselle's adoptive parents. But both sets of parents had, also, since gone home for the night. Friends stopped up, too, but not for too long. However, most just called to give their congratulations.

Only Billie Joe, Caroline, Ellis and Tre remained. And all three were standing at the window, looking in at all the newborns in the nursery. There was a sea of pink and blue bundles but the pink bundle in the second row at the far right was the center of the foursome's attention and awe.

"I still can't get over her middle name," Caroline commented, biting her lip and craning her neck, as if she'd somehow get a better look at her niece. "Michaela."

"Yeah, we thought it'd be a nice little tribute to Mike," responded Tre, unable to take his eyes off his daughter; his nose pressed against the window. "It was Giselle's idea. And it just seemed right."

All four seemed to smile. Well, except for Ellis, who, yes, could understand how sweet the gesture was, but couldn't truly understand like the others did.

"I know she's bald and has no definite features yet, but she looks like Giselle," Billie Joe remarked. "Same blue eyes."

"Both of us have blue eyes," Tre said, in regard to his wife and himself.

"Yeah, but they're more Giselle's eyes."

Tre simply nodded. He knew his daughter had his wife's eyes, as well. It was unmistakable.

"She's beautiful," Ellis finally piped up. Everyone nodded in agreement for the umpteenth time. "My memories of details from when I was a child fade a little more every year, but from what I can remember, Avarielle looks just like Giselle when she was born." Ellis tilted her head to one side, reminiscent and rueful. "So beautiful," she repeated. "She'll be an amazing woman someday, just like her mother."

"No doubt about that," Caroline replied, turning her head to look upon Ellis' profile.

The older woman sensed the eyes on her face and turned to meet them. The pair smirked and nodded; sharing somewhat of a bond for the first time. It was as if finally putting down their weapons, their defenses. The petty tiffs between each other just seemed moot now. They were lucky to share in the life of a sister, and now they were lucky to share in the life, growth and development of their shared niece.

They all focused their attention back upon Avarielle, and just smiled at the preciousness that was life.



Giselle sat, half propped up in her hospital bed, wincing as she lifted her very lethargic-feeling right arm, to touch her eyelid on the same side. There was a very dull, yet prominent pain behind her right eye. She turned her head and focused on the clock on the table beside her bed. It was about twenty past one, or looked like that's what the clock read.

She knew it was only about a half hour since the doctor had checked on her last and said she was fine; the lethargy she was feeling was just due to the stress and exhaustion of labor and childbirth.

But now her vision was blurry. She squinted, hoping that would help, but a sudden, sharp pain in her head jerked her attention away from her blurred eyesight. She opened her mouth as to gasp, but no sound came out except a low breathy moan that was practically inaudible. Her body began to shake a little and then it slowed gradually, as her eyes closed.

Giselle woke up about an hour later, unaware she had lost consciousness at all. It felt as if it had only been a moment, until she focused on the clock once more. Her vision was still blurred but she could definitely tell that the clock said it was about half past two in the morning now. The pain in her head was still there. It felt like the worst headache of her life.

Breathing heavily, she focused her eyesight on the door and reached her tired hand for the buzzer, to get a nurse into her room.

"Ava..." she muttered, suddenly wanting to see her baby girl again. It felt as if a sense of realization hit her and calm overtook her. For a serene moment, she smiled, albeit sadly. "Oh, Ava, my baby. I love you so..."

And then...her body began to shake again. The buzzer, which her hand was reaching for, was now forgotten. The shaking was rigid, her eyes rolled upward, her mouth was parted slightly.

In less than a minute's time, Giselle's shaking stopped.

And so did her heart, her breath, her brain function.

Her life.



It was two-forty in the morning and Billie Joe had finally gone home, after giving Tre a big hug and congratulating him once more. Ellis had asked him if he wouldn't mind driving her to the hotel where she'd booked a room, but Tre had insisted she be dropped off at his house. He even gave her his house key; telling her to leave the door unlocked. He'd be home later to get some sleep before returning to the hospital as soon as possible.

Now, it was only Tre and Caroline who remained, still at the window looking in at the nursery. Avarielle had fallen asleep now and a nurse was floating around the 'plastic bassinets,' checking on all the newborns; stopping to pick up a baby boy who was starting to fuss. The pair watched the nurse walk over to a rocking chair and rock the child in her arms.

They smiled.

"Fussy babies are cuter when they belong to other people," Tre joked.

Caroline laughed and nodded. "Ain't that the truth," she agreed. "It might be masochistic, but I kinda enjoy it when infants cry. They get all red, their lips quiver and it's as if the whole world is out to get them."

"Drama queens."

Caroline laughed again. "Yeah, something like that."

Standing there for a few more moments, in silence, the sound of heavy footsteps nearing them drew their attentions to the right. Caroline was the first to look over to take in the sight of the doctor who had delivered Avarielle.

