by Karen Ball
Usually that only took a few minutes. Tonight she might stay in those arms for good.
“Did your day go any better?”
With a sigh, she pulled away. “They actually brought the right kind of meal for Mom at dinner, but she was dozing again. Dad and I couldn’t get her awake enough to eat. And when she was awake right before we left, her right shoulder, front and back, was hurting her like crazy.”
Faith rubbed a trembling hand over her burning eyes. “It’s probably muscles and tendons protesting at the use they’re getting. You know, with the physical therapy. I rubbed some topical pain stuff on it, but Zeke, it hurt so much she was in tears. She couldn’t even lift that hand to feed herself. Daddy had to feed her.”
His touch, as he led her to the couch, communicated his sympathy. They sat, and she curled into the shielding circle of his arm.
“How’s your dad holding up?”
Faith rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen the tense muscles. “He’s so tired. He told me when I got to the nursing home this morning that Mom didn’t want him to leave last night. So he stayed until they kicked him out, way after ten. He was so tired when he got home, he didn’t eat. Just went to bed. But he hardly slept.”
She lay her head back, so weary she could hardly think straight. “I’m almost as worried about him as I am about her. His eyes are so full of sorrow.” Her voice choked up, and she cleared her throat to continue. “It’s so hard to see Mom the way she is now. And it’s not only the physical stuff, though that’s bad enough. There are so many indignities she has to endure, and they’re as wearing as the constant physical struggle.”
She pulled her knees to her chest. “I wish I could wave a magic wand and make her all better and strong.”
“That’s not your job, Faith.” Zeke’s quiet words held the ring of truth.
She nodded. “I know.”
“You may not like the way things are going, but you have to believe God knows what’s happening and what’s coming. He’s with your mom. And with you.”
Tears trickled down Faith’s face, and she turned to press into his shoulder. He held her while she cried. When she finally stilled, he smoothed back her hair.
“Speaking of eating, the church folks brought another meal.”
She looked at him. “You’re kidding.”
Their church family had been amazing, visiting her mother in the nursing home, providing her father and them with meals for the whole time her mother had been ill. The food was almost as delicious as the fact that Faith hadn’t had to even think about cooking.
He grinned. “Nope. I think it’s spaghetti. And you need to eat to keep up your strength. So come on.”
Zeke stood, holding out his hand. She took it and let him pull her up. They made their way to the kitchen, but as Faith prepared a plate of delicious-smelling food—as she sat at their kitchen table, so grateful to be in her own home—she couldn’t help thinking of her mother.
Three months. That’s how long her mother had been fighting this physical assault. That’s how long since her mother had been in her own beloved home, the place she’d shared with Dad for almost forty-nine years. Three months since she’d been able to walk well, to breathe without struggle. Three months of one crisis after another.
And if Faith was exhausted, she couldn’t imagine how deep her mother’s weariness and despair went.
The feel of Zeke’s hand on hers pulled her from her dark thoughts. She met his gaze, and the love and tenderness she saw there warmed her suddenly cold heart.
“You want to pray for your mom and dad?”
She couldn’t speak, so she nodded. As they bowed their heads, Faith knew she was blessed among women. Not only did she have the best mother and father in the world, she had the best husband as well.
twenty-nine
“Peace is a journey of a thousand miles
and it must be taken one step at a time.”
LYNDON B. JOHNSON
IT ONLY TOOK TWO DAYS FOR DISASTER TO STRIKE.
Again.
Faith and her dad were at the nursing home with Mom. They’d gone with her to physical therapy, then come back to the room to sit and watch TV together. Mom’s breathing grew more and more ragged as the day wore on. By the afternoon, she couldn’t walk at all, could hardly stand. Faith asked the nurses about it, but they said her mother was fine.
Dad was worried, but both he and her mother didn’t argue with nurses or doctors. They trusted them.
But when Mom’s face turned pasty white, Faith was at the nurses’ desk, demanding to see the administrator. One of the nurses Faith had asked about her mother earlier looked up from the paperwork she was filling out.
