“Really? This week?” I had to tell Emily. “Just a minute.” I told my sister the news. She grabbed the phone. “Mommy! You’re coming home?” she burst out.
I watched my sister’s eyes dance with anticipation, and though I didn’t realize it at first, I began to breathe more steadily. Even the knot in my stomach was easing up.
The pact was paying off!
I didn’t even notice Daddy step off the elevator, I was so excited. He came over and stood next to me, waiting for Emily to say good-bye.
“Give me a hug,” he said, wrapping his arms around both of us. “What kind of father forgets his little girls?”
“You’re the best father ever, Daddy,” Emily said as we headed for the door.
“The very best,” I echoed.
“Tomorrow, we’ll come again. And you’ll get to see Mommy,” he told us. “She’ll go to the sunroom and wave from the window.”
If only I could see the sunroom for myself. What a beautiful place it must be! I could just picture Mommy there. Reclining on pillows propped against a wicker chaise lounge. Soaking up life—
giving rays of sunlight . . . breathing in air freshened by the many lush plants around her. Growing stronger each day till she was able to stand, unassisted, and wave vigorously to Emmy and me. “Come, my darlings! Take me home!” she would say. “God has answered our prayers!”
“Goody!” Emily said, breaking my train of thought.
I was just as thrilled as my sister but responded the way a young lady might. “It’ll be wonderful to see her.”
“What should we wear?” Emily asked, tugging on Daddy’s coat sleeve all the way out to the car.
“Whatever you like, honey.”
I had a great idea. “Let’s wear our matching dresses.” We had mother-daughter dresses but hadn’t worn them for weeks—not since Mommy’s illness.
“We could bring our gifts from Aunt Mimi and show Mommy . . .from the parking lot,” Emily suggested.
“Yes . . . let’s!” I said.
“Then it’s settled.” Daddy opened the car door and we climbed in. But he wasn’t as jovial as he might’ve been—about us seeing Mommy. I hoped he wasn’t discouraged over having forgotten us. Knowing Daddy, he probably was.
I made sure that Emily was asleep long before I whispered my prayers that night. The faceless doll lay next to me on the pillow, and as strange as it seemed, I delighted in having her near. She was comforting to me in much the same way as Mommy’s button jars, her bed pillow, and the matching dresses she’d made for my sister and me.
In that moment of reflection, I knew what was attracting me to the doll. She had become a substitute for Mommy’s listening ear. Aunt Mimi had chosen well.
“Pst! Emmy, are you awake?” Didn’t hurt to double-check.
I waited, listening for a giggle . . . anything. Good. It was safe to talk out loud to God, not to the doll, even though my sister had become thoroughly confused about it. Thank goodness I’d never mentioned the pact in my bedtime prayers.
I was desperate to unlock my soul to my heavenly Father. He’d created me with music in my fingers and in my heart, then had prompted me to give it all up, and now I needed Him to help fill the void, the gnawing ache inside me. Because not playing the piano was starting to make me sick. Not sick like Mommy’s cancer or Sister Stauffer’s bad cold, but sick in spirit, I suppose.
A big part of me was missing. And the longer I went without making music, the worse I felt.
“Dear Lord, I don’t have to keep reminding You, but eight days have passed since I last played the piano. Can you help me find something else that brings as much joy? Something that will help me express myself—the real me—again? I’m Your faithful girl. Amen.”
The prayer sounded hollow . . . selfish, too, as I lay thinking about it. I stared at the night sky, missing Mommy and yearning to see her face through the sunroom window.
“Tomorrow,” I whispered, holding up the Amish doll to listen to the stars. “Tomorrow’s the day.”
Chapter 14
Never had the hours of a day stretched out so long. My homeroom teacher had gotten wind of the standoffish cliques in the 7-Y section. She also took me aside and said she was sorry to hear that my mother was ill.
“No student should have to suffer like this at school.” Her eyes were soft as doves. “I’m going to put a stop to it.”
