Derailed (20 page)

“Why isn't she in ICU?” I whispered impatiently to the nurse who was adjusting the pillow under Mom's head.

Estelle went to the other side of the bed and picked up Mom's hand. She shook her head, and immediately fished some lotion from her large purse and began anointing Mom's hands.

The nurse answered in a normal voice, seemingly without concern for waking Mom. “We're doing everything we can for now. The doctor may order another MRI, but I kind of doubt it.”

“Whaddaya mean, you doubt it?”

“Well, if it's a bleed . . .” She shrugged as though there was nothing to be done. “And if it's a clot, she's already on Heparin.”

“Heparin . . . that's that blood thinner, right?”

“It dissolves clots.”

I nodded, but . . . why were they giving her Heparin if there was a chance that she'd had a bleed? They probably had their reasons, so I postponed that question until later. “When did this happen?” I whispered even more softly.

“You don't really need to whisper.”

“But . . . ?”

“She's
unconscious
, Mr. Bentley. If we happened to wake her up, well, I guess you could consider that to be an encouragement.”

Estelle stopped massaging Mom's hands. “You don't expect her to wake up?”

The nurse gave us a condescending smile. “Well, no one can say for sure, but in cases like this . . .”

“I don't receive that.” Estelle straightened to her full height, squared her shoulders, and declared in a defiant voice, “Where there's life there's hope.”

The nurse shrugged. “I suppose you're right, but—”

“Are you finished with whatever you're not doin', 'cause if you are, I think Harry and I can take over now.”

Without another word, the nurse left.

I watched Mom, breathing steadily, but otherwise lying as still as stone. Would this be the end? I wasn't ready for it. We'd talked about her not being able to move into the apartment, but I hadn't seriously considered this her actual end. I'd never gotten around to telling her how much I loved her.

We just couldn't let her die yet!

I eyed Estelle. “What'll we do if we need that nurse again?”

Estelle shrugged. “Press the button, I guess. But right now it's time to call on a higher power.”

It wasn't like Estelle to talk like she was in an AA meeting, but I knew what she meant as she reached across the bed to grab one of my hands, laid her other hand on Mom's forehead, and began to pray.

Estelle prayed until I thought my back was going to break from leaning forward to hold her hand. She beseeched God to “Wake up Wanda Bentley, and grant her a little more time with her friends and family. Lord, we ain't ready to say good-bye.” She reminded God of Mom's years of faithfulness and reminded him how he'd added time to King Hezekiah's life when he'd prayed a similar prayer.

The prayer went on, but my mind drifted to the story of Hezekiah. If I remembered correctly, God had granted him fifteen more years of life. Mom was already eighty-eight and rather infirm. Even if she did recover from her stroke, I doubted she'd be very happy with us if we signed her up for fifteen more years.

Finally, Estelle wrapped up her prayer. “Father, we need your resurrection power here, so I ask all these things in the mighty name of Jesus Christ, our risen Lord. Amen!”

She squeezed my hand, and I opened my eyes and stretched back to straighten my back. As I did, Mom coughed twice and opened her eyes. She smiled her crooked smile and then looked at Estelle and mumbled something.

“Oh!” Estelle squealed like a schoolgirl. “Praise you, Jesus! Thank you, Jesus.” Estelle began clapping her hands, then grabbed the hand controller and pushed the call button. “That nurse has gotta get in here to see this right now.”

I didn't care whether the nurse saw this or not. I leaned close to Mom's face and grasped her gnarly hand, softened by the cream Estelle had applied. Our eyes locked. “How ya doin', Mom?”

She mumbled something, and while I had no idea what she said, I could tell from the look in her eyes that she recognized me and knew where we were.

A shock went through me as though I'd grabbed a live wire. This was my time! “Mom? Mom! You know I love you, Mom. I . . . I haven't said that for a while, but I really do. I want to tell you, I love you. And . . . and I want to thank you for all you've done for me over the years, and . . .” I couldn't think what else to say.

Her eyebrows lifted in recognition and she smiled again, as peaceful as could be, then closed her eyes just as a nurse came in.

It was a different nurse.

“My mother just woke up and spoke to us!” I patted her hand. “Mom, Mom, the nurse is here. Mom . . . ?”

“Maybe she went back to sleep,” said Estelle. “But I saw her and heard her too. She's conscious.”

“
Hmm
.” The nurse hurried over to check the monitor and took Mom's other vitals. Then she looked at me with a skeptical expression on her face. “You say she actually spoke to you? What'd she say?”

I frowned and stuck out my lower lip. What difference did it make what she'd said? “Well, it was hard to make out, you know, 'cause her mouth doesn't work quite right, but she was lookin' me in the eye and talkin' right to me. No question about it.”

Estelle, meanwhile, had gone back to praising the Lord, eyes closed and hands clasped as she thanked God over and over again under her breath for answering our prayer.

The nurse busied herself writing things on Mom's chart, then said in a flat, unconvinced voice, “Well, let us know if she wakes up again.”

I wanted to shake her, make her acknowledge how big this was. “Oh, you bet we will. We'll ring you soon as she's done sleepin'. You can be sure of that!”

There were two recliners in Mom's room, and we sat up with her for the next couple hours as she slept peacefully. Every so often Estelle murmured, “Unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable! God just did a resurrection miracle, and we got to witness it.”

