Coming Home: A Story of Undying Hope

by Karen Kingsbury

  “When does the moving company come?”

  “Thursday, after our trip. So we can stay there.”

  “And I can put together a suitcase of clothes for Amy.” Ashley couldn’t grasp the sadness ahead. “I’m assuming the neighbors will keep an eye on the place until then?”

  “Yes. Sam and Erin had an alarm, so their things should be safe.”

  The moving van was a great idea. Dayne had thought it up, and he and Katy had paid for it. A moving company would pack up the house much as if the family had only moved. The truck would bring everything from Erin’s house here, to Bloomington, where it would be put in storage until the entire family could take a weekend and go through it. That was the only option that made sense — since they could hardly all take a trip to Texas.

  Ashley felt herself rally, felt the fight rise inside her. She straightened and looked at her brother, really searched his eyes. “We have to fight this.”

  “That’s what I came in here to tell you.” His eyes were still filled with doubt. “It doesn’t look good, Ash. But we have to try. I was thinking we’d fly in that Tuesday so we could be there for the hearing. We can at least present Erin’s side.”

  “We’re going to win.” She walked to him and hugged him. “We’ve got the best lawyer in the country.”

  They talked for a few more minutes, and when Luke went outside with the others, and after Brooke and Kari and Reagan joined her in the kitchen to help put the rest of the dinner together, Ashley slipped away for a few minutes to do one very important task.

  Book a flight to Austin.

  Twenty-Three

  JOHN HADN’T BEEN SURE ABOUT THIS PLAN WHEN HIS DAUGHters brought it up Saturday after the funeral service. His birthday seemed so insignificant in light of the week. Elaine was the one who had pulled him aside and reminded him how important the celebration might be. Not just for him but for the whole family.

  So on Sunday just after noon — when they would usually still be at church — he and Elaine pulled up at Ashley’s house and parked. For a long while John didn’t move, didn’t try to get out of the car or hurry inside. “Was it really just a week ago?”

  Elaine didn’t say anything. She understood, he could see that in her eyes.

  “I mean, it feels like yesterday.” He stared straight ahead at the grassy land and shade trees that marked the side of the property. “We were pulling up and I was sure the kids had planned some kind of surprise, and the phone rang.” John felt a fresh wall of sadness surround him.

  A phone call.

  That was the way life changed for anyone who went through something like this. One minute they were going about life concerned with getting someplace on time or making dinner or running errands or planning a party. Then just like that, in the middle of an everyday-life kind of moment, the phone would ring. And nothing about life would ever be the same again.

  In their situation, the whole country knew about the tragedy, and literally every citizen of Bloomington. The memorial service yesterday was packed to overflowing, people lined up three-deep along the back and sides of the church. It had been a simple memorial — no time to do anything else.

  They talked about postponing the service until Amy was out of the hospital, but her doctor didn’t see the need. Funerals and memorials were mainly for adults, people who understood the sometimes great length of time between here and heaven. Pastor Mark had arranged beautiful music, and since he knew the Baxter family better than anyone at the church, he gave the message.

  Up front there had been large photos set up on easels — one of Erin and Sam, and one each of Clarissa, Chloe, and Heidi Jo. The pictures were surrounded by flowers of every shade and color, brilliant purples and whites and yellows and reds — further proof of life here, and life there. A reminder that Erin and her family had lived and they were living still.

  The service hadn’t taken long. They had agreed to keep the caskets out of the church. It was too many, too much. The loss far too great. Instead they asked the funeral home to work out the details with the cemetery. Once the service at Clear Creek was over, the family walked from the front pew to their waiting cars, while hundreds of people stood on either side, quietly watching them go.

  “The cemetery was rough,” John still sat in his car outside Ashley’s house. He was grateful for Elaine’s patience, the fact that she wasn’t in a hurry to get inside. They all needed moments like this, when they could be quiet before God and realize the enormity of what had happened that week.

  “Seeing the caskets … that’s what got me.” Elaine’s voice was tender and soft. She took John’s hand and again she waited. Giving him this chance to remember.

  “For me, too.” Getting out of the car and seeing not one casket or two, but five. Caskets representing five lives that had mattered so dearly to him. His sweet granddaughters — all with so much life ahead — and his son-in-law who had been deeply determined to take care of his family. Even if it meant moving them away on more than one occasion so he could get work and support them.

  And his precious youngest daughter. His sweet Erin.

  Yes, they were in heaven and they were better off for it. He would believe that always. His days of questioning God for taking all five of them were over, although hours of struggle were bound to come along in the process of living without them. The times when looking at Amy Elizabeth would be enough to move him to tears. He didn’t doubt that Erin and Sam and the girls were happier than ever.

  He simply missed them.

  “I feel like … they should be inside waiting for us.”

  “Standing there with everyone else, the girls running around with their cousins.” Elaine ran her thumb over his hand.

  “Right.” He smiled, even as a few tears hit his cheeks. “Clarissa talking a hundred miles an hour and Chloe with her sparkly eyes and Heidi Jo, holding hands with Amy. Erin and Sam, their arms around each other.”

