Fly a Little Higher

by Laura Sobiech

  “Here ya go.” He took it and set it on the seat beside him. I kissed my fingers and transferred the kiss to his forehead with a tap. “I love you.”

  “Love you too,” he said as he closed the door.

  He was headed to KS95 to be on the Moon and Staci afternoon radio show where he would ask Amy to the prom. Amy, of course, had no idea what was really going on. She thought Zach was going in to record a promo for an event that was happening at a local shopping center in a few weeks that would raise money for Zach’s fund.

  Grace had a basketball game that afternoon, so as I drove into Stillwater I listened to the show. It was perfect! They had Zach participate in a game they do every afternoon called “Smarter Than Staci.” A series of the same questions is asked of both the contestant and then Staci. Whoever gets the most right, wins. Instead of the usual listener call-in, they had Zach play against Staci. At the end of the game, he turned to Amy and asked her if she would go to prom. At first she was confused and stumbled with her words. Then she answered with a resounding “Yes!”

  I cheered in the car, ecstatic that Zach had pulled it off. Not just the surprise itself, but that he was able to execute the plan. It had taken a ton of effort, but he loved Amy and he wanted to make it special for her.

  Prom was the day after Zach’s birthday, two and a half weeks away. Practically a lifetime.

  JOURNAL ENTRY

  April 23, 2013

  We head into high school for Zach’s “graduation.” His diploma has been delivered early, and the staff and I thought it would be nice to give it to him in a memorable way. His teachers and friends are gathering in the office for a little ceremony.

  Zach isn’t feeling well. He’s tired but says he will go. We pull up to the school, and I see that Zach is crying. He says he’s feeling really sick and begins to panic. His breathing is rapid. I’m afraid he might pass out. Rob asks him if he wants to go home, but the point is moot. It’s obvious he won’t make it into the school.

  Zach says he feels like he needs to vomit. There are cars, busses, and kids everywhere. School has just let out. I have no choice but to pull ahead, right in front of a bus, and let him out of the car. We get out and walk to a tree. He stands by it, coughs a bit, and then vomits.

  Kids watch from the bus. They turn away when they see I am looking at them.

  We get back into the car and drive home.

  That’s it.

  No more planned events.

  JOURNAL ENTRY

  April 25, 2013

  I’m cleaning out the refrigerator. I grab a Cool Whip container, open it, and see leftovers from a dinner that Zach made for us earlier in the week. It hits me that this is likely the last thing he will ever make.

  For the tiniest moment, I wonder if I should keep it. Like all those art projects brought home from school when he was younger that eventually need to be thrown away, a pang of guilt squeezes my heart as I toss the leftover spaghetti in the garbage.

  Letting go.

  Always letting go.

  JOURNAL ENTRY

  April 26, 2013

  He sleeps a lot. Most of the day. Today he gets up at one o’clock, walks from his bedroom to the bathroom, then to the couch. His couch.

  He is panicked. He can’t catch his breath. It’s scary. Very, very scary.

  Hospice comes just moments later for a scheduled appointment. The social worker comes down and helps calm him with meditation through visualization. It works. His breathing becomes more normal. He’s calm again.

  Rob and I leave him with Alli and Amy so we can talk to the nurse and social worker in the kitchen. Alli is in tears at the horror she has just witnessed. Amy walked into the room right in the middle of it all. That girl is a rock. I love her for loving my son.

  The nurse tells me that if he panics again, I should give him the Ativan to help calm him. We decide it might be a good thing to give him right now. I take it down to him.

  He smiles at me.

  “No,” he says, “I’m not taking that. It will make me sleepy.”

  Old Zach is back for the moment.

  He feels well enough after an hour to come upstairs and sit out on the patio for our first spring-like day. The sun is shining and warm on his skin, birds are chirping, and the buds on the trees are beginning to open.

  JOURNAL ENTRY

  April 27, 2013

  I get up early. It’s sunny. A Saturday morning.

