Broken Beauty

by Sarah B. Smith

  “Sarah, I just don’t know,” he said. “She’s becoming calmer and calmer since I called you, and I think she will be okay, but look at her. Should I take her to the hospital? She’s bright red all over.”

  Mom chimed in, “I’m okay, y’all. Really, I am okay.”

  Her cheeks looked sunburned, and her whole body was red. She started scratching one arm. “It just itches here, and kind of all over, but I am not hurting. Just feel warm.”

  “Dad, did she just take a shower?” I asked. “Could she have taken a hot shower and scalded herself? Sometimes she doesn’t taste things, so maybe she can’t feel hot water?”

  It was then I smelled the strong odor of nail polish. Checking her nails to see if she had been working on them, I saw they were the same color as they were the day before. She had just had a manicure.

  Curious and confused, I opened the shower door, but the shower wasn’t wet, nor the doors and glass foggy or damp. I scanned the bathroom.

  “Mom, did you drink something? Can you tell me what you may have done?”

  She calmly brushed a piece of hair out of her eye, then reached her hand back to her hip to rub it. “No, nothing. I don’t know. I don’t know why this happened. But I’m okay. Just itchy everywhere.”

  Dad touched my back. “Sarah, will you check her bottom? Will you just check her all over? I want to see how red she really is. I’ve peeked, but it may be better if you check her all over.”

  Looking at Mom intently, he told her what I was going to do. “Beck, she’s just going to check you on your bottom and chest.”

  She smiled and gave a small chuckle. It was actually a great icebreaker.

  “Mom, I’m sorry. I’m just pulling the back of your pajama pants down and your underwear so I can see your cute cheeks and make sure they aren’t red.”

  “Ha!” she cried. “Hardly cute!”

  Mom’s bottom was red all over, and I was mystified. What had caused this reaction? The good news was she was becoming calmer by the minute, and I felt like she was going to be okay. But I still feared that she had poisoned herself without knowing it.

  Checking her chest and breasts, I could see they were as pink as if she had sunbathed topless. “Mom, does your chest itch? What about your stomach? Or just your arms and bottom?”

  Mom seemed to move slowly in her thoughts from head to toe. Her brain could no longer process quickly.

  “Well, right here, on my leg, and uh, here, right here, and my rear. It’s itchy. I don’t know, Sarah. Everywhere really. But I am okay. I really am. I will be all right.”

  The moment she said she would “be all right,” I looked on her countertop and saw two bottles of nail polish remover. One was completely empty with the lid on it, and the other was open and half full. My heart sank.

  “Mom. Could you possibly have drunk nail polish remover? I know this was full because I bought it yesterday after we got your nails done. You were out, which is why this one is empty, so we bought you a new one. Do you remember anything at all?”

  She thought for a few moments and then said, “No. No, I didn’t drink that. That was there.”

  I know it was there, but if you can’t tell us anything that you did and why you have a rash all over your body, how do you know if you didn’t drink the nail polish remover? It reeks of acetone in here!

  “Dad, come here. Do you smell nail polish remover? That is the first thing I smelled when I walked in here, but when I checked her nails and they looked the same, I blew it off. Honestly, I think she drank nail polish remover.”

  Dad looked at Mom. “Beck, do you think you accidentally drank this? Are you sure you didn’t?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Overwhelmed, Dad walked into their bedroom and sank down on their king-size bed. As I grabbed Mom’s hand to lead her out, she pointed to the nail polish remover.

  “Sarah,” she whispered. “That’s it. I thought it was my Diet Coke.”

  I knew it. What now? Do I call Poison Control?

  “Dad, did you hear that? She thought the nail polish remover was her Diet Coke. Do you think we should call Poison Control? I don’t know what to do because the color on her face is fading. She’s not as red, and her arms are better already.”

  Dad responded, fairly confident, “No, I don’t think we need to call Poison Control. The color has faded quite a bit.”

  “Dad, are you sure? Should we call Poison Control just in case?”

  Dad was her primary caretaker, and I wanted to follow his lead, but I was just as confused as he was in that moment.

