Panagia Day

by Eleni (Lenni) Kmiec (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown Greece

The dirt-beaten linoleum tile is speckled with blood. August 15th. Panagia Day in Greece. The celebration of the Virgin Mary’s ascent into heaven. As I stare at the bad omen on the floor, I conclude that my mother’s trip to Greece might end in her own final ascent today. I often look for irony in traumatic situations. It lightens the mood. The day started in Parian paradise. My brother, father and I took in a healthy breakfast and an even healthier ocean view as the locals paraded down the street, stoically bearing large Byzantine-style icons. Greek church officials donning black robes waded through narrow streets filled with tourists dressed in floral rompers and floppy sunhats. I was among the latter now, having left the Greek Orthodox church after my grandmother passed away. I proclaimed myself an atheist in my early twenties. My mother stayed behind that morning. We knew she hadn’t been feeling well the majority of the trip. Her doctor's told her she was not fully recovered from her recent upper-respiratory infection, but she had refused to listen. My brother, father and I found a moment of peace on the neighboring island of Antiparos that afternoon. I normally feared the ocean, (far too many deep-sea dwelling creatures surfaced after the 2004 Tsunami and I was not comfortable sharing the ocean with them) but here, I gave permission for the sky-reflecting water to envelop my body. I emerged, safe from sea monsters, in an all too shallow sandbar to find my brother frantically waving from the shore. His phone was in his hand. ‘Mom is having a heart attack, Lenni! She’s dying.’ The beach bar server got in touch with emergency personnel on Paros as I folded like origami on the beach listening to my mother’s sputtered breathing on the other end of our wi-fi connected call. Our family is accustomed to miserable vacations, but this was an authentic Greek Tragedy (I warned you about the irony). The line was cut short as I heard the landlady enter our vacation rental on the other end. I was accepting the universe’s cruelty as I stared into a magnificent mountainous coastline. The doctor at the clinic could not have been older than twenty-four. The fear in his voice told us that he was not accustomed to dealing with complicated medical histories like my mother’s (a pacemaker, 90% heart block, congestive heart failure, a history of cancer, and a recent double hospitalization for pneumonia). My mother was not stable and her condition was too critical for the clinic to handle. Arrangements were made for a small emergency boat to take her to the closest island with a hospital, but there was only room for one of us. My father insisted he go. The doctor let us know that he would do his best, but that she was going through oxygen quickly. ‘Please keep my mom alive,’ my brother’s smoky voice rattled as tears streamed into his burly beard. The young doctor’s own eyes squinted uncomfortably with tears. ‘I will do my best. I am sorry.’ It was when we were ushered out of the examining room that I saw the blood. There had been a motorbike accident during the holiday festivities, and there was not enough room at the clinic to manage the number of injuries. The journey would take an hour or so and my father would contact us as soon as he arrived and found wi-fi. We headed back to the house desperately clinging to one another. The local fishing boats lit up in the night like little constellations of stars. Explosions rattled my chest as the sky filled with celebratory fireworks. The grande finale. As I searched the lights for a sign of hope, I found myself whispering, ‘Hail Mary full of Grace the Lord is with thee…Panagia, Panagia.’ When I opened my eyes my father’s profile picture blazed from my phone screen. I held my breath as I waited for the voice on the other end. ‘She made it.’ The peace I found in the Antiparos waters came over me, drowning out the knocking of fireworks in my heart.