His expression was stern, yet remorseful and a heavy feeling enveloped the pit of Caroline's chest and stomach. She hoped it was because he was as tired as they were but unable to sleep.

She hoped.

She prayed.

"Mr. Wright," the doctor spoke, addressing Tre.

Tre sized the doctor up and was prepared to shake his hand, again thanking him for delivering his baby girl. But he noticed the look on the other man's face and his heart fluttered nervously.

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind sitting down with me?" he inquired, gesturing to the empty waiting room just down the hall.

Tre was hesitant and looked to Caroline, who nodded and placed her hand to his elbow. The pair of them acknowledged the doctor's request and followed him to the waiting room, and sat down in adjacent chairs; Tre closer to the doctor and Caroline on the drummer's left.

"What's up, doc?" Tre asked, then stopped to smirk.

The doctor tried to smile at the Bugs Bunny-esque question, but pushed forward with what he meant to say.

"It's your wife," he began. "There's been an unforeseen complication."

Tre tensed. "What kind of complication?"

This was always a hard thing to do for doctors. No matter how many times they've gone through it, experienced it, it never got easier. Only, possibly, harder.

"Giselle suffered a lot of stress during labor and the birth of your daughter," he started to explain further. "It appears during the strain of childbirth, all the pushing and tensing up, created an aneurysm in her brain. It was an incredibly fast development for an aneurysm, and I believe it ruptured a little more than an hour ago."

Caroline gasped. "Oh my God, is she okay?"

"What? Is Giselle--is my wife alright?" Tre demanded.

The doctor licked his lips, and continued. "The ruptured aneurysm caused a subarachnoid hemorrhage, which is a bleeding into the space between the skull bone and the brain. A complication of subarachnoid hemorrhage is vasospasm, in which other blood vessels in the brain contract and limit blood flow to vital areas of the brain. This reduced blood flow can cause stroke or tissue damage. In Giselle's case," the doctor informed, "it caused a stroke."

"Holy shit," Tre groaned. "Tell me she's okay."

Caroline was on edge, gripping Tre's arm with one hand and balling her other hand into a tight fist. She could barely emit a breath, waiting for the medicine man's response.

The doctor frowned and then, slowly, shook his head. "I am very sorry, Mr. Wright. The stroke your wife suffered was fatal. We rushed to her aid when the EKG monitor signaled her flat-lining. We did everything in our power, but we were unable to resuscitate her."

"You're lying," Tre growled out of fear and anger, shaking his head. "Giselle can't be dead. We just had a daughter together!" He stood up suddenly and pointed in the direction of the nursery with a sharp fierceness. "My daughter needs her mother!" A beat. "I need her mother. She's my wife, the fucking air I breathe and you're telling me she's dead?"

The doctor nodded, grimly. "Again, I'm sorry." There was really nothing more he could say. Without another word, he stood up and gave his leave.

Leaving a now sobbing Caroline with her stunned and distraught brother-in-law.

"This can't be happening. It's all a horrible, horrible prank," Tre insisted. "She's not dead. Sh-she probably set this up." Tre looked down at Caroline. "Giselle can have a sick and twisted sense of humor when she wants."

"He wasn't lying, Tre. This isn't something someone jokes about," she whimpered through her tears.

Tre shook his head, sinking to his chair and beginning to cry as well. Hunched forward, his sobs racked his body like a jackhammer breaking through thick concrete. Several cries came out in mere horrified gasps as he reached to his side and immediately clung to Caroline, who clung back.

This was way too much to process, to accept.

Caroline couldn't believe the sister she'd grown up with, shared all her secrets and childhood memories with, was dead. That they would never share another secret or memory ever again.

Her sister, her best friend, the mother of her newborn niece.

Gone.

Tre could barely comprehend the loss, either. The only woman who seemed to get him in his entirety would no longer share his bed or walk throughout their home. He'd never hear her footsteps, voice or laughter again. He'd never look into those beautiful blue eyes, touch her soft skin, or smell the sweet scent of her usually wayward curly hair. What was possibly worse, their daughter would grow up without her; would never be held or sung lullabies to.

His wife, his best friend, the mother of his newborn daughter.

Gone.

In less than a year, they lost two of the most important people in their lives.

Mike and Giselle.

If God exists, he is cruel.

Why take good people, so young, with so much left to do and to leave behind so many people who still need them?

What kind of sick joke is that?

Sobbing together, barely taking a pause to catch a breath, Tre and Caroline sat there in the waiting room, nurturing the sudden blow and grieving the loss.



Lightning crashes, a new mother cries
This moment she's been waiting for
The angel opens her eyes
Pale blue colored iris
Presents the circle
And puts the glory out to hide, hide...