“What can we do for you, Mrs. Galine?”
“You can get the administrator.”
“If you’ll tell me what’s wrong—” The woman’s condescending tone and look of strained patience was more than Faith could bear.
“What’s wrong is my mother can’t breathe. What’s wrong is I’ve asked you and two others to come check her oxygen levels, and no one has done so. What’s wrong is my mother is in trouble, and all you seem to care about is your stupid paperwork!”
With that, Faith reached down and snatched the papers from beneath the nurse’s pen. She crumpled the papers in her hand.
“Mrs. Galine!”
The woman was on her feet, but Faith didn’t care. “I told you this morning Mom was acting the way she did before, when fluid was gathering around her lungs and heart.”
“It would be extremely unusual for that to happen again so soon.”
Faith fought back a scream. “Are you listening to me? My. Mother. Can’t. Breathe!” She planted her hands on the desk. “Now either you get on the phone and call the doctor, or I’m taking her out of here. Now!”
“Fine!” The nurse didn’t even try to hide her disgust. Faith didn’t care. All she cared was that she was picking up the phone and dialing.
When the nurse described the symptoms Faith saw in her mother, the doctor ordered her sent immediately to the ER. He was there to meet them when they arrived. He listened to her breathe and ordered X-rays.
Two hours later, Faith’s mom was back in the hospital. Fluid had, indeed, gathered around her heart and lungs again. More than ever before. The doctor said her lung capacity was down to about a quarter of normal.
No wonder she’d struggled so to breathe!
After Mom was settled in her room, Dr. Campbell took Faith and her dad aside. “I’m concerned this has happened three times now since Mrs. Bennett’s heart surgery. Her heart is working well, so that’s not the problem. Which means we have an underlying issue to deal with.”
An underlying issue? Faith went cold. What did that mean?
Dr. Campbell slid his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “We’ll send Mrs. Bennett back to the nursing home tomorrow morning. I’d like to put her on increased doses of diuretic to try and get the fluid out from around the lungs. We’ll do that through the weekend, then reevaluate.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
The doctor looked at Faith’s father, his gaze steady. “Then we’re looking at lung surgery.”
“Another surgery?” Faith’s mind felt like it was going numb. How could her mother endure another surgery? “Is she strong enough?”
“We’ll do everything we can to ensure she is.”
Amazing what little comfort that was.
From: FaithinHim
To: TheCoffeeCrew
Sent: Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Subject: I’m afraid
Friends, Mom doesn’t look good. It terrifies me to admit that, but she doesn’t look good at all. Breathing is such a struggle for her.
When I look at her, this hard lump of dread sits in my gut. Tonight, my heart finally gave in and asked God the question I’ve been doing everything to avoid:
Are we losing her?
I don’t want Him to answer. Because I’m afraid I know what the an
swer is.
And I don’t want to hear it.
Please, be praying for Mom, for Daddy, and for me. Most of all, be praying that God’s will is done. And that we’re able to endure it if His will is not as we hope.
Love,
Faith
The phone call came early Friday morning.
It was Faith’s dad.
As Dr. Campbell had directed, Mom returned to the nursing home. They’d started the regimen of diuretics, which seemed to be helping. Until this morning.
“Your mom went into respiratory distress.” Dad’s voice was trembling. “The nursing home called the EMTs to take her back to the hospital.”
“I’ll be right there, Dad.”
She hung up and turned into Zeke’s arms. Her breath catching on sobs, she told Zeke what was happening.
“I’m going with you to the hospital.”
Faith didn’t argue.
When they walked into her mother’s hospital room, the sight of Mom’s white face … Jesus, please … She steadied her voice. “Hey, Mom.”
Her mother’s smile trembled from behind the oxygen mask. The all-too-familiar sound of oxygen hissing from the tank whispered around them. Faith met her father’s eyes.
“They’ve scheduled your mother for lung surgery today.”
