by C. S. Lakin
But at least now it was cleaned up. The bricks had been swept and the planting beds were all raked and ready for new plants. Joey knew that once his mother got some new plants and his father put the fence back up, everything would be okay. Maybe Simon and Levi felt bad about what they did. Joey hoped so, hoped they wouldn’t ever do anything like that again.
He frowned. He didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t like his brothers. Sometimes Reuben was nice to him, but even Rube ignored him and pushed him away at times. And Simon and Levi always did mean things to him, played tricks on him, called him bad names. Simon didn’t do anything really bad to him, not after the time he’d pushed him off the roof. But he still picked on him all the time. Why? Joey always tried to be nice to them. The Bible said they should love everyone, the way Jesus loved them. Jesus gave his life for his friends—even for his enemies. He asked God to forgive the bad people. “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing.” Joey figured his brothers did not know what they were doing. So he tried to forgive them, trusting that God would teach them what they needed to learn.
He watched his mother squat on the bricks, start pulling little bits of grass out of the dirt. She leaned closer to the ground, pulled more grass. Joey sensed her agitation, felt her anger build. She got up and took a small metal tool from her box and knelt back down, poked it into the dirt and pulled out another clump.
The bad feeling came back as a sharp stab to his stomach. He sucked in a breath. He looked over at his mother, unable to form words of warning, saw her face turn pink, then almost red. Sweat gathered in a band of drops across her forehead. As he tried to get his words out, she attacked the ground, stabbing it over and over but Joey felt as if she were stabbing him and he tried to cry out and tell her to stop, please, that she was hurting him but nothing came out of his mouth, and his arms and legs were frozen where he sat on the grass.
At long last his throat loosened and he let out a scream, while at the same time his mother screamed too, fell right over on her face, on the bricks, her hands clutching her belly. Joey jumped to his feet, gaped at her rocking on the ground, throwing her head back, her face now almost white, the muscles in her neck tight.
“Mommy!”
“Joey . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut. Joey watched her eyelids flutter, then stop.
Joey’s heart raced and he waved his hands in the air. God, what should I do? Tell me what to do!
He tried to listen for that tiny voice, but his heart thumped so wildly in his chest, pounding blood in his ears and his mind wouldn’t shut off, fear gripping him hard, seeing her on the ground like that. He put his hands on her belly, shut his eyes, prayed.
“Don’t worry, Mommy. You’ll be okay. I’ll save you!”
“Joey! What happened?”
Joey opened his eyes, turned and saw Reuben barreling toward them, fearful and upset, but Joey couldn’t say a word.
Reuben bent over their mom, shook his head. “I’ll call 911, get an ambulance. Joey, just stay with her!”
Reuben ran back into the house. Joey closed his eyes again, his hands still on her belly but Joey felt nothing. No touch from God, not the way he had felt it that time when his dad cut his leg and the spirit said to him to touch it and Joey felt a rush of energy run through his hand and out his fingers, and instantly the cut closed up and the blood stopped. But now, Joey felt lost, bewildered. He kept praying, waiting for that tingling but only the bad feeling came over him, now not just a pain in his stomach but all over, making him sick, like he wanted to throw up.
“Mommy, talk to me.”
He touched her cheek, moved her head to the side with his hand, like she was a doll. She wouldn’t open her eyes and her head flopped forward and Joey couldn’t help it. He burst into great sobs, put his hands back on her belly, prayed harder. Please, God, help her! You said you had a plan—to save Ben’s life!”
Joey startled as understanding swept over him, but he pushed it away, horrified, confused. The tiny voice had been clear; it was always clear. God did have a plan to save Ben’s life—but he never said anything about saving his mother’s life.
Joey’s gut wrenched in a painful spasm. “Oh, God, no! You have to save her too! You have to! You have to!”
Joey felt a hand on his shoulder. Reuben took hold of him and pulled him away from his mother.
“No! No!” Joey wailed.
“Joey, the paramedics are here. They’ll help her. We need to get out of the way.”
Joey struggled and men pushed past him, dressed in white, but they were not angels sent from heaven; they were only men, useless men. They wouldn’t be able to help her—what could they do? Reuben held him off to the side in a tight grip, but Joey fought him, tried to pound him with his fist.
“Rube, let go. I have to save her!”
“Joey, she’ll be okay—”
“No she won’t!”
Why wasn’t God doing something? Why didn’t he give him the power to heal her? Wasn’t that the gift he’d been given? His parents had told him over and over what a special gift God had given him, and Joey had always been grateful and made sure to be good, and follow what the Bible said, and always pray and trust God. Had he done something wrong? Was God mad at him? God, please—if I’ve done something wrong, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Just save Mommy!
Fear shook him from his head to his toes. Not just fear over his mother but fear that it was all his fault. He had done something wrong; he knew it. And now God had abandoned him. The anguish was too much to bear. He dropped to his knees and howled, barely felt Reuben’s touch as his brother stroked his hair, as the men in white rushed out of the yard with his mother on a stretcher, a mask over her mouth and a tube running out her arm to a plastic bag one of the men held in his hand. They were saying things to Reuben, and Reuben listened with a stern face, nodded.