It was a lovely thing she was attempting to do, but unless she knew how to handle the catty girls who’d started all the morbid talk . . . Well, the whole thing seemed rather hopeless to me. Still, I appreciated her interest and told her so.
“You’re welcome to talk to me anytime, Becky. I’m here for you, okay?”
“Thank you,” I said. Too bad she hadn’t thought to take out an ad in the school paper. Maybe that would convince the entire seventh grade that Becky Owens was not the plague!
It was late afternoon when we pulled into the hospital parking lot. Shadows and light played off the trees and parked cars interchangeably, and I was the first one to squint up at the third floor of the building.
“Which window?” I asked.
“There.” Daddy pointed. “See those in the corner? Now, count past two more, to the left.”
I wondered why we hadn’t brought binoculars. Trying to find an obscure figure in the window this far away wasn’t my idea of “seeing Mommy” at all.
The smell of burning leaves was thick in the air, and geese flew in a straight V formation overhead. It bothered me that a siren rang out in the distance, penetrating the stillness and my concentration.
“Does she know we’re here?” I asked, fidgeting.
Daddy didn’t bother to check his watch. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor above.
And then . . . there she was, standing at the window, a nurse on either side of her.
“See her?” Daddy nearly shouted.
Emily jumped up and down. Next thing I knew, my sister was perched on Daddy’s shoulders, waving with both hands. “Does Mommy see us?”
“I’m sure she does,” Daddy replied.
I wasn’t quite as excited as my sister, I guess. Maybe because Mommy looked painfully thin, even in her terry cloth bathrobe. I worried as I saw her lift her hand and wave to us . . . and smile. She just looked so frail, moving her hand back and forth. Like a china doll—one that you didn’t dare touch, only kept out of reach on a high shelf to admire from time to time.
She was gone from view as quickly as she’d come, so quickly that we completely forgot to hold up the gifts from Aunt Mimi to show her.
Emily was bemoaning the fact, but I had a great idea. “Take my Amish doll up to Mommy when you visit her,” I told Daddy as he opened the car door. “That’ll put a smile on her face.”
Emily didn’t mind entrusting her paper doll holder to Daddy’s safekeeping. “Tell Mommy she can look inside if she wants to,” my sister said, relinquishing the cherished pink plastic box.
“Consider it done,” Daddy said, and we followed him into the hospital for another session in the waiting room.
It was as Daddy punched the elevator button that I thought of letting Mommy borrow my doll—”to keep her company till she comes home.”
Daddy nodded. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll get her back pretty soon, won’t I?”
The elevator door opened. “We should know something tonight,”he promised, stepping on.
“I’m praying.”
He threw me a kiss.
Am I always praying? I wondered as I headed back to Emily. The Bible said to pray without ceasing. Did that mean in your subconscious, too?
Last night I’d awakened myself mumbling. I discovered that I was talking in my sleep—to God—and I knew it for sure, because I remembered the last sentence: “Please, Lord, heal Mommy.”
Emily and I were sharing the loveseat closest to the elevator when out of the blue she said, “I hate recess.”
“Don’t say ‘hate.’ ”
; “Well, I do.” And she told me how miserable she was at school. “Are you sure cancer isn’t catching?”
“If it was, everybody at church would have it by now. And what about Daddy? He doesn’t have it, and he sees Mommy every single day.”
“How can you be so sure he doesn’t? He might . . . it might not be showing up.” She looked terribly innocent. Her hair, nearly flaxen, was caught back in a long, wavy ponytail, and those brown eyes, so serious, too direct.
“Trust me, Emmy, you can’t catch it.”
She wrinkled her dainty nose. “Tell that to Janice and Velma.” I closed my book and turned to face her. “You want Daddy to talk to your teacher? I’m sure he will.”
I filled her in on what was happening at the junior high level. “If you have a teacher rooting for you, it’ll make all the difference. At least, that’s what I’m counting on.”