I felt the same and nodded in agreement, making brief responses as we marveled over what had happened. But finally, Estelle fell asleep, and my eyes also grew heavy watching Mom's still form in the bed as her monitor continued its hypnotic beep. Finally, my eyelids closed, and I slipped into a strange dream in which I knew I was dreaming, but everything was logical and as believable as if I'd been awake. Mom woke up again, but this time she sat up in her bed and spoke as clear as ever. “Where are my slippers, Harry? Where did they put 'em? And get me my clothes too. I'm ready to go home.”

Her speech wasn't slurred and her smile wasn't contorted and she used both hands to steady herself as she swung her feet around onto the floor.

I was fixin' to get up and help her when Estelle began calling to me.

“Harry, Harry! You're snoring.”

I jerked awake. “What? Oh, sorry. Did I wake up Mom?” I glanced over at her, but she was still asleep . . . and didn't need me to get her clothes.

“No, but you woke me up. Now turn on your side and put a pillow under your head before that nurse comes in here to see if you're trying to start a lawn mower.”

I stared at Mom for a few moments. She wasn't smiling or talking or sitting up to go home. Nevertheless, that phrase—that she was “
ready to go home
”—stuck with me. Was she still counting on our downstairs unit, or was she thinking of her old apartment?

I raised my head and spoke in a hushed voice. “Hey Estelle, you asleep?”

Her head rose slowly, and my wife gave me a deadeye look. “Not . . . quite.”

I laid my head back. “Sorry.”

She sighed. “Wha'd you want, Harry?”

I sat back up. “Well, I was thinkin' that maybe we shouldn't rent out our lower unit. Maybe Mom will recover enough to come home. And it would be downright too bad if we hadn't saved it for her.” I waited a moment. “Just sayin' . . .”

“
Hmm
. I was thinking the same thing. Wouldn't that be nice? But . . . let's just get some sleep, Harry. Tomorrow's Easter.”

“Easter? We can't go to church. I mean, we need to be here with Mom . . . when she wakes up.” The image of her asking for her slippers and clothes flitted through my mind. “She might need us.”

Estelle waved her hand dismissively. “You can stay here if you want, Harry, but I'm going to church to thank the Lord for what happened here tonight.”

“Mom's just had another stroke, and you want us to leave her?”

“You're thinking about the stroke, but I'm thinking about the miracle of God in wakin' her up out of a coma. God deserves some praise.”

Estelle sat up in her chair and reached over to dig through her purse on the floor by her side until she retrieved her little Bible. She sighed deeply as she flipped through the pages. “Here it is in Psalm 107. ‘Give thanks to the L
ORD
, for he is good; his love endures forever.' Then it goes on reviewing all the great things God did. But in verse 31 it says, ‘Let them give thanks to the L
ORD
for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for men. Let them exalt him in the assembly of the people'—that's the church—‘and praise him in the council of the elders.' ” She closed her little Bible with a
thump
and dropped it back into her purse as if the matter were settled.

“And that means we have to go to church
this
morning?”

“Well, that's what I'm gonna do. I don't want to be like the nine lepers who went off without so much as a ‘thank you, Jesus' after he healed 'em. I want to be the one who came back to thank him.”

“Of course, we'll thank him when we're . . .” I stopped before saying,
when we're done watchin' over her
. “But that doesn't mean we have to go to church today. We'll tell everyone when the time's right.”

“Well, for me this is the right time. It's a way to exercise my faith that Jesus has healed Mother Bentley. Isn't that what you want?”

“Of course, but . . .” Had Jesus really healed her? Maybe Estelle was right that we needed to exercise our faith so God could show us what was really going on. Suddenly, I had this vertigo feeling of being jerked around again, not knowing what was going on. Why
didn't God just tell me straight—
Buy a house. Get a job. Take your mom home
. But could I have accepted such simple directions?

I looked at the clock. It was already six thirty. Too late to get more sleep and too early to get up. Mom was still breathing peacefully in her bed. But was she asleep or unconscious again? I wanted to
know
. I wanted to know more than I wanted to thank God for waking her up.

Suddenly, recognition struck me like the voice of God. He had awakened Mom
just long enough for me to tell her that I loved her
. I hadn't even begun to unpack the implications of that possibility before a third nurse came in and took Mom's vitals, read her chart, and asked us if anything else had happened. Then turned Mom onto her side. Through it all, Mom did not wake up.

When the nurse left, I turned and stared at Estelle. It was Easter. What better time to praise God for a resurrection? Whether it was just a brief respite for me to say good-bye or a longer-term healing, I had no idea. But Estelle was right. God still deserved to be praised. “Okay. Let's go to church this morning.”

A couple of hours later on our way to church, we stopped at McDonald's drive-through to pick up a couple Egg McMuffins and some tall coffees for breakfast. While we waited for the window person to collect our food, I turned to Estelle. “You think God brought Mom back so she could live in our first-floor apartment?”

“Perhaps . . .” She was quiet a moment. “But whatever, he has a purpose. I know that much.”

“But . . . what if we can't figure it out?”

She got a pained look in her eye. “You know there are some things we may never understand this side of glory.” I knew she was thinking of her own son, Leroy. And then her eyes brightened and she pointed me back toward the window. “Here's our food.”

In spite of our stop at McDonald's, we arrived
at church early and Estelle disappeared while I made my way to our usual seats near the front on the left-hand side.

I'd come to expect Easter at SouledOut—or Resurrection Sunday, as Mom called it—to be one of the most inspiring events of my year. And I was not disappointed. Estelle sat down beside me with an out-of-breath
whoosh
just as worship began with “Was It a Morning Like This?”—Jim Croegaert's powerful song made famous several years ago by Sandi Patty. We continued by singing “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today,” and couldn't stop when the music group led us in Ron Kenoly's “Jesus Is Alive.”