The first room they tour is for Hope. It houses the Wall of Sorrow and Joy. A slow stream of water cascades over this stone wall. It’s to honor the tears shed for those who have lost their loves ones. But water is a sign of life, the guide says, and here it also pays tribute to the joy that’s received knowing the gift of life was given through organ donation. As donor families pause, they can reflect on their grief over the loss of their loved one and they can treasure the joy that’s been given to the recipient and their family. And recipients can reflect on the magnitude of the gift they’ve received and reflect on the sorrow that brought them this joy. The guide’s very good at his job. He explains everything perfectly.
He climbs us a ramp and motions for all of the visitors to follow. They enter the Butterfly Lawn which represents Renewal. It’s a room filled with light with layers and layers of plantings that have attracted thousands upon thousands of butterflies.
“The butterflies symbolize the renewal and transformation of organ donation,” he explains.
From here the guests cross the lobby and visit the kiosk which houses the on-line tributes collection. Mona has written one for me and stops to post a picture that my mother sent. It’s a school photo and not one of my favorites. Bad hair day—ugh! But, the tribute she wrote is very nice. It says I enjoyed skiing, writing, and spending time with my friends—very true.
Next they go to the Memorial Grove which represents Transformation. Holly trees in a garden setting make up this third and final room. What’s amazing about this room is that the water flowing through it forms the waterfall over the Gift of Life Fountain in this garden below. The plaque on the wall says, The waters journey symbolizes the personal journey of organ donation and transplantation, one of hope, renewal and transformation. The source of this flow is found deep within the grove. As a single drop of water gently falls into a simple bowl, the ripples symbolize the selfless act of organ donation and its far-reaching effects.
Isn’t that nice?
One by one the people on the tour make their way to the plaque, read what it says and move on.
Back in the lobby they’ve got pictures of all the organ donors running on this big TV screen. There’s hundreds of them.
“These are the faces of organ donation and transplantation,” the guide says.
My picture goes flying by every fourteen minutes and thirteen seconds. I’m sure it’ll take longer as more and more people decide to be part of this and donate when they die.
SEVENTY-EIGHTY
The Golden Window
Now my mother’s hired a private detective! She wants him to find Clarence. Well, this is a good decision. This guy can go into skuzzy Atlanta neighborhoods to his hearts content. He carries a gun.
His name’s Harley P. Evans and he comes well recommended. His business card says so. He charges five-hundred dollars a day, plus expenses. If meals are part of the expenses, it’ll cost a fortune. He’s as big as a garage door.
“It may take awhile,” he tells my mother. “Hard to do a skip-trace on a homeless person.”
He’s adding up the charges. There’re dollar signs written on his eyeballs. No matter. My mother can afford it. Mr. Harley P. Evans knows this too. He probably took one look at the house and doubled his normal rates. But I don’t blame him. He has to live, too.
“How long do you think it will take—a reasonable estimate,” my mother says. She’s fidgeting with the back of her hair. She normally does this when she’s reconsidering a decision she’s made. I can tell by the look on her face that she’s wondering what she’s gotten herself into.
“Let me look around all the S & S’s and I’ll get back to you on that,” he says.
“S & S’s?” my mother says.
“Stop and Slop’s—soup kitchens,” he answers, and gives a belly laugh.
Where did my mother find this guy anyway? He’s right out of a comic book. My mother gives him a check for $2000, to cover the first four days.
“Plus expenses,” Mr. Evans points out. “I’ll hit you up for them later,” he adds, and gives another one of his belly laughs. Now I know my mother is reconsidering, but the check is written so I figure she’ll go along with this guy for at least four days to see what happens.
This private detective business is an interesting profession. Obviously they’re very money motivated, but who isn’t these days. And they probably really like to snoop. But, it looks like the biggest part of their job is selling themselves to get an assignment to begin with. Mr. Evans walks the line between being overbearing and barely competent. I hope he finds Clarence. Personally, I think my mother should’ve tacked a note up at all the S & S’s—addressed to Clarence—that said: Clarence Johnson: I have two thousand dollars for you. Please call me. Grace Goodroe.
She’d have found him in twenty minutes without having to pay expenses.
EIGHTY-ONE
The Golden Window
Kirsten’s dating a doctor! And he’s her doctor. Let me explain. Now that Kirsten’s in Florida she’s doing her follow-up checkups at Florida Hospital Transplant Center in Orlando which is like maybe forty minutes from Cape Canaveral. That’s where she met Dr. Riley and now they’re dating. It’s probably unethical, but who cares. His first name’s Ron. Isn’t that heavenly? Ron Riley. I love it!
He’s so good-looking you would not believe. And he’s not married. More important he’s never been married, so he has no children; only two large dogs— mutts he rescued from the pound—Kamikazi and Rawhide. The only problem is they scare the hair off Bill, Kirsten’s little terrier. They’ll just have to work the dog part out, because other than that he is Mr. Perfect, I’m telling you. My father was right! I could kiss him.
