WITH THAT THOUGHT, his focus expanded again, involuntarily, and he became aware of the body between.
The pain was gone.
He took a deep breath.
The air was cold. He was outside. He could hear the sounds of people milling about, a police or ambulance radio, voices.
"I'm his son."
He opened his eyes. A paramedic smiled down at him, reasuring.
Daniel's face appeared over the paramedic's shoulder. A lawyer's face. Daniel always carried the authority of his profession.
"Just take it easy, Dad. They're going to take you to the hospital."
He felt a great upswelling of love and connection. It was always that way when he saw one of his children. He wished they could both be here.
His consciousness expanded again.
Suddenly, he was Daniel. Not Daniel, individually, but a larger whole, that included Daniel, as well as himself—and Emily, his daughter, half a continent away, and Susan, his wife: even though she had been gone for twelve years.
It was like the jump from his fingertip to his hands. He was still conscious of his own body, his own sensations, but not as specifically—only as parts of the family.
He remembered his thumb and finger, then, and focussed, experientially, on Emily.
She woke with a start. Then, not wanting to disturb Jerry, she slipped out from under his arm and got quietly out of bed.
What was it?
She slipped into her robe, and wandered out into the living room, to sit on the couch.
Something. Something important. She was sure of it.
She had the strangest feeling it was connected with Dad. What time was it in California? She looked at the clock on the DVD player.
His consciousness expanded again, and he was the whole family again—not the daughter, not the father, not any one of the fingers, but the whole hand. He narrowed his focus to the father.
"What's going on?" Daniel looked very worried.
The paramedic was filling a syringe.
"You're going to have to step back and give us room, sir."
Daniel backed off. Jeanine, Daniel's wife, handed him a cell phone.
"It's Emily. She wants to know if Norm's all right."
Daniel took the phone, confused.
"But how did she...?"
Janine shook her head.
Fingers and hands, angels dancing on pins.
The paramedic was injecting him. The poor young man looked almost as worried as Daniel and Janine. He closed his eyes, and floated, somewhere between the family and himself.
Location is a matter of focus. But Susan had been there, had been part of the whole.
Was time a matter of focus, as well?
Another leap upwards.