  I love mornings when I’m the first one up. Something about the serenity and quiet of the morning. It’s a peaceful start to the day.

  I go down to give Zach his meds and I find him and Amy both asleep in his bed. She stayed the night, and they are in each other’s arms, asleep. Like a married couple.

  I wonder at the appropriateness of it. Then I think about what they will never have, and I silently shut the door and walk back upstairs.

  I stand at the kitchen sink and look out the window onto the patio. There are two empty chairs pulled close together, facing the yard.

  I cry for the future they will never have.

  May 3, 2013

  IT WAS ZACH’S EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY. I’D LEARNED FROM Christmas that most any gift would only serve to remind Zach that he wouldn’t be around to enjoy it for long, so I figured the best gift would be something he could enjoy for a day or two. For years, Zach and Sammy had unsuccessfully searched the Twin Cities for Play Dough ice cream, their favorite flavor. They had only been able to find it at the campground in Northern Wisconsin where our families camped every Labor Day weekend. I knew Zach would love to taste that ice cream once more, so I recruited the one guy I knew who would be able to track some down: Dan Seeman. Sure enough, Dan did not disappoint, and on Zach’s birthday, along with his wife and daughter, he delivered a three-gallon tub. We feasted on the bright-blue frozen treat with balls of red and yellow cookie dough for days. I don’t know what made me happier, seeing Zach thrilled by the gift or the fact that he was actually eating.

  May 4, 2013

  IT WAS ALL PLANNED. DINNER RESERVATIONS WERE MADE AT A little restaurant they’d found online. It was quaint with a menu that offered something each of them would like, Zach being more adventuresome, Amy, a little less. Amy had found a beautiful royal-purple dress, and Mary had ordered the corsages and set up a limo and driver to pick them up at our house. Amy had even picked out a couple of ties for Zach and brought them to the house so he could choose.

  A collection to help with the cost of prom had been taken up at Oakland Junior High School where Mary worked as a seventh-grade English teacher. She’d brought the card and money over about a week before prom to show Zach; he’d barely been able to muster a smile, he was in so much pain that day. A couple of weeks earlier he only needed one medication patch to stay on top of the pain; now he was up to eight.

  Zach was determined he would make it to the prom for Amy.

  I was terrified.

  I wasn’t sure he would be able to walk from the car to their table at the restaurant and was afraid he would pass out, leaving Amy to figure out what to do. Or what if he couldn’t breathe in the car on the way to prom? What would she do then? But Mary had thought of all that for me. She’d called the restaurant manager and explained the situation. They had heard of Zach and knew his story, and assured Mary they would take good care of the couple. Mary had also talked to the limo driver to let him know what the kids were up against. He assured her that he would help Zach in any way he needed and wouldn’t leave Amy to fend for herself should Zach need care.

  Zach prepared by going to bed early the night before, loaded with pain medication. He had new patches laid out on his table and a timer set to go off when he needed to switch them out. He planned to sleep until mid-afternoon, then he would give himself plenty of time, an hour and a half, to shower and get dressed in his gray suit and purple tie.

  While I paced and prayed, people from our parish filled the little adoration chapel at our church. For months they had someone posted in the chapel ev
ery hour of every day, praying for Zach and our family. In response to a plea for prayer I had posted on CaringBridge, on this day they doubled their efforts to carry Zach through the day by filling the chapel. And that evening, Mass was dedicated to Zach and Amy; the church was full of people praying fervently that the kids would have a fun evening.

  Zach hadn’t left the house in days. The last time had been for Sammy’s brother Matt’s Confirmation two weeks earlier. A private ceremony had been arranged for Matt so that Zach would be able to attend. We didn’t think Zach would be well enough to go to the regular ceremony.

  Now, two weeks later, I was glad we’d moved the Confirmation ceremony up, but prom had me worried. I couldn’t see how Zach would pull this off. A wheelchair had been delivered the day before and that would help. But, still, he was having a hard time just sitting up these days. And he was so thin. I worried that if he ate anything rich it would make him sick to his stomach.