Also, I checked on Mona again. She’s not doing too well, considering her husband left her with three kids, a mortgage, a new kidney, a bunch of bills, and guess what? He left her for another person! So he was lying when he said he just needed some time. Which is bad enough, but the real kicker is—he left her for another man!
Mona’s been crying all day, but Rita can’t stop laughing.
EIGHTY-TWO
The Golden Window
Harley P. Evans, the great detective my mother hired, has found Clarence. He was in jail for drunk and disorderly. They kept him long enough that he no longer had any alcohol in him when Mr. Evans arrived to bail him out. My mother settles the expense issue with Mr. Evans; thanks him for his services and sends him on his way. Now she’s dealing with Clarence on her own, who’s in need a drink. His hands won’t stop shaking.
“There’s a hospital that can help you, Clarence,” my mother explains.
“There’s a hospital that can help me?” he says. I told you he repeats everything like a question.
My mother nods her head. “And I’m prepared to pay all expenses if you will agree to go there.”
“You’s gonna pay all the expenses?” he says, and shakes his head.
Clarence wants nothing to do with it until my mother explains that Onetta has breast cancer and has had both her breasts, removed.
“Which in itself, doesn’t mean she’s cured of the cancer,” my mother states emphatically. “It will take at least five years to be sure of that. In the meantime she is asking for you and if you have an ounce of decency left in you, Clarence, you owe it to this woman to show up—and to be sober when you do.”
“Yes’m,” Clarence says. “I owes it to Onetta.”
My mother hasn’t wasted any words and I’m proud of her. So, it’s agreed. Clarence will check into Ridgeview Institute for one month. My mother will pay the bill, which is about a thousand dollars a day, and Clarence will come to see Onetta on the very day he is released.
My mother calls Ridgeview and makes all the arrangements. Basically it’s a country-club type treatment facility that specializes in alcohol and drug addiction for professionals, doctors and lawyers and etc, but they will take anybody who’s got insurance or the cash. Even so, it’s a very good place and it’s got some
of the best counselors you can imagine. They’re all former drug addicts or recovering alcoholics, so they know what they’re talking about.
Once Clarence is admitted and assigned his room, they do an evaluation and physical examination. The doctor then orders medication to ease him off the alcohol without too many side effects. He’s shaking like a toddler just learning to walk, and his blood pressure is one-hundred sixty over one-hundred, so he’s in the right place.
Clarence’s roommate is a crack-head named Rudy. Rudy’s African-American. He’s twenty-year’s old going on fifty. Most of his teeth are gone. He’s the saddest thing to look at. His face resembles a crater and his eyes have more red lines than a map. Rudy was abandoned by his mother when he was a baby and left in the care of an aunt, a drug addict. Most of her boyfriends managed to abuse Rudy. He has what look like cigarette burns over all the part of his body you don’t normally see. I know because he took his shirt off to play basketball. They have a gym there, too. I snooped and read his chart. He had a bunch of bones broken when he was a little kid too, that were never properly treated. No wonder he walks funny. He’s a major people pleaser—can you blame him? I like him a lot.
“How’ya doin’?” he says to Clarence who’s unpacking a bag of things my mother sent up for him; underwear, socks, pajamas, a tooth brush, shaving gear, a comb and hairbrush, dental floss, two pairs of sweats, two pairs of khaki’s and a half-dozen nice golf shirts.
“Peachy,” Clarence says with a straight face.
“This ain’t a bad place, man,” Rudy adds. “I been in worse.”
Clarence nods his head.
“I’m Rudy.” Rudy sticks his hand out and Clarence gives it a good shake.
“Clarence Johnson.”
“We ain’t supposed to exchange last names,” Rudy explains. “They don’t want us fraternizing once we get outta here.”
“How they gonna know?”
Clarence licks his finger and marks they air, like that’s one point for him.
A staff member shows up to inspect Clarence’s stuff and removes his shaving gear and dental floss and his toothbrush.
“These are considered “sharps”, he says, and holds up the shaving stuff. “You can have them between the hours of six and seven a.m. daily. Pick them up at the desk and return them promptly.
“What’s with my toothbrush?” Clarence says.
It’s a potential weapon. Pick that up too.
“And be on time. No exceptions,” the attendant adds. His name’s Frank. It’s on a plastic name badge that’s clipped to his shirt pocket.
The dental floss must be considered an instrument Clarence could hang himself with. They confiscate that too.
Clarence follows Frank to a private area where the rules and regulations are reviewed. Clarence will be a Level Three, which means he has to have his meals on the floor on paper plates under the watchful eye of the nurses. And he’s not allowed any of his “sharps”, at all while he’s a three, but he can have his toothpaste and dental floss. I guess while he’s Level Three it’s okay if he hangs himself, but they don’t want him escaping, so he can’t leave the floor for any reason. Once he’s on Level Two he can have his “sharps” and can shave, but he still can’t leave the floor, not until he’s a one. When he’s on Level One he’ll have full privileges, which includes having meals in the cafeteria, trips to the gymnasium, the swimming pool, and the tennis courts.
