Choosing to SEE

by Mary Beth Chapman

  “Mom!” she screamed. “Will hit Maria with the car!”

  I ran down the few steps to the garage and rounded the corner toward the driveway. Will was holding Maria, crying and pleading for her to wake up. Both of them were covered in blood.

  “Mom!” Will screamed. “I hit her with the car!”

  “Call 911!” I yelled. “Get your dad!”

  I took Maria from Will. She was limp, like she was asleep. I ran across the driveway and laid her down in the grass. There was a puddle of blood about four feet in diameter on the driveway. Blood was streaming from her ears, her nose, her mouth. I tried to clear as much of it from her mouth as possible and started rescue breathing. I was afraid to compress her chest; because of the blood, I didn’t know what bones might be broken. I just tried to breathe for her. But she wasn’t responding.

  Will was in shock. He couldn’t dial 911. Later we would find his cell phone broken into a million pieces where he’d thrown it.

  I stopped rescue breathing for a second. I was screaming and pounding my fist into the ground, yelling for help, yelling for God to save her, yelling for time to rewind.

  Steven came around the back corner of the house, still talking on his cell phone to Jim Houser. He saw me covered in blood. Jim heard him say, “Oh my God!” and then heard the cell phone being dropped in the grass and the sound of screaming.

  Steven ran to me and Maria.

  “Will hit her with the car!” I cried. Steven picked Maria up and carried her to a rug on the floor right outside our back door in the garage. He took over the rescue breathing while I ran into the kitchen and called 911 on the home phone.

  “911,” a woman’s voice said. “What is your emergency?”

  “The first thing you need to do is dispatch LifeFlight!” I screamed. “My little girl has been hit by a car and it’s really bad . . . my husband’s working on her.”

  The dispatcher told me to slow down.

  “Look,” I said, “this is a trauma situation and we will need Life-Flight! Please, believe me, get LifeFlight here! Help me, oh my God, please help me!”

  The 911 operator dispatched all the various rescue vehicles, even as she was telling me what to tell Steven.

  Steven did everything I told him to do. He rescue-breathed and did chest compressions. I kept hearing him beg Stevey Joy to breathe.

  “Steven!” I yelled. “It’s not Stevey Joy! It’s Maria!”

  It was awful. Because of the blood, his panic, and the fact she was wearing a tutu, Steven had assumed it was Stevey Joy, since she was the one who was always dressing up.

  “Is there any response yet?” the dispatcher asked.

  “She’s gurgling,” I cried.

  A paramedic who lives close to us heard the dispatch on the scanner. He was the first responder to pull into our driveway.

  “Is the ambulance there?” the dispatcher asked me.

  “No! Not yet!” I sobbed. “Is LifeFlight coming? Are they coming?”

  I saw the paramedic getting out of his truck in the driveway. I ran toward him and grabbed his arm. “You’ve gotta save my little girl!” I screamed over and over.

  “You’ve gotta calm down and show me where she is!” he yelled. I pulled him around the corner and into the garage. He took over working on Maria.

  Will was running down the driveway and across the yard. Shaoey was chasing him, crying and yelling for him to stop. Caleb came tearing out of the house. He ran after Will and tackled him on the grass by the pond in front of our house.

  “I can’t stay here!” Will was screaming. “Why was she taking a nap on the driveway?”

  He was in shock. Caleb held his brother on the ground, using all his strength to hold him down. Will was struggling, fighting back. He just wanted to get away.

  “Where would you go?” Caleb yelled. “We love you! It’s gonna be okay!”

  I somehow called my friend Lori, whose daughter had been killed in a car crash nine years earlier.

  Jim Houser, who had been talking with Steven until he dropped his phone in the grass, had called David Trask, Steven’s road manager. David lived close enough to be able to get to our house within a few minutes.

  Caleb grabbed at Will’s shirt, which was covered in blood. “We’ve got to get this off of you,” he cried.

  “No!” Will sobbed. “Everyone needs to know that I’m the one that did this!” He wrestled against his brother. “I did this!”

  Caleb grabbed Will’s white V-neck undershirt, tore it off of him, wadded it up, and threw it into the pond.

  Steven’s brother Herbie, who’d been up at our barn, came running. After he realized what was happening, he got hold of Shaoey and went to look for Stevey Joy, who’d gone missing in all the chaos. He eventually found her curled up in a ball, as small as she could get, under her desk in the room she shared with Maria.

  David arrived. Herbie, weeping, told him what had happened. David ran to Will, who collapsed in his arms. David held him. He, of all people, knew what Will was going through. When David was seventeen, he was driving down a crowded street and a little boy darted into traffic. David had hit him . . . fatally.

  Will sobbed as he lay in David’s lap. David stroked his hair. “Maria is in God’s hands, Will. She’s in God’s hands.”

  Sirens. The ambulance arrived, pulling up the driveway and around to the back. They loaded Maria onto a stretcher while continuing to work on her. The LifeFlight helicopter landed in a neighbor’s field down the street; our property didn’t have a clear enough landing area.

  Rick, a friend who’d been taking a walk, came running up our driveway. “Let me drive you to the hospital,” he said. We loaded into our minivan, Lori and me in the back, Steven up front.

