by T. K. Chapin
“Stop, Dad. Please!”
My heart ached. “Please just stay home.”
“I’m eighteen. I’m leaving.” She came over to Denise in the hallway and they hugged while they both cried.
“I love you, Jasmine,” Denise said.
“I love you too, Mom.”
She released from their embrace at the sound of her car horn outside, and I cringed. “Take care of yourself, Jasmine. Call us if you need anything.”
As she wiped the tears from her eyes, I saw a little bit of a smile as she looked at me. It wasn’t much, but for the moment it was all I had. She was my baby girl, and it ripped me apart inside knowing she wasn’t going to be at home, sound asleep in her bed that night. Taking a step toward me, she wrapped her arms around my neck and said, “I love you, Daddy.” She began to cry harder as she turned and hurried to the door, and then she left.
CHAPTER 7
A week came and went and before I knew it, the day of the chief’s operation had arrived. He had requested me to join him at six that morning up at the hospital. He wanted me to pray with him before they took him back. He was scared of dying under the knife.
On the way up to the hospital that morning, I thought about Jasmine. She had been gone for about a week, and we hadn’t heard from her but once when she called Denise asking about picking up more clothes. My little princess was making grown-up decisions whether I wanted her to or not. When Denise had her on the phone that one day she’d called, she couldn’t get much information out of her about what was going on. She only said that they were doing okay and that she was still going to school.
When I got out of my car at the hospital, I was surprised to see Jasmine’s softball buddy, Tessa, walking across the parking lot.
“Hey, Tessa,” I said, shooting her a wave.
“Mr. Freeman. How are you?” she asked, walking over to me.
“Good. Hey. Have you talked to Jasmine lately?”
“Yesterday. I saw her at Jessica’s house,” she replied.
“Was Austin there?”
Her eyebrows went up. “You know about him?”
“Yeah,” I replied, trying to keep my calmness so I could elicit more information out of her.
“He was there. Yes.”
“I see . . .”
“Yeah. I can’t believe he threatened his manager and lost that job. Why would he do that?”
My eyebrows shot up.
“Oops,” she replied. “I figured you knew that.”
“What’s their plan now if he lost his job?” I asked, stepping closer.
She backed up. “I don’t know, Mr. Freeman. I should get going.” Tessa turned and hurried to get into her car.
I turned and headed into the hospital. Worry began to settle within me as I thought about him not having a job. Did that mean she was going to skip out on college? I still held onto the hope that she wouldn’t be that naïve. Walking inside the lobby of the hospital, I headed over to the receptionist desk and asked for Paul’s room number. They sent me down the hallway to the elevators.
Stepping on, I turned around and hit the number three. Pushing the thoughts of my daughter aside, I focused in on Paul. I was there to support him, help him through this rough patch of his life. He could possibly die today on the operating table, and he needed Jesus.
Walking into his room, I immediately noticed the sweat that was forming around his forehead. He looked worried and fragile. His wife, Lucille, sat down in a chair on the other side of the room as I approached him.
Grabbing a blanket that was pushed beside him, I dabbed his forehead. “You okay, sir?” I asked.
He laughed and pushed my hand away from his head. “You knock that Sir talk off. You’re my friend, Micah.”
I grinned. “Paul.”
The nurse came in and gave us a five-minute warning before they were going to wheel his bed away to go prep. I could sense the nervousness grow as his eyes grew wide.
Looking at me, he said, “You ready?”
“Are you?” I asked.
“For what?”
“Well . . .”
“I know, Micah. I could die on that operating table.” Paul shrugged as I saw his eyes begin to water. This was a man with eternity on his mind. He knew he could slip away. His hand trembled as it touched mine. “I don’t have time left. I can’t go get saved! I waited too long.”
I reached my other hand down and put it on top of his. “Paul,” I said, shaking my head. “There’s nothing you need to do other than call on the name Jesus Christ and believe that he died on the cross and rose three days later. Confess with your mouth that Jesus is your Lord.”
