A Father's Journey

CHAPTER 1

He knew this day would come; a hardened fact William Stewart could not change. His heart sank heavily because he knew there was nothing more to be done. To William, standing between his two sons, John and Luke, holding their trembling hands did not seem to be reassuring enough. Nevertheless, he hoped somehow that his being there would ease his children’s grief. But William felt vulnerable, helpless, although he didn’t consider himself weak. His sons’ eyes were full of tears, and all he wanted to do was console and protect them, to ease their sorrow amid a small gathering of their family and friends. Everyone listened respectfully to Father Tim O’Malley’s sacred prayer during a time of despair and meditation, a time to reflect upon the life of Anna Stewart.

It was a dreary April morning. Misty rain saturated the pale sky with a milky glow, gently sprinkling the sparse crowd of mourners as they stood in their silent bereavement before a finely polished coffin. Dozens of vibrant floral arrangements lay draped across the center of an elongated mahogany casket. Dew droplets formed by the early mist clung desperately to every floral petal, stem, and greenery. William took in a deep breath. The Atlantic Ocean was near; a light breeze transported its familiar scent throughout the shady Newport meadow. William glanced down at the boys and drew them nearer, as if to shelter them from the gloomy elements. He remembered how incredibly proud and thankful he was the day they were born, especially Luke. A series of complications had emerged with Anna during the delivery, as her newborn son was being removed from his mother, forcing the pediatrician to order a blood transfusion for her. A nurse hurried to a nearby phone and hastily requested two units of Anna’s type from the hospital’s blood bank.

After his initial examination of the infant, the physician declared Luke a healthy baby, weighing just over nine pounds, although he did weigh a few ounces less than his older brother had at birth. But in the ensuing chaos, unknowingly to the attending specialist, the nurses, and the rest of the pediatric staff, the technician working at the plasma storage center was more concerned with ending his shift on time than concentrating on the crucial task at hand. He mistakenly sent HIV-tainted blood bags to the operating room and because of the carelessness of that medical catastrophe, Anna Stewart subsequently became infected with the HIV virus. Several years passed before Anna was notified of the medical blunder. By then, however, the virus had advanced into Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome or AIDS. She eventually succumbed to its undiscriminating force. Of course, knowledge of the AIDS virus and its deadly effects in those days was still in its first decade of discovery.

But it was amid the dwindling weeks of her terminal illness that William and Anna, whose marriage was over by more than a year, agreed to resolve their custody struggle over John and Luke, reaching a comparably platonic understanding on behalf of their children, a decision that eventually led to a decisive reconciliation of their fundamental differences; a decision that ultimately dispersed the emotional conflict created by their marital discord. Sadly, the emotional clarity that existed between William and his former wife during her final days was short-lived, but it allowed them to rekindle a portion of the unconditional love and assurance they once shared.

William could do nothing more on that somber morning than watch as his first love was gently laid to rest near her favorite place: The Cliffs at White Shoal. Local residents refer to the protruding seascape as it overlooked the Atlantic as “The Point,” because of its natural proximity near the northern point of the famed Newport Cliff Walk. The access walkway spanned three and a half miles along the Atlantic shore, providing pedestrians with an intimate portrait of the shoreline’s picturesque vistas. With the exception of The Walk, there was no other place along Rhode Island’s coastal waterways or the entire Eastern Shore for that matter, that heralded such mystical splendor as The Cliffs. It was one of the most magnificent geographical formations in nature. It also provided visitors with a grand overlook of the Lilliputian seaside resort. Newport was once the fabled hamlet of the America’s Cup race. The city carried on a century’s old tradition as the home of America’s blue blood, the gilded-aged privileged whose famed “Summer Cottages” now serving the community as tourists’ destinations, were perceived as some of the finest architectural treasures rarely seen anywhere else in the world. As a little girl, Anna and her family would leave behind the opulence of their Cambridge manor for the tiny state’s breezy shores, having spent quite a few of their summer vacations sailing, socializing, and exploring its historic districts. Of all the enchanting locations the world had to offer, William knew, that for Anna, The Cliffs at White Shoal served as her own private sanctuary, a place of joy and tranquility, a place where she had often escaped while her parents were off mingling at some of the extravagantly exclusive, “by invitation only” social events. After what she deemed an appropriate elapse of time, Anna would slip away from their rented cottage and rush off to the cliff side, spending many of her days and nights gazing over the miles of ocean before her, mystified by the sight, and listening to the soothing rhythm of the mystic sea. It was from there she often contemplated her life’s future. Of course, her mother and father felt she was simply wasting her youth, fantasizing over what might be.

It was the summer after her first year of college. She had been consumed by an overwhelming sense of joy the day she introduced her new boyfriend and fellow Emerson College student, William Stewart, to the mammoth precipice.