Reuben got up, pulled Joey up with him. “Is she—what about the baby?”
One man stopped; the others kept going “She’s comatose, gone into shock. The baby’s heartbeat is steady—for now. But we’ll have to get it out fast, to save it.”
Reuben nodded, then looked down at Joey. “Joey, I have to call dad. I’ll take you to the hospital. I’ve only got my learner’s permit, but I can drive us—it’s not far. That way we can be with her, okay? Joey, did you hear me? Stay here—or come in the house. But I have to go make that call.”
Reuben let Joey drop in a gentle thud to the ground. The yard emptied and took with it the throbbing ache in Joey’s gut. He felt so weak, like all his blood had drained away. He looked at his hands—his useless, powerless hands. He wanted to be upset, but all his emotions seemed to have drained out too. He just stared at his hands, suddenly so very tired, wanting to close his eyes and sleep—sleep until he could wake up and find out this had all been a bad dream.
The questions he had asked God still rang in his head, but after a while they faded until Joey couldn’t hear them anymore. He listened, hoping this time without hope, to hear the spirit’s voice, but God remained silent.
If he had been a doctor, he’d have known what to do. Known how to save his mother. He had been so stupid, never considering God would let his mother die. Joey knew without a doubt his mother would be dead before she even made it to the hospital. He didn’t know how he knew this, but he did. It wasn’t that tiny voice telling him; it was his own guilt.
And his stupidity. He had trusted God, thought God was watching over his mother, protecting her. She had such strong faith in him—why wouldn’t he protect her? The Bible said God guarded those who loved him like they were the apple of his eye. Tears started back down his cheeks as grief overtook him, the reality of his mother’s death now something he could feel in all its potent truth.
He had been wrong to count on God, and that realization hit him hard. He held out his hands, turned them over. They were so small—at least they were right now. Someday they’d be large hands, capable of doing so many great things. Those hand
s had failed him, cost him his mother’s life. But he made a vow to himself, raised his hands to a silent heaven. He would devote his entire life to making sure no one else ever died because of those hands. He would become a doctor, the best doctor, and he would save lives. If he studied hard and learned all he could, maybe then he would be worthy of his gift. Maybe then the tiny voice would speak to him again. Would forgive him for his failings.
That’s what his mother would want him to do—use his gift to help others. He owed that to her, that promise. And, swearing to himself as the tears streamed down his face, he would see to it he kept it.
Jake stood in the center of the yard and stared up at the full moon overhead. Its harsh light brought every detail around him into sharp focus but cast a severe shadow across his heart. He hadn’t stepped outside into the yard since Rachel had died, had resisted it, knowing the starkness of her former garden would break his heart all over again—if that were even possible.
Grateful for the numbness that had overtaken him, replaced raw emotion too unbearable to face, Jake let his feet wander of their own accord around the perimeter where her fence once stood, where the overhead beams had run the width of the brick patio, the space now exposed, naked, impersonal. He wished he could shut off his mind, the clamor sounding like a broken record repeating over and over all the things he should have said and done and ways he could have saved her. Now the words had lost all their impact and they were just buckshot ricocheting around in his brain, all the pain leeched out. He was an empty shell, a void, a black hole where sounds and sights entered but got stuck on some event horizon, forever trapped for all time.
For a while the heavens had seemed to weigh on him in judgment, but now they were empty, just empty space, and the presence of God had fled. He snorted in derision. What did he expect? He had embraced a foolish faith, one that made easy promises and soothed with comforting words but it was all a ruse, a lie. A form of brainwashing, a figment of his imagination. He had conjured up God the way millions had since the beginning of time, and still the world burned with evil and hurt and unfairness and cruelty. So where was God? Where are you! Show your face, if you dare!
Rachel’s many sermons now played in his head. How God had brought them together, how God had a purpose for his life, how God had answered her prayer, bringing him to salvation, giving them Joey, and the list went on of all the things Rachel had thanked God for, for all the blessings they enjoyed. Well, was this some mean joke of God’s—to grant every prayer of Rachel’s and then take her life? On Mother’s Day, of all days, Jake at the florist’s, deliberating over which bouquet of flowers to buy for her, feeling so overjoyed with the thought of her and the new baby coming, while at that very moment Rachel had been writhing on the ground, struggling with her last breath, Joey watching on helplessly, something no child should ever have to witness.
Funny joke, Jake snorted. Warped divine comedy.
He dropped to the dirt, a large bed that only a month ago had been overflowing with beautiful shrubs. Jake hadn’t known their names, but already their buds had started to open and Rachel had been so thrilled to see the colors peeking out. The rush of blame filled him and he fought it, knowing it would only eat at him like acid, make him want to strangle his sons. He blamed Simon and Levi for her death—more than he blamed God. For at least God hadn’t pushed Rachel over the edge, but Simon and Levi had, doing the worst thing they could to hurt her, knowing full well she had to rest and not get upset, but they’d upset her. They may as well have just stabbed her with a knife, what damage it had done. Even Reuben was at fault. He’d been told to make sure she stayed in bed, bring her lunch, but he went to his room and studied for school, knowing full well she shouldn’t have gone outside. Maybe they’d all secretly wanted her dead.
