When Joy Came to Stay (29 page)

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Kathy leaned over her and pulled her into a hug that lasted a long, long time. “I love you like you’re my own little girl. That much will always be true.”

Amanda’s tears were coming faster now, and her body trembled with sadness. “S-s-so…you never gave a little girl up for adoption?”

Kathy’s arms tightened around her. “No, sweetie. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I couldn’t love you more even if you were my own little girl.”

“But you’d let me live with you forever if I was, right?”

Kathy was quiet, and Amanda pulled back enough to see that she was crying.

“Oh, Amanda, of course. I’d let you live with us now, but it isn’t up to me. You know that. The state says our house is too small for another child.”

Amanda knew. She didn’t understand, but she knew. It wasn’t like she was that big, like she took up that much space…

They both were quiet for a long time while they dried their tears and remained locked in a hug. “I have a mother somewhere, don’t I, Kathy?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Tell me about her again. Please.” Amanda lay back down on the sofa as Kathy sat up once more and sniffed back her tears.

“Your mother was very young when you were born, Amanda. Too young to take care of you or give you a nice home. So instead, because she loved you very much, she decided to give you to the Brownells. The Brownells couldn’t have their own children, so you were their little princess. They were wonderful people and would have been your forever family if it hadn’t been for the accident.”

Amanda squeezed her eyes shut. She had loved the Brownells, but they were gone and she didn’t want to talk about them. Not now, when there was nothing they could do to help her. “What about my mother? What happened to her?”

Kathy angled her head thoughtfully. “I imagine she returned home, wherever that was, and grew up. Probably got married, that sort of thing.”

“Do you think she misses me?”

“Sweetheart—” Kathy swallowed hard and her voice sounded funny—“I’ll bet there isn’t a day that goes by when she doesn’t think of you.”

Amanda thought about that. Her mother was out there somewhere, and wherever she was, she spent time each day
thinking about the little girl she gave away. If that was true, then there was a chance her mother might actually try to find her. And if she did, then it was possible that one day—maybe even one day soon—her mother would show up and take her home forever.

The ache in her chest faded a bit. “Really, Kathy? You really think she remembers me like that?”

Kathy bent down and kissed Amanda’s cheek. “Really and honestly and truly. For all we know, she might be thinking about you right now.”

With a soft good night Kathy stood and left Amanda to fall asleep. And as Kathy—who wasn’t her real mother after all—padded up the stairs, Amanda prayed harder than she’d ever prayed before that God might move mountains or send angels or do whatever He needed to do.

As long as He helped her find her mommy.

I
T WAS TIME TO TELL THE GROUP.

After that first session the previous week, Maggie had taken to coming twenty minutes early every day. Combined with her time with Dr. Camas, Maggie was finally able to move beyond the past and begin unraveling her current thoughts and emotions. The conversations with Dr. Baker had helped Maggie feel more comfortable with the group as a whole.

In the past week she had learned all of their names. She had listened while—one at a time—they each had bared their hearts to the others. There was the bone-thin man who had trouble making eye contact. Harold was his name, and six months ago his wife and daughter were killed in a car accident. He had stopped eating. That was his way of checking out, of expressing his lack of will to live. In group discussion he realized that his depression centered around a very real feeling of abandonment. Not only by his family, but by God, as well.

The well-dressed woman in her late forties was Betty, a homemaker whose husband had left her ten years earlier. Now her children were raised and gone and she was desperately afraid of being alone. Her fears had built over the previous year so that now she was battling anxiety so great she was terrified of leaving her house. Being homebound had left her with little to do but eat and now, in addition to her fears, she was fifty pounds overweight and suffering from clinical depression. After much discussion it seemed clear both to Betty and the others that she had developed a dependence on everything but the Lord she claimed to serve. First her husband, then her children, and now her fleeting image.

Sarah, the sweet young girl who had been through three
abortions, began to recognize the consequences of living for self, with no regard for others. Although her missing babies still left a deep ache in her heart, her depression seemed to have lifted.