  A policeman appeared as we were getting into the van. He wanted to see Steven’s driver’s license. “Were you driving the car that hit your daughter?” he asked.

  “No,” Steven said. “My son was, but you are not talking with him right now.”

  As we followed the ambulance down the driveway, we saw David holding Will in the front yard. Steven lowered his window.

  “Will Franklin!” Steven yelled at the top of his voice, though he wouldn’t even remember this later. “Just remember, your father loves you!”

  We pulled out of the driveway. We drove past the place where the paramedics were loading Maria into the helicopter. It felt so weird, driving past our daughter . . . but we couldn’t go on the helicopter with her. The best thing we could do was get to the hospital as soon as possible.

  Our friend drove as fast as he could from our home in Franklin toward Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville, but it was rush hour and traffic was crawling. In the front seat, Steven beat his fist on the window over and over as hard as he could, praying out loud for God to please, please breathe life into Maria, breathe life into Maria.

  I was in the backseat next to my friend Lori, crying, screaming, praying, and calling people on my cell phone. David Trask was driving Caleb and Will to the hospital. Caleb had called Emily; she had just gotten off work. She picked up Tanner, and they were heading to the hospital. They knew nothing other than Maria had been hit by a car.

  Finally, finally, in the crawl of rush hour traffic, we arrived at Vanderbilt.

  As we came into the emergency room, we were walking in slow motion. I saw someone curled up on the floor of the waiting room, crying. I saw my brother Jim and his wife Yolanda, the Lipscomb family, Reggie and Karen Anderson, Chris and Miriam Chesbro, and several other friends. Everyone was just standing there looking at us . . . a moment frozen in time. Then I saw one of our pastors, our friend Mike Smith, walking toward Steven and me.

  At about the same time a hospital staff person came up to us as well. “You need to come this way, with me,” she said.

  I started backing up.

  “No! No!” I screamed. “No, I don’t want to go that way, please, no!”

  I think I knew in my heart that Maria was gone, but I was hoping that the L
ifeFlight team had been able to either resuscitate her or keep her breathing. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening. I kept trying to wake myself up.

  They took us to a small room beyond the ER. The doctors who had worked on Maria were there, along with several nurses. They told us that while they had done everything they could, Maria had, in fact, passed away.

  “No!” I screamed. I fought the nurses and doctors to get out of that room.

  “No!”

  They eventually walked us to the trauma room where they had worked on Maria. They had already disconnected most of the equipment that had been used to try to save her life. She was just lying there, like she was asleep. The only mark on her was a small abrasion on the side of her forehead.

  “Oh, God!” Steven cried. “Breathe life into Maria! You can bring her back to life! Please bring her back to life!” He knew God could do that if He chose to.

  I knew that too. But something inside me also knew that God had healed Maria in a way we didn’t want. I went up behind my husband and gently put my hand on his back.

  “We’ve got to let her go, Sweetie,” I whispered. “It’s okay to let her go. It’s time to let her go.”

  Somehow in that unthinkable moment it became clear to Steven and me that we were standing at the very door of heaven, placing our little girl carefully in the arms of Jesus, desperately trusting that she would be safe there until we could come and join her.

  Somewhere in the distance I heard Steven’s voice explaining to those in the room that this was an eternal moment, and how everything in this life really comes down to this moment for each of us.

  “As crazy as this seems right now,” he said, “the only thing I can say to honor the life of my little girl and our terrible loss at this moment is to ask you, please don’t miss this . . . we will all stand here one day and face eternity. If you don’t know the One who can give you eternal life, His name is Jesus . . . you need to meet Him and you really need to meet my little girl in heaven . . . she’s amazing.”

  Steven and I bent over and kissed Maria’s forehead. My hand shook uncontrollably as I stroked her face and tucked her hair back behind her ear one last time. Then we walked out to meet our friends and begin our long journey of grieving and waiting until we would pass through heaven’s door ourselves. Heaven is the face of a little girl

  “Heaven Is The Face”

  Words and music by Steven Curtis Chapman

  With dark brown eyes

  That disappear when she smiles

  Heaven is the place

  Where she calls my name

  Says, “Daddy, please come play with me for a while”

  God, I know, it’s all of this and so much more

  But God, You know, that this is what I’m aching for

  God, You know, I just can’t SEE beyond the door

  So right now

  Heaven is the sound of her breathing deep

  Lying on my chest, falling fast asleep while I sing

  And Heaven is the weight of her in my arms

  Being there to keep her safe from harm while she dreams

  And God, I know, it’s all of this and so much more

  But God, You know, that this is what I’m longing for

  And God, You know, I just can’t SEE beyond the door

  Heaven is a sweet, maple syrup kiss

  And a thousand other little things I miss with her gone

  Heaven is the place where she takes my hand

  And leads me to You

  And we both run into Your arms

  Oh God, I know, it’s so much more than I can dream

  It’s far beyond anything I can conceive

  So God, You know, I’m trusting You until I SEE

  Heaven in the face of my little girl

  23

  Not As It Should Be

  We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us;

  we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.

  C. S. Lewis

  Time stopped.