Well, they got their wish. He didn’t even feel guilty for hating them, and he indulged in his hatred, feeling he didn’t even know them, these strangers that shared his house, these aliens he had spawned but had no relation to. What he would do with all this hate, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. Maybe in time it would ease, but for now he walked through his own house like an interloper, a house full of people he didn’t care about and couldn’t talk to. He couldn’t even look at Joey—who reflected back his pain and looked at him with Rachel’s soft-brown eyes.
Jake let his gaze glide over the flat beds of rich soil, her garden now erased, just as she was, gone every trace of her, her touch, her loving care and nurturing that manifested in such prodigious life. His sons had ripped out her heart when they ripped out her plants, killing her when they killed her garden, so connected she was to this place, that her very life was intertwined with those plants she had coaxed to grow from seed and seedling. And now, the soil would claim her, already calling her back. It had drunk of her spirit, as she’d lain there on the ground, sucking every last drop from her body. And soon he would bury her in dirt, and she would decompose and rot and break down into dirt over time, joined in a way she’d never been able to be when alive. It seemed fitting, to give her back to the earth, to the place she was most happy, felt most connected.
But he didn’t want to give her up; she belonged with him, in his arms, not in the embrace of the earth, not buried under mounds of soil where he could no longer touch her, where worms and beetles would burrow through her flesh.
A sob broke out of his throat; he didn’t know he had any grief left in there, but he let it out and the tears followed, a huge gush of them, and he recalled—as he knelt there in the rich loamy soil—how he had wept that night in the church and Rachel had come over to him and comforted him. Well, who would comfort him now? How in the world could he go on—with five children and a new baby, Ben so tiny and premature, still in the hospital and struggling to survive, but why should he bother? What kind of life would this tiny infant have, heralded into the world by his mother’s death, facing a lifetime of unanswerable questions? What was the point of life anyway? It seemed a lesson in futility, to experience suffering and disappointment and wandering lost, using up your years until you could barely walk or see or eat, the body breaking down until it finally broke for good. It all seemed so pointless.
He looked up at the dark night sky again. He could barely make out a few stars, the vast expanse of them shielded by city lights, and Jake recalled the way the night sky looked from the open range of Colorado, up at six thousand feet above sea level. A billion tiny pinpricks of light burning through black cloth, filling him with awe at the sheer number of them, the universe boundless and unending, expanding forever. How small he felt, not even a speck in such a space, certainly insignificant and fleeting, his life just a mere few years whereas the stars existed for millions of his brief lifetime.
Rachel had once read him a Bible verse—something about all flesh being like green grass, grass that bloomed and in one day withered and died. In the grand sweep of time, a man’s life was a flash, a spark, nothing more. How could anyone believe God cared, assigned meaning and purpose to such a life? It made no sense. Still, he felt the need to challenge God, to wrestle with him, fight until he got his answer, for if he didn’t, he may as well just give up, end his life.
So, he yelled out to God in his head, trying to see through the dome over the earth, through the infinite star field, to the throne of God, the omnipotent all-knowing God. Are you there; do you even care? Rachel swore you did, that you mean good for us and not harm. Tell me then, he demanded, how can Rachel’s death be meant for good and not intended for harm? How? Why did you take her from me, from her family, when she had so much to live for? Are you going to answer, defend yourself, or stay silent? How can anyone believe in you when you let such horrible things happen? You’re supposed to be a God of love—so how is it love when you take someone like Rachel?
Jake wiped his eyes, and his rage pushed aside his grief. I will take care of my family, because it’s the right thing to do. I will go on with my pitiful life, for what it’s worth, providing for my ungrateful sons, and try to r
aise Rachel’s children with the love she would have showered upon them. I will do this for her, not you. Because, frankly, I don’t even think you are listening. You are going to have to perform some kind of amazing miracle before I’ll believe you or turn to you again. I’m not going to let this go or let you off the hook, even if I have to fight you every day for the rest of my life.
The anger drained out, and weariness filled the vacuum left behind. His legs feeling like lead weights, Jake managed to walk back to the house, where his children slept in their beds, children he hardly knew, the big hole in his heart raw and bleeding again.
As he opened the door and stepped inside, it seemed he faced an endless desert stretching out before him, into eternity, a barren, inhospitable, hopeless land with no water or food, no relief from his weary days, just scathing heat beating down on him, destined to wander this wilderness forever, until he returned to dust himself, dust that the hot dry wind would lift and blow away into oblivion.
Part Four: 1989–1997
Judges
Judges: persons qualified to pass a critical judgment; a public officer authorized to hear and decide cases in a court of law; a magistrate charged with the administration of justice.
1989
I Miss You Like Crazy
Even though it’s been so long,
My love for you keeps going strong