Paul tightened his lips. “C’mon, there’s more than that, Micah! I have to get baptized and work in the church, tithe, stuff like that. I know the drill.”
“No you don’t.” Crouching at my knees, I looked Paul directly in the eyes and said, “You have about two minutes before someone comes back into this room and takes you away, Paul. If you believe in Jesus Christ, you need to speak it and make this commitment right now.”
“I believe.” He looked up to the ceiling and began to cry. “I believe . . .” He let a long sigh that sounded relieving. “Salvation can’t be that easy,” he said, looking over at me with tears still running down his cheeks.
I put a hand on his shoulder and shook it slightly as I smiled. “Of course it’s this easy. If we had to do something to earn our way into heaven, we’d fail. We are all fallen. Believing that you have some sort of ability to save yourself or earn your way takes away from the power of God. Paul, if you only trust that God has your best interest in mind, you’ll find the peace you so desperately need.”
He smiled at me.
“Mr. Jensen,” the nurse said from the doorway, interrupting us.
“That’s my cue,” he said with a nervous smile. Looking over at his wife, she approached the side of the bed and I stepped out of the way. Watching as they embraced each other one last time before he’d be wheeled back, I smiled. It made me think of Denise. I held a lot of resentment toward her over the morning Jasmine left. I’d made her feel like she betrayed me, and while it wasn’t right to allow them to stay over, it was petty in the grand scheme of things. Here was a man about to get his chest cut open, and he was clinging to his wife’s hand on his way out of the room.
My thoughts drifted from Denise to the world and how so much of the world had become focused on temporary happiness like one-night stands, new relationships and binge watching of television shows. The world had it all wrong, though. True happiness was lasting relationships and moments like the one Paul was sharing with his wife.
Then the nurses wheeled Paul out the door and down the hall. Lucille stayed with him, clutching his hand, and I watched as they took him down to the operating room. She held on until they went through the doors and she couldn’t hold on anymore. She looked almost helpless standing at the doorway that he vanished behind. I walked up beside her.
“Let’s go to the waiting room,” I said, putting an arm around her.
The hours were long as Paul’s wife and I waited for the surgery to complete. It warmed my heart a few hours into the operation when his children showed up. They would have been there earlier, they said, but they had children to get to school.
Once the doctor came out and said everything was okay and that he was in recovery, I decided to leave Lucille with her family.
“I’m going to get going,” I said, placing a hand on Lucille’s shoulder as her children surrounded her.
“All right,” she said, smiling up at me from her seat. She grabbed my hand that was on her shoulder and said, “Thank you so much for coming. It brought me great comfort to see him finally make that commitment.”
I smiled.
“I was saved when I attended a youth camp years ago. A bit out of practice, but I’m saved by grace. I’ve always had a bit of a desire to go to church, but Paul never wanted to.”
I nodded. “Maybe when this is all over, you gu
ys can come to church with Denise and me. It’s a good group of folks.”
“We’ll see. I tried once early in our marriage to get him interested in God, but he didn’t want anything to do with it,” Lucille replied. “There’s a Baptist church up the road from us. Might go there. We’ll figure something out. Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. Take care,” I said. Turning around, I headed for the door out of the waiting room and down the hallway to the elevator. Stepping in, I pressed the button for the ground level. Smiling, I looked up at the ceiling and praised God for the successful operation and the commitment of Paul. I could almost hear the angels singing in heaven knowing that a new soul was now saved.
Back at the house, I was pleased to see the pile of logs stacked alongside the house. Kane must have dropped them off while I was out, I realized, looking at them.
Going to the backyard, I went out to the pile of split wood I had stacked on the porch and grabbed the wheelbarrow. Walking back to the side of the house, I started hauling the wood. It took thirty minutes to get it all moved.