  I felt unable to protect both of them in their own environment. Things I couldn’t imagine were happening. It was overwhelming, and I felt inept as caretaker, protector, and daughter.

  Surely Dad thought himself a failure, too. How could he fulfill his role as husband, caretaker, protector, and defender? The guilt had to feel like a mass of bricks on his shoulders.

  Mom sat down in Dad’s lap in her white terry cloth robe.

  “Mom? Are you still itchy?”

  “No, not as much. I’m really okay now. Y’all stop worrying about me so much!”

  I guess he’s right. Maybe we don’t need to call Poison Control. I’m not sure I agree with that decision, but I want to respect him.

  Dad had one arm around Mom and one arm on her leg as she snuggled in his lap. He looked at me with fearful, sad eyes. Confusion, guilt, and panic seemed to set in all at once. He tried to hold back the tears but couldn’t. Mom didn’t notice, being cuddled up to him like a fiveyear-old girl with her head on his shoulder. She actually reminded me of myself as a little girl, curled up in my daddy’s lap.

  Dad tilted his head back to wipe away his tears so she would not notice them. He shook his head at me. I wanted to rescue him. I wanted to hold Mom for him, to sweep her away so that he could fall to his knees and let the emotions pour out. He held it in all the time, and I knew this time he was falling apart.

  “Daddy, it’s okay. Mom’s all right. I think we need to give her an antihistamine to help the rash and itching go away.” Playing the strong caretaker, I focused on business and treating the rash. I wasn’t sure it was working very well.

  “I was just . . . I was just in the kitchen,” he said. “Cleaning the dishes. Loading the dishwasher. She was in the bathroom putting her pajamas on, Sarah.” Another tear rolled down his cheek.

  “Beck, do you see why I can’t leave you here at the house alone? You scared me. You scared me bad. You couldn’t even tell me what happened. I can’t leave you alone without someone here in the house. Do you understand that?”

  Very chipper, Mom said, “Dave, I’m fine! I’m fine now. It was just a small thing. I don’t know why you and Sarah are so worried about me. Y’all act like I am a child or something.”

  And there it was. Her disease was convincing us, and Mom, that all was good, that we could go back to normal now. But after this gut-wrenching experience, Dad wouldn’t have it.

  “Becky, you are not okay. You couldn’t even tell me what caused your body to turn bright red and itch all over. That’s a problem. If I had not been here and you had done that or worse, what would have happened? Tell me. If I am not here and something happens, what would you do?”

  She tilted her head and thought for a moment. Looking at me, she pointed and smiled, “Well, I would call her. My daughter!”

  Dad shut that down. “And if Sarah didn’t answer her phone, and you can’t get hold of her, then what?”

  “I would call you and tell you, and then you would help me from wherever you are.”

  Dad rolled his eyes, irritated. He had moved from despair to frustration.

  “Oh, really? And if I was on a golf trip, or at the driving range, or in a business meeting, how could I help you? By the way, what is my phone number? Or Sarah’s? Can you tell us?”

  Of course, she couldn’t.

  I came up with another scenario. “Mom, let’s say the house caught on fire or someone broke in the h
ouse. What you would do?”

  “I would run out that door!” She pointed to the bedroom door. “I would go out that door and outside and get help.”

  Carefully, I played the devil’s advocate. “Mom, you can’t run past a robber. Who would you call from your bedroom phone? What is the emergency phone number you need to call if there is ever an emergency? Not mine, or Dad’s, but the number for the police or ambulance or fire department. Can you tell me that emergency number?”

  She stared at me and grinned, as if she knew she was supposed to know the answer but didn’t. “I don’t remember,” she said and laughed.

  Dad and I were not amused. He was heartbroken and annoyed. I tried to be gentle. “Mom, you would call 911. That number calls the police immediately, and you always want to call 911 first, okay?”

  Mom started laughing, and Daddy and I couldn’t understand what she thought was so funny. “Y’all are treating me like I am a child! I was home alone for years, David, when you were out working. I am fine. You two! Y’all make me laugh.”

  “I’m so glad you think we are funny, Mom. Now, tell me, what’s the number you call if there is an emergency?”