Group begins promptly at 9 a.m. each morning and it’s mandatory. Anyone who doesn’t show up is automatically demoted to a Level Three. I guess if you don’t care whether you leave the floor you could just not show up and be done with it.
Clarence nods his head that he understands the rules. Frank asks him to sign on the dotted line where it says he aggress to obey them. Then he’s free to roam about with the others until dinner.
The dining room’s very impressive. They even have a chef who wears a white hat. The food’s served cafeteria style and has more selections than Morrison’s. I’m impressed. And the dessert bar’s unbelievable. I guess they want the patients to get their mind off of their drug of choice and food’s a good diversion. Plus, most of the patients look like they haven’t eaten properly in a long time. Maybe drug and alcohol addiction does that. People lose interest in everything but getting their next fix.
Rudy takes two pieces of chocolate silk pie and brings one back to Cottage C for Clarence.
I told you I like him.
EIGHTY-THREE
The Golden Window
Me and Pete are having another chat. He wants to know why I’ve been putting off a trip through the Silver Lining with him.
I tell him I’m all mixed up. I watch life go on without me through the Golden Window and all it does is make me want to climb into the Silver Window and pretend I’m still there. Which is stupid—it only makes me more confused.
“There are so many happy days in each,” I say, “but just as many sad ones.”
“Lorelei,” Pete says and drapes an arm around my shoulder. “There’s only two that count. The day you are born and the day you find out why.”
“Maybe that’s my problem. I haven’t found out why.”
“You will,” Pete says. “And it may be closer than you think.
He nods at the Silver Lining. “Are you ready?” he says.
I shake my head. “I’m afraid of what it is you want to show me,” I say.
Pete nods his head and strokes his beard. But I’ll be right there with you,” he assures me.
“Maybe after I visit Christopher. I really miss him.”
“I’ll go with you,” Pete says, enthusiastically. “We’ll have a picnic!”
Obviously, he’s not letting me out of his sight.
“Don’t you have new arrivals to greet?”
“Oh my, yes—there are always new arrivals. I’ll send my assistants.” Pete waves his hand like it’s a wand
“Assistants? How many do you have?”
Pete laughs. “As many angels as there are in heaven.”
We go find Christopher. He’s building sand castles in a giant sandbox next to the playground and is giggly-happy to see me.
“Lo-Lei,” he yells and runs to my side.
“I gather him in my arms and smother him with kisses. His skin is golden and smells like sun and sand.
“Would you like to go on a picnic?”
“Yeeeeeess! he squeals.
Pete holds up the basket. “I’ve brought all your favorite foods. Would you like to carry the basket?”
Christopher’s more than happy to do just that. “Bring my friends,” he says. “I like my friends.” He runs off in their direction.
Pete is busy multiplying picnic baskets. Soon a stream of children have gathered behind Christopher.
Pete cups his hand like a megaphone. “Grab a basket and follow me!” He’s like the Pied Piper. The children follow the path he’s taking. I take Christopher’s hand. He still has hold of one of the baskets in his other. It’d be nice to be so young, with nothing to think about, but picnics and sandboxes and playing with friends. If I were his age I wouldn’t have to be concerned about the Silver Lining and what it is that Pete’s determined to show me that’s got the hair on my neck standing at attention.
EIGHTY-FOUR
The Silver Lining
Today’s the day. I can’t put it off any longer. I promised Pete I’d go with him and this time I’m going to keep my promise.
“Lorelei,” he says, “This is a special trip through the Silver Lining.” His face is serious as a heart attack. “I want to show you what would have transpired if you hadn’t arrived the night that you did.
I’m pretty sure this isn’t something I want to know. It gives me the shivers when I try to remember.
“But this is only what could have happened,” Pete assures me. “I think it’s important. Will you trust me?”
His beautiful eyes, still larger than lakes, look into mine with so much love, how can I refuse?<
br />
“Alright,” I say, hesitantly. “I’ll try.”
“Let’s go,” Pete says and jumps into the Silver Lining. He extends his hand to help me onto the pillow and we’re off.
The night’s black as tar. The moon’s nowhere in sight. The temperature’s dropped to at least fifty degrees. We’re headed to my house. My mother’s Land Rover is parked in the portico around back. Only one light remains lit. It’s the lamp by her night stand. That means she’s still up. Pete and I hover in the dark above the house and wait until she snaps it off.
“Look,” he says softly and points to the portico.
I see a shadow approach the portico and climb into the Land Rover. The engines starts, but the lights on the vehicle are still turned off. The rover inches forward, makes it’s way around the house to the circular driveway and pulls out onto the street. Once there, the lights are switched on. It’s quite clear who’s in the driver’s seat hunched over the wheel. It’s me. Instantly, I remember Carla on the Step of Acceptance snooping through my memory trees and pointing out that I’m driving a Land Rover. “Oh no!” she said. “You’re about to—” and she placed her hand over her mouth.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Pete said this is the night that I arrived on Heaven’s doorstep. But this is the Silver Lining. This is what would have happened if I hadn’t showed up. But I did! So why am I so scared to see what would have happened if I hadn’t? What could have been worse than having my life end?
The Heavenly Heart Page 20