  Well, maybe he’ll be okay . . . Please, God, let him be okay, I thought and prayed as I watched the clock. Soon I heard Zach stir downstairs.

  “Hey,” I said as I peeked through the door. Rob was sitting on the couch. He spent most of his time at home keeping vigil while Zach slept. “How are you doing?” I asked Zach.

  “Tired. But the pain is okay. I actually feel pretty good,” he said, taking a breath every third word. The nurse had heard fluid in both lungs just the day before.

  “Did you want to wait a bit before you hop in the shower? Can I get you something to eat or drink?” I asked.

  “Could you get me a juice out of the fridge?” He pointed to the little dorm refrigerator behind the couch. He had his private stash of all his favorite drinks tucked inside. “I’ll hop in the shower in a little bit.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you need anything else. Dad can stay down here with you.”

  I went down the short hallway and into his bedroom. As I removed his suit from the closet and laid his shirt and tie out on the bed, I thought about the parable Jesus told of the wedding guest who had not properly dressed for a marriage feast and was thrown out by the king into the darkness. I sat down on the bed and smoothed the wrinkles from the shirt and thought about the years I had spent preparing Zach to enter that feast, the banquet hall of heaven. When he was young, I would lay out his clothes for him. But now he was a man and had to make his own choices. Had I trained him right? Was it enough? He was so close to the entrance of the heavenly banquet hall—any day he would reach out his hand to push open the door. Would his shirt be pressed? Would his tie match? Would his pants be long enough? Had I done my job? Was he ready?

  I knew Zach would recognize Christ when he saw Him; he had spent his life looking for Christ in those around him. But there was a spirit of fear that had begun to torment Zach. As his physical body declined, his soul became restless and at times, in the darkness of night, he would be overcome with fear.

  Late one night a few weeks earlier, I went down to check on him before I went to bed. The lights were off, so I thought he was sleeping. But when I opened the door to the family room, I found him awake and sitting on the couch wrapped in his comforter. I sat down next to him, and by the light of the stairwell, I could see tears rolling down his cheeks.

  “Hey,” I said as I stroked his hair, “what’s going on? What’s wrong?” It always sounded so stupid, but there was really no other question to ask. He buried his face in his blanket and sobbed for a moment. I got up on my knees and rested my cheek on his head. “What is it, hon? Things are better when you talk about them. You can lay it out for me. I can take whatever you have to say,” I coaxed.

  “I’m just scared,” he uttered huskily. “I’m just scared of what’s coming. I don’t want to die.” He broke down into more sobs, and I pulled him into a tight embrace.

  “Oh, babe.” I kissed his head and stroked his face. “Of course you’re afraid. No one wants to die, and especially not a seventeen-year-old with so much life that should be ahead of him.” Tears ran down my own face. “You are in a place that I have not been, and I know I have no words to make it better.” I pulled back and looked into his eyes. “But I do know that God is very, very close. He will not abandon you. Sometimes, when things are darkest, it is because God’s hand is overshadowing you.”

  He wiped his eyes on his blanket. The sobs had stopped, but the tears continued to flow down his cheeks. I reached up and wiped one cheek with the palm of my hand.

  “I’ll sit up with you. You don’t have to fight this thing alone.”

  “I know. I called Amy a little bit ago, and she’s on her way over. She can stay for a little while.”

  I heard the front door open. Daisy barked from her crate.

  “Okay, hon. I’ll go tell her you’re down here.” I stood and kissed his forehead. “I love you.”

  He reached up and squeezed my arm. “I love you too, Mom.”

  Amy was taking her shoes off at the front door. “Hi,” she whispered when she saw me at the top of the steps.

  “Hi. Thank you for coming over this late and through the snow. It seems this winter will never end.” I hugged her. “He’s really scared.”

  She nodded her head. “Yeah. I know. He called and asked if I could come over. He sounded pretty shook up.”

  “He was. But I think he’s a little better now. He just really needs to talk it out. I’m so glad you’re here. He really needs you.”