Then it was time to start splitting. Grabbing my axe, I put the first log up on the stump I used to split wood and took a deep breath in. The early March afternoon air was cold and crisp as it filled my lungs. I brought the axe up, and with one full motion I swung the axe, tearing right through the piece of wood.
Stacking the split pieces of wood, I heard a car pull up. Looking at my watch, I saw it was two in the afternoon, and Denise wasn’t due to arrive for another hour, so I set my axe down and headed up front to see who it was.
Coming around the corner of the house, I saw Cole get out of his SUV. “Micah!” he shouted.
I knew something was wrong. He was tearing up and he said, “Get in. It’s Jasmine.”
Picking up my speed, I ran over to the car and got in. As he threw the car in reverse and gassed it, he said, “She’s been in a wreck. It doesn’t look good. I drove right over because you live so close to the station.”
My world crumbled at his words. I covered my mouth as tears seeped out of the corners of my eyes. I began praying harder than I ever had before in my life.
Please, Lord! Please don’t let anything happen to my princess! She’s too young! She has so much ahead of her!
“She’s up at Deaconess . . . I heard the call come in over the scanner at the station.”
“She’s at the hospital. That’s a good sign,” I said. My phone buzzed. It was Denise. I answered.
“Our baby!” she shrieked.
“It’s okay, honey. I’m going to the hospital right now.”
My wife’s wailing cries over the phone tore through me like a thousand pieces of shrapnel. And each sob was like salt being ground into an open wound. “Amy, my friend that works at the hospital, said she might not make it,” Denise struggled to add.
“Pray, honey. Let’s keep on praying. God will help us.”
“Okay,” she replied. “How much longer until you’re there? I’m heading there from the rec center downtown.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“I’ll see you there. I want to start praying right now,” she said.
“Okay. I love you. And remember, we serve an amazing and awesome God. He will come through.” Hanging up with Denise, my tears ran harder.
Cole was in the driver seat next to me talking, but I couldn’t hear anything he was saying. All I could think about was getting to my daughter. Bowing my head as I wept, I prayed fervently. The touch of Cole’s hand on my shoulder brought little comfort in the moment, but it was better that he was there than nobody at all.
I got to the hospital before Denise and rushed to the emergency room’s reception desk.
“My daughter is back there; I need to get back there! Where do I go?” I said in a loud voice.
The E.R. was relatively slow and the woman appeared startled as she reached over and pressed the button that controlled the swinging doors that led to the back. “Right through there, sir. She’s in ICU, follow the signs.”
I didn’t even thank her; I just darted through the doors and down the hall, following the signs. Jasmine kept flashing through my mind. She was hurting and I needed to get to her. Hurrying to the first nurses’ station, I spotted women standing behind the desk all nonchalant and chatting to one another. It irritated me that my daughter was hurt and they didn’t care. “Jasmine Rae Freeman. Where is she?” I demanded as I approached the nurses’ station.
“Only family can see her right now, sir. Are you her father?”
“Yes!”
“She’s right over there. In room seven,” one nurse said, pointing.
Going right to the room, I pushed open the door and went inside. It was like time stood still and everything became deathly quiet as I approached her hospital bed.
My little princess, I thought to myself.
A lump the size of a watermelon wrenched my throat shut as I looked at my daughter. Machines beeped and buzzed as cords and tubes ran everywhere. She was covered in bruises and cuts and her eyes were closed.
“Jasmine?” I said, coming to the side of the bed. Reaching down, I put my hand on hers. “Dear? Can you hear me?” I asked as my eyes welled with tears.
Silence.
Tears fell down my cheek as I bent down on my knees and pushed her hair back. “Daddy’s going to fix this, Princess,” I said. “I’m here now.” I sniffed and wiped tears from my cheeks. Placing my hand on hers again, I rubbed her hand with my thumb as I continued, “You’re going to be fine, and we’re going to get you out of here and . . . get you to that college in New Jersey or wherever. Whatever you want to do, just wake up, princess, and I’ll make sure you have everything you want.”