  She rolled her eyes. “9-1, uh, 9-9. Shoot. I forgot. Tell me again?”

  I had to get up and walk out of the room. Going straight to the bathroom, I slammed the door shut and locked it. Slapping my hands down on the marble countertop, I burst out crying. I was angry, frustrated, and bitter at the fact that I couldn’t even teach Mom three digits to remember. 911.

  I cried out to God in silence. God, do something! When are You going to bring us help? Where are You? Why are You taking so long? How long do we have to go through this? Please give my dad some rest. Please.

  I sent Thad a text from the bathroom, “All okay. Sorry didn’t call earlier. She drank nail polish remover, but she’s okay. I’ll stay a little longer until Dad is in a better place and I feel I can leave. I love you.”

  He responded, “Praise God she’s okay. Take your time. I’m sorry, honey. I love you.”

  “Praise God she’s okay.” Those words stuck out to me, and they almost irritated me. Easy for Thad to say! But at the same time, I felt convicted. Sitting on the toilet with both hands over my face, I began to pray.

  I’m trying to praise You, God. Praise You when things are good and praise You when they are bad. You are my stronghold. You are my rock, my shield, and my shelter.

  God, please deliver Daddy from this pain and give him rest. You are his refuge, and You promise Your deliverance. I’m standing on Your promises right now. Take this from him and me, and show us Your way. Please, God, reveal Your purpose and plan for all that You are allowing to happen right now. I don’t understand it and I’m trying to be positive—but Lord, this is so hard!

  I need Your strength and courage this very moment to go back in there and not be angry at Mom. I’m angry at her disease, not her. She’s innocent. Don’t let me be angry with her. Please help me stand up right now and go love on the both of them the way You love on me. I’m trying to trust You, God. Please help me trust.

  Amen.

  THIRTEEN

  THE CRASH

  August 2016

  “HOORAY!” ELIJAH BELTED OUT AS he stepped off the airplane. “We made it. Hello, Colorado!” The kids were excited to experience their favorite mountain activities again.

  Elijah tugged at my sleeve. “Mommy, Mommy—can we please go get a snow cone?”

  Two seconds later, Emery said, “No, Mommy! Can we please go to the breakfast café first? I’m so hungry and really want my favorite smoothie and their pistachio sausage.”

  I looked over at Thad as he mimicked the kids. “Mommy! Mommy! Can you please take me to Paradise Bakery so I can get a few scoops of mint–chocolate chip ice cream?”

  I laughed. We all laughed. Then Frensley chimed in, “Yeah, Mommy! Can you please take me to get truffle fries at The Tavern?”

  Life was great at that moment. The dry, fresh mountain air heated up my face and skin without a drip of sweat running down my chest, unlike in Dallas. I looked up at the sky. Thank you, Lord, for this break. It’s beautiful. God’s country.

  As we loaded the rental car at the airport, I turned around and said, “All right, kids—and yes, Thad, that means you, too! Let’s go unpack, and then we will go into town for lunch and hit all your favorite spots. Let’s get settled in first. We have a week, so let’s enjoy every minute together.”

  We turned onto the dirt road at the entry gate to my in-laws’ place, where the Texas flag waved. As we started to unload, I noticed a massive American Indian teepee—about 25 feet tall and 25 feet wide—installed on the back lawn. Walking inside the teepee, I immediately felt cozy, surrounded by soft Navajo printed blankets and beautifully covered chairs.

  I’d found my place for solitude and quiet times with the Lord. I could come here early each morning and pray fervently for Mom and Dad and our family and children. In fact, for the next seven days, I did just that with my hot coffee, fleece robe, and slippers.

  The next morning, before walking out to the teepee, I came across something on my phone written by Andrew Bonar:

  “In order to grow in grace, we must spend a great deal of time in quiet solitude. Contact with others in society is not what causes the soul to grow most vigorously. In fact, one quiet hour of prayer will often yield greater results than many days spent in the company of others. It is in the desert that the dew is freshest and the air is the most pure.”

  Great solitude, for an hour, in the freshest dew and air, was exactly what I needed and what I’d found. There was no doubt in my mind the Lord was calling me to Him, especially that week. I wouldn’t understand how much I needed it until later.