She was silent for a moment. Then—”Is that why you quit piano? Because the choir kids were afraid you’d give them cancer?”
“That’s ridiculous.” I shook my head in disgust. Her middle name should never have been Christine, I decided. “Nosy” fit her much better!
Chapter 15
Wednesday, October 8
Dear Diary,
Mommy’s coming home tomorrow, but it’s not such good news, I fear. Daddy doesn’t know it, but Lee Anne overheard him telling her father that the doctors have done everything they can. They’re sending Mommy home to die.
I think part of me is dying, too.
Where are you, God?
After prayer meeting, Daddy and the elders of the church went to the hospital to anoint Mommy with oil and to pray.
Aunt Audrey went out of her way to drive Emily and me home. She stayed just long enough to see us inside, and afterward, I went around checking the locks on all the doors.
The cats followed me from room to room, acting a bit apprehensive. Maybe they were picking it up from me. To say that I felt uneasy was an understatement. But I never let on to Emily.
Before Daddy arrived home, I’d gathered up two loads of laundry and tucked my sister in bed. That done, I was hoping for a private talk with him. I knew I shouldn’t stay up too late, but it would be impossible to fall asleep until I heard his key turn in the lock.
So I prayed while I waited. Knelt right in front of the piano, leaning on the bench, and talked to God. “It’s me again, Lord. I’m sure You remember what You and I agreed on.”
I couldn’t say anything about the pact out loud, not with Emmy in the bedroom at the top of the stairs, this side of dreamland. I sighed, opening my eyes. The old piano seemed to tower over me, like a tall and menacing soldier.
Quickly, I went back to prayer. “Not everyone gets an earthly healing miracle. I know that. Lots of times You cure people another way—a miraculous but hard way, especially for the loved ones left behind.”
I had to stop for a moment, refusing to cry. This prayer was too important to let emotion choke out my thoughts. The Lord and I needed to work things out.
Getting up, I tiptoed up the steps and peered into the dark bedroom. Relieved that Emily was asleep, I closed the door.
Back at my prayer post, I continued. “I’ve been thinking about the song service tonight. Grandpa beat the rhythm with his hands and asked us to ‘raise the roof,’ but I couldn’t sing much at all because of the lump in my throat. How come everyone else at church can praise You even though Mommy’s so sick?”
I heard Daddy’s Chevy chugging into the driveway. “Well, I better say ‘Amen’ now, Lord. Remember, I’m Your faithful girl. Amen.”
I didn’t have the heart to ask Daddy for some one-on-one time. He looked drained, ready to collapse. “Thanks for helping out tonight,” he said, removing his coat. “Is your sister asleep?”
“Yes, and the clothes are in the spin cycle.”
“You’re a wonderful girl.” He came over and hugged me. “Mommy sends her love. She’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’m counting the hours,” I said, thinking maybe it was a mistake for her to leave the hospital. Where doctors and nurses could monitor her condition. Where they might keep her from dying. . . .
Daddy headed off to bed, and I went downstairs to put the damp clothes in the dryer. While I waited, I read half of the book of Job. It gave me a whole new perspective on the trials of my life. Still, I worried, fearful of what was to come.
Chapter 16
Mommy had already arrived home from the hospital when Emily and I came in from school, eager for our grand reunion.
Daddy supervised our hugs and kisses, making sure we were gentle. And we were, but nothing could keep us too far from her.
We ran to get more pillows, plumping them up on the sofa where she reclined, smiling, obviously happy to be home.
Eager to be with her, to gaze on her face, to see if she looked as pale and frail as I’d remembered, I pulled the rocking chair over next to the sofa. “I thought you’d never come home,” I said.
“Seemed like forever,” Emily agreed.
“Well, we’re all together again,” Daddy said. “And God is good.” Mommy didn’t say much, but her eyes sparkled occasionally, not reflecting vim and vigor, but gladness. She returned the faceless doll and thanked me for loaning her such a good “friend.”