  After she disappeared downstairs, I closed myself in the bathroom and leaned against the counter. How dare Satan torment my son! What a coward, going after a dying teenager! Every protective, motherly instinct reared up inside me and, filled with a holy anger, I was ready to do battle. I dropped to my knees onto the cold tile and prayed with every fiber in my being.

  “Dear God! Send Your holy archangel, St. Michael, to defend Zachary in battle. Do not leave him unprotected from the wickedness and snares of the devil. Protect him from the spirit of fear that torments him.” That was the formal prayer that came to mind. It was mingled with an informal, mother-bear prayer that went something like this: “Dear God. Kick Satan’s butt and keep him away from my son! Please.”

  I got up, went down to my purse, and texted a group of family and friends I knew would pray their hearts out for Zach and asked them to storm heaven with prayers for peace. Fear would not have a foothold in this house! Not on my watch. I sat up reading until I heard Amy leave, then went down to check on Zach again. He slept peacefully. He’d managed to work through the fear.

  Now, on the night of prom, he was focused on making sure Amy was taken care of. This day was about her, and he was determined to do everything in his power to make it special.

  Zach had showered and was dressing in his bedroom while Rob and I waited in the family room. I heard the handle of his bedroom door and stood from the couch as he walked into the room. “Wow! You clean up nice.” I rubbed my hand across his smooth, clean-shaved cheek, then straightened the knot of his tie. “Amy won’t even recognize you without your sweats and a T-shirt on.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I do look pretty sharp.” The glint I hadn’t seen for weeks was back in his eyes. Even though he was gaunt and pale, his smile was bright. He was happy and excited.

  Amy pulled up with her family. She looked beautiful in her long purple gown with sequins that circled her neck and traveled down her back. She’d spent the day with her mother at the salon getting her hair, makeup, and nails done. Now it was time for pictures. It had looked like it would rain all day, the sky solid clouds, until Amy pulled into the driveway. The clouds broke up, and within minutes the sun shone bright and it began to warm up. We went into the family room to take some photos, then out onto the patio in the sunshine. When we got back into the house, Zach was hot (his body’s temperature regulation had gone haywire as his health declined), so I threw the family-room windows open even though the screens had not yet been put in.

  The limo driver packed up the wheelchair, and the kids got into the back of the car and waved
as they drove off. I looked at Mary and said under my breath so the guys wouldn’t hear, “Should we hop in my car and follow them?”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” She smiled. “But Amy knows what she should do if something happens. We’ve talked through every scenario possible, and she’s prepared.” She rested her hand on my back. “They’re going to have a great time.”

  I hoped so.

  We decided to go with Amy’s folks out to dinner ourselves. It was better than sitting around wondering how the kids were doing and waiting for a desperate call from Amy. In the middle of dinner, my cell phone rang. It was Alli.

  “Mom! You won’t believe what happened,” was all I could hear. The restaurant was too loud so I rushed out onto the sidewalk, my heart racing. “What’s wrong?” I asked, panic rising in my chest.

  “Daisy caught a bird in the family room. She murdered it,” Alli said with disgust.

  “What? That’s it? Daisy caught a bird,” I said, relieved but confused.

  “Just wait until you get home.”

  We walked in the door to find feathers all over the floor. Hardly a square inch was left bare.

  “We cleaned up the gross stuff, but we left this as evidence of her dirty deed.” Alli and Grace stood in the doorway as we entered the room. Daisy sat, bewildered and confused, in her crate. She’d only been protecting her home, after all. A bird had apparently flown in the windows I’d opened earlier in the evening when Zach had gotten hot. I’d forgotten to close them before we left for dinner.

  I waited for the kids to come home. I’d expected they would only stay at prom for a few minutes, but it was going on three hours. My worry had faded away as the night went on. Zach had been known to push himself harder than he should, but he had gotten better at recognizing his limits. I knew that if they were still at prom it was because they were having a good time and Zach was doing okay.