  OUR DAYS WITH THE KIDS were packed with biking, hiking, swimming, golfing, rafting, a day camp for Elijah, and even a few soccer lessons for the girls. We had dinners out with other families and we cooked at home. The kids canoed in a pond, caught a few fish, and Thad played a round of golf with his buddies. It was as if I were trying to fit in as much activity as possible to make up for lost time with my family. I even researched puppies online, thinking I’d surprise the kids with a dog since I had been so mentally unavailable lately. I must really have been losing my mind if I thought I had time to take care of a puppy.

  “Hey, kids! Daddy and I thought it would be fun to go to the club and swim. Elijah, you and Daddy can drive the golf cart around and hit a few golf balls, and we can shower there and have dinner at sunset. How does that sound?”

  All three kids yelled simultaneously, “Awesome!”

  Thad and I knew they would love it. It was one of our favorite things to do as a family. There were M&Ms around for the kids, and the girls loved the “spa shampoo,” as Emery called it, in the ladies’ locker-room showers.

  Not long after we arrived, I could hear the kids playing Marco Polo in the pool. “Marco!” Emery yelled. “Polo!” Frensley yelled back. They went back and forth, laughing and screaming. As I sat in my chair, sun hat in place, I listened to the voices of the kids playing, the sound of babies crying, and the splashing of water as the kids each tried to make the biggest splash.

  “Mom, can I please have a snow cone? Pretty please?” Elijah was obsessed with snow cones.

  “Sure, honey. Why not? Enjoy!”

  His hazel eyes lit up, and his long eyelashes nearly touched his eyebrows. “Really? Yes!” He gave a big fist pump toward his itty-bitty waist, as if I’d never let him have a snow cone before.

  He looked over at Emery, who was on the opposite side of the pool, and walked quickly toward her. “Mom said I could have a snow cone!” Emery looked over at me and mouthed the words, “Can I?” I gave her a thumbs-up. They ran to the concession stand, eagerly waiting in line to order their unnaturally flavored rainbow snow cones.

  Feeling so carefree that day, I said yes to nearly anything and everything. Love was in the air. I was sunbathing in one of my favorite places, and I was with my husband
and children. Thad was next to me reading a book. I reached over, grabbed his hand, and whispered, “I love you.”

  He smiled back with his charming dimples and gave my hand a squeeze. “I love you, too.”

  That night, as we sat at the dinner table overlooking a beautiful sunset, I thought back to the summer before. We had invited Mom and Dad to Colorado, along with two of their favorite couples. We had celebrated Mom’s seventieth birthday and had sat at this same table overlooking God’s one-of-a-kind sunset. Mom hadn’t even known it was her birthday. Even though we had wished her a happy birthday several times that day, when she saw the special flower arrangements at our dinner table that night and the gifts at her spot, she asked, “What’s this for?”

  Now, as I looked out, I smiled at God’s sunset. It was not a coincidence we were sitting at the same table. It was His reminder that He was present. He heard everything I said to Him, and He knew my every thought before I even spoke it. I love You, too, Lord. Thank You for my front-row seat tonight to see Your beauty. I know You have me exactly where you want me.

  THE NEXT MORNING, MY ALARM went off at 5:20 a.m. Donning my robe and slippers, I headed to the kitchen for my cup of coffee. I couldn’t wait to get in that cozy chair in the teepee and seek God’s heart and all that He had to say.

  Settled in the teepee, I opened one of my favorite devotionals, Streams in the Desert, and read: “We pray for patience for many years, and when something begins to test us beyond our endurance, we run from it. We try to avoid it, we see it as some insurmountable obstacle to our desired goal, and we believe that if it was removed, we would experience immediate deliverance and victory.”

  These weren’t the words I anticipated reading and hearing.

  Hesitantly, I read on. “Turn from your running and submit. Claim by faith to be a partaker in the patience of Jesus and face your trials in Him. There is nothing in your life that distresses or concerns you that cannot become submissive to the highest purpose. Remember, they are God’s mountains. He puts them there for a reason, and we know He will never fail to keep His promise.”