Aunt Audrey came over just before supper with several frozen casserole dinners to stock the freezer and one enormous hot dish, ready to go. She didn’t stay long, but she greeted Mommy and gave me a reassuring hug just before she left.
I followed her outside. “Thank you,” I said. “You’re the best auntie around.”
“Don’t worry now, Becky,” she said in my ear as we hugged. “Give your mother to Jesus, no matter what.”
I nodded, watching as she headed out to the car. She meant well, I knew that. But I couldn’t honestly say that her parting words helped much. Jesus and I had something else planned. Something very different.
Mommy was too weak to come to the table, so we took a tray in to her in the living room, where she sat on the sofa.
“I may not be able to eat much,” she said, eyeing the beef and noodles.
Awkwardly, the three of us stood there, as if doing so might assist her in readjusting.
Daddy spoke up, “If there’s anything you need, we’ll be just around the corner.”
It bothered me that she was still separated from us at mealtime. I don’t think I said one word as we ate, so deep was my pain—my feelings of helplessness.
Worse, Mommy asked me to play my piece for Fall Festival after supper—the Schubert Impromptu she loved. Emily observed closely, waiting to hear what I’d say.
Instead of going to the piano, I went and sat on the floor next to the sofa. “I’d rather be close to you” was all I could manage.
Emily looked my way. So did Daddy. “She’s being weird about the piano,” my sister told on me.
“Now, Emmy,” rebuked Mommy. “Things will get back to normal, in time.”
I cringed. Time’s running out. . . .
Daddy opened the Bible, diverting our attention to God’s Word, away from the potentially volatile subject at hand.
I scarcely heard the devotional, enjoying the sweetness of having Mommy near. Reaching over, I held her hand, leaning my head on her arm as I sat cross-legged on the floor. I felt sick that I couldn’t fill up the air with the music Mommy loved. Couldn’t bring her a few precious moments of joy.
Goldie and Angie made a beeline for me, fussing over who might end up in my lap. Angie won out, but I pulled Goldie over and made room for her, too.
After school the next day, Mommy asked again. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard you play, honey.”
My heart ached with the refusal. I was caught between a pact and my dying mother. What could I do? How could I explain what I’d done—was still doing—to try to save her?
Once again, Daddy intervened as Emily smirked. And I knew I couldn’t go on this way. Something had to give.
&nb
sp; Daddy devoted himself to caring for Mommy day and night, and it seemed he thrilled to the task, though it took its toll on him after several weeks. The burden became almost too heavy for him, and I saw it in the way he walked and the way his eyes lost their sparkle.
My mother was patient and gracious, not one to complain. But there came a time when she began to require round-the-clock assistance. So Aunt Audrey, Aunt Mimi, and several ladies from the church—though they each had families of their own—divided the daylight hours into thirds and began sharing the responsibility.
I, on the other hand, felt useless. Nearly every day Mommy would ask me to play the piano for her. Having to repeat that I simply couldn’t do it was ripping me in two. What was I doing to her? To myself?
One night I overheard her and Daddy talking. “Does Becky seem stubborn to you . . . about her music?” she asked.
I stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, almost wishing it would cave in and crumple me into the floor.
The most haunting words came next. Daddy told her that my heart was broken. “I honestly think Becky’s so worried that she can’t play anymore.” He paused for a moment. “She loves you that much, dear.”I inched forward, listening for Mommy’s reply. She gave a tired little sigh. “Becky must learn to trust. Can you help her with that for me?”
There was an overwhelming stillness. I could only imagine what was taking place in the solitude of their room. But I was sure that Mommy was comforting my father in her own lovely way, sick or not.
Indian summer faded all too quickly. Soon, November was upon us, with its beguiling smells of cinnamon candles, eucalyptus wreaths, and a turkey-flavored Thanksgiving.
December followed close behind with the promise of Christmas. Holy days, Daddy liked to say, and this year, more than any other, I referred to the holidays that way, too.
The Sunroom Page 7