  John sighed, wondering how he would get through the next few hours. The others wanted so badly to make him feel appreciated, to celebrate this milestone birthday. But right now John only wanted to find a quiet place and a scrapbook, or take up his position on the couch and roll home movie reels. Anything to spend a few more hours believing that Erin and her family were still with them, still alive. Their voices still ringing out somewhere under the same sky.

  When Elizabeth died, someone told John that he would find a way to laugh and live again, and the days would bring him back to a routine that didn’t involve crying every day. But even still, he would carry the loss with him forever, as if someone had ripped away a part of him. And he would go through life aching for it. The wisdom had proved true, even so much as to letting him find new life with Elaine.

  But not a day went by when he didn’t feel the loss of his Elizabeth. And it would be that way with Erin and her family. The reunion was coming, the one where they would all be together in heaven forever without heartache or tragedy or this very great pain he was feeling now. But here … in the moments before his birthday barbecue … heaven felt very far away, indeed.

  He wiped his tears and smiled at Elaine. Again he didn’t have to say anything. She understood that he was ready now, he could face his family and his birthday barbecue. He could go inside the house where he and Elizabeth had raised their family and he could enjoy an afternoon and evening with them.

  Even when everywhere he looked he would remember Erin.

  THE BARBECUE WAS GOING BETTER THAN John had expected. Rather than a constant effort to fight tears and feign happiness, the infusion of life from his family created a joy deep in John that stood in stark contrast to the loss they’d been dealt that week. Throughout the dinner, the kids proved they were already back to life as it had been. The prekindergarteners — Janessa, Sophie, and Annie — clamored for their mothers’ attention wanting more juice or less fruit or help washing their hands. The three girls were inseparable, playing dolls in the living room and lost in their own world of make-believe and pre
tend. Their high-pitched little-girl giggles filled the air with a joy the family desperately needed.

  The little ones — Johnny and Egan — were with their mothers, Reagan and Katy, and out back Devin, RJ, and Malin were hanging out with Amy. The four of them hovered around the pond looking for tadpoles or frogs or anything that slithered. Every spotting or near catch was celebrated with shouts of victory and a happiness unfettered by last Saturday’s tragedy. Amy wasn’t as enthusiastic as the others, but she was at least off the couch and outside. And her cousins were definitely going out of their way to include her and keep her mind off the incalculable loss she’d suffered, the reality of which couldn’t possibly be fully grasped yet. Not by Amy or any of the younger kids. Her expression looked like that of someone who wasn’t quite fully awake. The look of shock, for sure. On top of that, her arm still hurt quite a bit, and she was achy everywhere.

  John could only imagine what was going on in her heart.

  The older kids — Cole and Jessie, Maddie and Hayley — had finished eating and were shooting baskets out front. The sound of the ball on the asphalt, the clang of the hoop — all signs that life would go on.

  John sat with Elaine on the back patio, surrounded by his kids and their spouses and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched Devin, every bit the ringleader that Cole had been at that age. “No wonder God tells us to be like little children.” He smiled at the others. “Amy is in shock. Her situation is very different, of course. But the other kids could teach us something about living.” He looked back at the children near the pond. “They were sad and they cried like all of us.” John turned his attention to Devin and RJ, Malin, and Amy. “But maybe they accept death a little easier. They believe in heaven, and they believe in life here.” He smiled, feeling the sorrow written into his expression. “Faith like a child … that’s how I want to live.”

  “Me, too.” Ashley was watching Amy. “Erin lived like that. More than the rest of us, I think. With a simple childlike love for God and life and family.” Her eyes grew wet, despite the hint of a smile on her face. “If she has a window right now, she’d be smiling bigger than anyone in heaven. Just watching us all together for Dad’s birthday … watching the cousins play.”

  John loved that picture, and he held it close to his heart for several minutes while the others talked about the logistics surrounding the accident, the void it had left, the struggles with the social worker, and the pending trip Luke and Ashley were taking to Texas. The idea of losing Amy to her birth mother was more than John could imagine, same as the others. So they didn’t spend much time on that topic.

  “I might write a letter to the wife of the truck driver.” John looked from Kari and Ryan to Ashley and Landon and on to the others.

  They each nodded, their eyes suddenly sadder than before. “Her loss comes with shame … which must be so hard.” Brooke bit her lip. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “Me, either.” Kari sighed. “So many people were affected.” She set her plate down on the patio beside her and leaned over her knees. “If only he would’ve pulled over. Gotten sleep on the side of the road, even.”

  They were quiet for a while. “What would you tell her?” Dayne’s expression was kind, thoughtful. He was clearly intrigued by the idea.

  “I’d like to tell her we’re praying for her … and that we aren’t angry with her husband. Just let her know that we believe God is sovereign even in very tough times like this. Maybe let her know a little about Erin and Sam and the girls, and how strong their faith was. How sure we are that they’re in heaven.”

  Luke shifted in his chair. “What if her husband wasn’t a Christian?”