My bottom lip shook as more tears fell down my cheeks.
“Sir, are you family?” a nurse asked, coming into the room.
I stood up and looked at the nurse. Wiping my eyes, I said, “Yeah. So what’s the deal? Where do we go from here?”
“Let me get the doctor,” she said.
Denise came in as the nurse left and ran over to the bed. Sobbing, she hugged Jasmine as she said, “My baby!”
My heart was breaking and I looked up at the white ceiling in that hospital room. Praying, I asked God to help. I asked for Him to step in and help Jasmine. But as I prayed, I felt I already knew what the doctor was going to say. Between what Amy had told Denise and the countless tubes and machines, it wasn’t going to be good.
The doctor came in the room and lowered his clipboard to his side as he removed his glasses and dropped them in his coat pocket. “You’re Jasmine’s parents, correct?”
At our nods he continued, “Okay, so she was in a car accident. She was unresponsive when she arrived and we took her straight into surgery to try and save her, but it didn’t go well. She’s on life support right now.”
“Okay. How long does she need to be on that before we can take her off and she’ll be able to go home?” Denise asked.
I put my arm around her shoulder and brought her in close to me.
The doctor shook his head. “There is no easy way to say this . . . Jasmine doesn’t have any brain activity. She’s already gone in the most important way. We’ll continue to do basic brain and body checks for the next six hours, but I am not hopeful for the outcome. I believe it’s time to let her go, she’s not here anymore.”
I sniffed again as I began to sob. I looked over at Jasmine on the bed. Denise began sobbing hysterically and I held her tighter as tears poured down my cheeks and hers. My baby girl, our princess, was dying.
“A decision will have to be made soon if you would like to donate any of the remaining healthy functional organs, I know no one wants to talk about that, but to save a life from this tragedy sometimes helps us heal ourselves,” the doctor said. “I’ll be back in a bit to see what you have decided.”
Turning to Denise, I brought my hands to her arms and rubbed them gently. Looking into her eyes, I cleared my throat and pushed
out, “Jasmine’s going to be with Jesus today, honey.”
Denise let out a hopeless cry as her words strained. “I can’t lose my baby! Please, Micah . . . Please don’t.”
“I don’t want to lose her either.” I struggled to continue. Wiping my eyes as the lump in my throat tried to close off my breath, I said, “But it’s her time, Denise.”
“Why?” Denise asked as she clenched onto my shirt. “Why her?”
“It’s God’s timing, not ours.” I had said the words before and believed it, but this time it just didn’t make any sense to me. I said it because Denise needed me to, because it’s what I was supposed to say. But I didn’t feel those words to be true this time. Looking over at Jasmine again, I could see all the hopes, dreams and future she had before her fade. Putting my arm around Denise, we walked over to her bed as we continued to cry.
CHAPTER 8
Sadness didn’t begin to describe the drive home from the hospital that day. Donating her organs didn’t help me heal, but I knew Jasmine wouldn’t want her death to be in vain. There was a sense of hopelessness in the air that Denise and I shared that evening. Denise stayed silent as her eyes remained fixed out the car’s window, and tears continuously streamed down her cheeks. I was powerless over the pain that we both shared, but I longed for something I could do to ease hers.
Denise’s phone buzzed in her purse that sat near her feet on the floorboard. She ignored it—she might not have heard it. I had no idea what was going on in her mind. Then it buzzed again.
“Why won’t people just back off?” I asked in a soft tone as I turned onto our street.
She sniffed and shook her head, keeping her eyes fixated out the window. She managed to push out a reply, but it was laden with grief. “I don’t know . . .”
My jaw clenched as I thought about the outpouring of love and support from loved ones and friends. It was sweet, but we just needed space and it felt like nobody understood that.
Her phone began ringing and she sighed heavily. She grabbed her purse and pulled it up onto her lap. Looking at the screen, she said, “It’s my mother.” She slid her finger across the screen and ignored it.