It was a good thing Zeke’s arm was supporting Faith, because her knees went weak at this news.
Just then the nurse came into the room. “You ready for your epidural, Mrs. Bennett?”
Mom’s smile was as sweet as ever. “Sure.”
The nurse moved to place a hand on Mom’s shoulder. “Hon, just so you know, with your breathing depressed the way it is, we can’t give you much pain medication for putting the epidural in. I’m afraid this is going to hurt a bit.” Her gaze lifted to Faith’s father. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you all to step outside.”
Mom reached for Dad’s hand. “I want Jared to stay.”
The nurse’s tone was kind but firm. “I know, Mrs. Bennett, but he can’t. I promise, it will only take a minute. Then he can come back in.”
Faith’s dad kissed her mom, then Faith went to cup her mother’s face, to look into her deep green eyes. Eyes so like her own. Eyes filled with love.
“I love you, Mom.”
Her mother smiled, and that gaspy voice replied, “I love you too, sweetheart. I always will.”
Throat tight, Faith turned and walked with her father and Zeke from the room. Faith put her arm around her father’s shoulders, leaning her head against his arm.
Her father had always seemed taller than anyone else, taller and straighter and stronger. A tall oak that never bent, no matter how fierce the gale. But when he spoke, Faith heard the tremor in his words. “She looked so afraid.”
Faith nodded. “I know, Daddy. She’s been through so much.” She patted him on the shoulder. “It’ll be over soon.”
As though to prove her right, the door to her mother’s room opened, and the nurse looked out. “She’s asking for you, Mr. Bennett.”
They started into the room, and the nurse halted them for a moment. “We’ll be taking her to surgery as soon as she sees you.”
Dad nodded, and they hurried into the room. He went to Mom’s side, taking her trembling hand. Faith could tell her mom had been crying, and that was almost more than she could take.
“Hi there.” Her dad’s soft voice was so full of love. “You okay, hon?”
Mom looked up at him, eyes wide with love and trust, and managed a smile. Her breathless whisper was for Dad alone. “I am now that you’re here.”
Zeke tugged Faith’s arm, and they walked from the room. He drew her into his strong embrace, and when he spoke, emotion roughened his voice. “If anyone ever wonders what real love is, all they have to do is look at those two.”
Amen, Faith thought. Amen.
Unlike her mother’s heart procedure, the lung surgery seemed to go by in a flash. The surgeon came to tell them that, during surgery, they’d drained another litre and a half of fluid from around each lung, but the procedure—inserting a fine talc that would seal areas where the fluids were gathering—was a success.
So why doesn’t he look more encouraged? Faith couldn’t make herself ask the question out loud.
The surgeon pulled off the cap covering his head. “She’s still on a ventilator and may be through the night. She’ll be in ICU for a few days, then will be moved into a regular hospital room. You should be able to see her in about a half hour.”
“Thank you, Dr. Campbell.” Faith’s father held out his hand, and the doctor took it. “For everything.”
The doctor’s eyes seemed shadowed. “I wish I could do more.”
“So do I,” Dad said with a weary smile. “But God’s with Anne, and He will work this out as is best.”
Faith wanted to echo her father’s words, wanted to feel confidence about them. But for once she couldn’t.
What if God’s idea of best wasn’t the same as Faith’s?
When Faith and her father went to the ICU the next day, the nurse didn’t buzz them in as she had the day before. Instead, the doors opened and Winnie and the surgeon came out to meet them.
The look on Winnie’s face told Faith all she needed to know.
The news wasn’t good.
Winnie hugged Faith’s father, then led them to the ICU waiting area. They sat, and Winnie took Faith’s hand as Dr. Campbell explained the situation. “Mrs. Bennett had a bad night. Her blood pressure dropped. Her kidneys have shut down.” He looked at Dad, his gaze level. “Your wife is in a fight for her life.”