  “I thought about that.” John settled back, glad they could talk through this. “Most people assume their loved ones go to heaven when they die. Whatever the eternal state for the trucker, his family needs to see Christ’s love in action. This isn’t about the woman’s husband. A letter like this could make a difference for her and her family.”

  Another few seconds passed while the group considered this, and eventually Ashley smiled. “I think I’ll add a letter to yours.” Around the patio, the others agreed, nodding and catching John’s vision.

  “Maybe we should pray for them now.” John hadn’t planned on this, but it seemed the right thing to do. The others bowed their heads or linked hands and John simply began. Because praying was as simple as talking to God throughout the day, whenever the need arose. This was one of those times. “Father, we lift up the family of Marty Cohen. They’re dealing with a very great loss, like we are, but they’re also facing humiliation and shame. Please bring people alongside them and help them find You through this tragedy. Use our efforts to help their faith increase or to find faith in You for the first time.”

  John heard a few of them wiping tears. He continued, his voice marked by a peace that could’ve only come from God. “Be with us today, too, Lord. This evening we celebrate life. The sound of the children laughing around us and the love among us … You give us these reminders to keep us from falling apart. But times will come for all of us when we don’t feel like we can take another breath. Be our strength, Father. We need You every day, every hour.” He stopped, his own emotions welling up again. “Please let our dear Erin and her family know how much we love them.” He reached for Elaine’s hand. “And let the reunion with Elizabeth and baby Sarah be the sweetest time ever. Thank You for conquering death, Lord. We love You. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  THE DINNER WAS FINISHED, THE DISHES were cleaned, and the cake was out on the counter waiting for them.

  It was time to read the letters.

  John had found out about them several days ago, but he hadn’t said anything. He wasn’t sure if they would have a moment like this before everyone fell back into their routines, and he didn’t want to force it. But now they were all gathered in the living room of the old Baxter house, and each of his adult kids held a piece of paper in his or her hands. He sat in an overstuffed recliner, with Elaine next to him in a hard-back chair from the dining room. The room was packed, most of the kids filling in spaces on the floor. Amy sat next to Ashley, clinging to her arm with her healthy one. Landon was on her other side.

  Dayne spoke first. “Ashley wants us to go in age order.” He smiled at her and then back at John. “I’m supposed to be good at reading in public.” Soft chuckles came from around the room. Dayne’s smile faded as he looked at John. “But I have a feeling this won’t be easy.” He pursed his lips and exhaled hard. “Okay. Here goes.” He looked down at the paper and at John again. “Dear Dad, In some ways I really hate that you’re seventy.” Again a light ripple of laughter came from the room.

  “Way to start off,” Ryan teased, and John was grateful for his son-in-law’s attempts at keeping the mood light. “He’s still pretty young.”

  “True.” Dayne smiled and sniffed at the same time. He found his place on the page. “I hate it because it reminds me how many years I lost.” He looked slowly at the faces around the room. “Years when I would’ve given anything to be a Baxter.”

  He went on reading, telling John how grateful he was for the effort he had made in bringing him into the family, the times when they would meet at the park downtown and talk about logistics and practicality and how his siblings might react to a movie star being their brother.

  “Through it all you treated me like a son. From the beginning.” He hesitated, composing himself. “I realize now … that even though the idea of being a Baxter was new to me, and the idea of being your son was as crazy as some movie plot … it wasn’t a new idea to you. Because you and Mom loved me from the day I was born. Even when you couldn’t raise me, even though you couldn’t find me.”

  Elaine handed John a tissue, and he used it to catch the first tears.

  Dayne finished his letter by saying that though his adoptive parents were kind people, they were never a family. He looked at John for a long moment and then back at his letter. “I would easily trade a
ll the awards and accolades and movie roles I’ve ever played for the chance to be raised in this family.” He looked around again. “With all of you. Because being part of the Baxter family, learning about your faith and sharing in it now …” He smiled at Katy, his eyes still watery as he finished the letter. “Finding Katy, having a family with her … everything that’s happened since I found out I was a Baxter has been the highlight of my life.” He paused. “So, happy birthday, Dad. I only wish I’d been here to celebrate all the ones I missed.”

  John stood without hesitation and went to his oldest son. He wrapped him in his arms and held him the way he had longed to hold him through the first three decades of his life. “I love you, son. You belong here.”

  One by one, the others took to their feet and joined the huddle, clearly as moved as John was by Dayne’s letter and his honest admission of how grateful he was to be a Baxter, and how much he regretted missing the chance for so many years. Eventually they all made their way back to their seats.

  Brooke was up next. Her letter thanked John for never giving up on Hayley, and for teaching her how to believe in God again. “I’m not sure who I’d be today if it weren’t for you. When I think of our family, I see you, Dad. At the center, praying for us, leading us. Happy birthday, even though I refuse to believe you’re getting older. You’ll always be my hero.”

  John had known that if the time allowed and they found this moment together, it would be emotional. He wiped his cheeks again, his heart full, and he crossed the room to hug Brooke. It was impossible to hear one of his kids share their deepest thoughts and love toward him without going to them afterward. Their words meant that much to him.