  We could barely breathe. I walked slowly out to the hall, where the rest of the family was waiting. Our pastors were there too.

  Some other part of my brain took over. “I need Caleb, Emily, Julia, Ruthy, Tanner, Danny, and Melissa,” I said.

  Steven was holding on to Will as the rest of our family filtered into the little room. I told our children that their sister was no longer with us. Tears. Disbelief. Pain.

  There was screaming. Crying. Rocking back and forth in anguish. Desperate hugs as we held each other up. Steven, Caleb, and our pastors holding on to Will. Collapse.

  “I’m going to go tell everyone else,” I said. Emily and Tanner came with me to the emergency room waiting area where friends had gathered. People were on the floor praying, waiting, hoping. My brother came next to me. He held me up.

  “Maria didn’t make it,” I said.

  People have told me I was calm, that I quoted Scripture, and that I gave them all a real sense of hope. I don’t remember.

  Emily and Tanner actually started leading everyone in singing a praise song.

  I went back to the other room and the rest of my family. I passed members of Steven’s management team huddled together, tears rolling down their faces as they made decisions for us about how to handle the media.

  Maria’s body – her shell – was taken to a private room and covered with a soft blanket. I sat quietly with her as our closest friends and family streamed in to say goodbye. After everyone had gone, Steven and I prayed and kissed her goodbye.

  I asked for a few minutes alone with her. I wanted to hold her, but I didn’t know that I was allowed to. I consciously gave her back to the One who had allowed us to have her in the first place. But then I felt stabs of guilt. Had I let Maria down? Was this my fault because I was “busy”? I tried to talk with God louder and louder as I felt the voice of the Accuser become louder and louder inside of me.

  Finally, in all my tears and anguish, it was time to leave without my baby girl. One last kiss.

  Will asked if he could be alone with her for a little while. I stood outside the door, watching through a small rectangular window as Maria’s hero and big brother wept over her. I never asked him what he said.

  Then Geoff and Jan Moore took Steven and me by the hands and walked us out of the hospital. They drove us back to Franklin, to our church. Everyone who had been at the hospital had gathered there, as well as hundreds of other people. I saw dozens of high school kids all sitting close together in a hallway, completely quiet. They were there for Will and Caleb.

  My best friends were there for me too. Karen, Jan, Terri, and Lori took me into the ladies’ room.

  “Sweetie, you need to take off your clothes,” Karen said gently but firmly.

  I was in a daze. I didn’t even really know where I was. I didn’t realize that my clothes were completely stained with Maria’s blood and that it would upset people – especially Shaoey and Stevey Joy – to see me this way.

  “What?”

  Karen told me they had asked Grace and Wendy to go to our house and get clean clothes for me.

  “I don’t want to wait,” I said. “I need to see all these people who have come here for us! Can you guys give me your clothes?”

  They would have given me anything. I stripped off my shirt as Jan took off her blouse to give to me. But my bra was saturated with blood.

  “Take your bra off,” someone said.

  “No one will see it,” I said.

  “Take it off now,” my friends said. “We are going to throw it away.”

  Terri stripped off her own bra and handed it to me. Someone else gave me their pants. It was almost funny.

  “Okay,” I said to my friends. “You wait here for Grace and Wendy to bring clothes so you can come out of the bathroom!”

  Once I was dressed, I walked outside as Steven’s brother Herbie and his wife Sherri pulled up outside with Shaoey and Stevey Joy. Stevey Joy had changed her clothes;
she was wearing a lime green T-shirt I’d never seen before. It read, “Heaven is better.”

  Steven and I held our girls tightly and carried them to a grassy area under a tree, which offered a bit of separation from all the people arriving at the church.

  We knelt with them on the grass.

  “Where is Maria? How bad was she hurt?” Shaoey asked.

  “Did they have to put a Band-Aid on her?” Stevey Joy added.

  “You know what?” I whispered, my throat raw with pain. “She was hurt really bad. She was hurt so bad that Jesus came and took her to heaven where she will never hurt again.”

  “It’s like Maria has gone on a really long trip,” Steven added.

  “It’s going to be a long time before we see her again, but we will see her again!”

  We held the girls for a while as they sobbed against our chests, Steven and I crying along with them. Finally, we prayed together and walked toward the church. I was carrying Stevey Joy, and Shaoey was holding tightly to my leg. This is not how it should be

  “Our God Is In Control”

  Words and music by

  Steven Curtis Chapman

  and Mary Beth Chapman

  This is not how it could be

  But this is how it is

  And our God is in control

  This is not how it will be

  When we finally will SEE

  We’ll SEE with our own eyes

  He was always in control

  This is not where we planned to be

  When we started this journey

  But this is where we are

  And our God is in control

  Though this first taste is bitter

  There will be sweetness forever

  When we finally taste and SEE

  That our God is in control

  24

  SEE

  Right now all I can taste are bitter tears And right now all I can SEE are clouds of sorrow From the other side of all this pain Is that you I hear? Laughing loud and calling out to me? Saying SEE, it’s everything you said that it would be And even better than you would believe And I’m counting down the days until you’re here with me And finally you’ll SEE