Faith couldn’t take it in. She sat there, her hand gripping Winnie’s hand. The doctor had to be mistaken. Had to be talking about someone else.
“What are her chances for recovery?”
Dad’s quiet question startled Faith. She shot a look from him to the doctor. Don’t say it! Don’t—
“Fifty-fifty at best. We’ve got her on all the meds we can to help, but for now it’s going to be a waiting game.” He looked down, then back up at Dad. “I’m so sorry. Her body’s been through so much …”
Faith’s father nodded. “She’s tired. It’s time for her to rest.”
“Dad!”
He lifted tearful eyes to Faith. “I haven’t given up, punkin’. But the outcome is in God’s hands. Not ours. And we have to be ready for whatever comes.”
Faith closed her eyes. No. She would not be ready. Not for this.
Not ever.
Zeke sat in his bedroom chair, his Bible sitting closed in his lap, a steaming mug of coffee cupped in his hands. Faith was in the office room, writing e-mails to update friends on Anne’s situation. So he’d taken the opportunity of these few moments to sit and pray.
To ask God for guidance.
It was so hard to see Faith and Jared going through what they were. Faith still wanted to believe her mom would rally, recover. But Zeke had a feeling that, no matter how they might want that, it wasn’t going to happen.
He opened the Bible to 1 Thessalonians, which he’d been reading that week, and found his place in chapter four. Taking a sip of coffee, he started reading. His breath caught as he took in the words on the page in front of him.
“And now, brothers and sisters, I want you to know what will happen to the Christians who have died so you will not be full of sorrow like people who have no hope.”
Zeke closed his eyes, sorrow washing over him. He’d been so afraid of this. But then, maybe this didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was just a coincidence that this was his reading for today. He read on.
“For since we believe that Jesus died and was raised to life again, we also believe that when Jesus comes, God will bring back with Jesus all the Christians who have died. I can tell you this directly from the Lord: We who are still living when the Lord returns will not rise to meet him ahead of those who are in their graves. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven with a commanding shout, with the call of the archangel
, and with the trumpet call of God. First, all the Christians who have died will rise from their graves. Then, together with them, we who are still alive and remain on the earth will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air and remain with him forever.”
Goose bumps skipped over Zeke’s arms; shivers traveled across his neck and down his spine. It was as though he could see it happening. Hear the shout! The trumpet blast! And there, among those rising into the air, was Anne, her face glowing with the purest joy he’d ever seen as she went into the arms of her Savior and Lord.
Blinking back tears, Zeke read the last line: “So comfort and encourage each other with these words.”
He bowed his head. The room was oddly still. Like it was packed in some kind of supernatural cotton. Certainty pressed down on Zeke like a sodden wool blanket—heavy, weighted, inescapable.
This was no coincidence.
Knowing that, he opened his heart, asking God to touch him, to prepare him for what was coming—and to equip him so he might help those he loved so dearly as they let go of the mother and wife they adored.
The
Winds
“And the winds beat against that house …”
MATTHEW 7:25
thirty
“Be kind, for everyone you meet
is fighting a hard battle.”
PLATO
From: FaithinHim
To: TheCoffeeCrew
Sent: Saturday, April 23, 2005
Subject: Jesus is Lord
Dearest sisters, I’ve been sitting here, wondering what to title this post. I’m sad and weary, but so very aware of God’s gracious love and presence. Then I glance at my desk, and there is an open hymnal, and this hymn, “Jesus Is Lord,” is the one that met me. The lyrics seem so appropriate:
“All my tomorrows, all my past, Jesus is Lord of all
I’ve quit my struggles, contentment at last, Jesus is Lord of all.”
Today, it seems, my sweet, wonderful mom has quit her struggles. Or at least her body has. She’s in the ICU (they had her in a regular hospital room for a day), and the doctor talked with Dad, Zeke, and me yesterday, telling us Mom was in a fight for her life. When we arrived at the ICU this morning, Dr. Campbell took us into a small room next to the waiting room. A quiet room.