And there were others who Maggie thought were smiling more, talking more easily, making eye contact where once they could only hang their heads. The solution seemed to have everything to do with honesty. As they each were able to share more of their heart, the desperation faded. In fact, the darkness that initially seemed to cloak all of them seemed to be lifting for almost everyone.

Everyone, Maggie thought, but her.

She considered this as she made her way to the group session room.
Is it my pride, Lord? Is that the problem? Is it because I haven’t been honest with them?
The group was still unaware of Maggie’s professional identity, but was that the only reason she’d kept silent every day while one group member or another bared his or her soul?

Maggie had no answers, only a realization: If she was going to get better, she needed to talk about what was in her heart. And that meant finding the strength—somehow—to tell the group about her past. She rounded a corner and opened the first door on the left.

“Hi, Maggie.” Dr. Baker smiled up from a small stack of papers.

“Hi.” She made her way across the room and sat down next to the doctor. “Today’s the day.”

Dr. Baker raised an eyebrow. “Revelation time?”

Maggie nodded. “I’ve waited long enough.”

There was silence. That was something Maggie had grown to enjoy about Orchards Psychiatric Hospital. The silence. None of the people who worked here seemed to feel the need to fill holes in the conversation with meaningless chatter. Instead it was almost as though they encouraged moments of reflection. “I see they’ve decreased your medication again.”

“Yes, but…”

“That worries you?”

Maggie nodded. “I…I’m still having the nightmares, still feel the darkness dragging me down at different times throughout the day.”

Dr. Baker flipped through a few sheets of paper and paused as she studied what was written there. “Dr. Camas hasn’t reduced the Prozac, Maggie. Just the antianxiety medication.” She looked up. “Are you still feeling anxiety?”

Maggie sighed. “I’m a believer trapped in a fog of darkness, Dr. Baker. I’m a conservative, God-fearing woman about to divorce my husband after seven years of lying to him about a child he knows nothing about. On top of that, I’m a columnist who writes about the need for morality and returning to godly standards in our world.” Maggie planted her elbows into her knees and let her head fall into her hands. “Yes. I still feel anxious.”

“Try to understand, Maggie. The medication you were on was very strong. And now that you’re not—”

She raised her head and stared sadly at the doctor. “Now that I’m not suicidal? Is that what you mean?” Her gaze fell to the floor. “Maybe I still am.”

Dr. Baker leaned back in her chair and set her clipboard and paperwork down beside her. “Okay, Maggie. Tell me the truth then. Do you still want to die?”

Maggie closed her eyes and there, standing before her, was the little girl. Seven, almost eight years old, dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt, her blond hair pulled into a simple ponytail. She was waving sweetly, mouthing the same words she mouthed every time she appeared this way:
Mommy? Where’s my mommy? Do you know where my mommy is?

Maggie reached out for the girl but suddenly, in her place, there was nothing but a wisp of fog that evaporated without a trace.

“I have to find her.” Maggie’s voice sounded desperately sad, even to her.

“Your daughter?”

Maggie nodded. “I can see her, hear her, imagine her in my arms. But when I reach out for her, she…”

“She isn’t there, is that right? Like it always happens?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess your answer is simple, isn’t it?”

Maggie looked up and saw a holy glow in Dr. Baker’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you can’t possibly be suicidal. You don’t want your life to end, Maggie. You just want to find your daughter.”

Tears spilled from Maggie’s eyes onto her cheeks and she nodded again and again. “She already has a home, of course. A mother and father and people who love her. But…”

Dr. Baker waited until Maggie could find her voice and the strength to continue.

She sniffled loudly and reached for the tissue box at the center of the circle. Blowing her nose, she turned once more to Dr. Baker. “No matter who has her, she’s still my baby and nothing will be right, nothing…until I can see for myself that she’s okay. Maybe then I can tell her I’m so—” Maggie’s voice halted.

No, Lord, don’t take me down that path. It isn’t my fault. I never would have given her up if it weren’t for Ben. It’s his fault, God. Don’t make me tell her I’m sorry…

“Tell her what, Maggie?”

“Nothing.”

Dr. Baker hesitated, but when the silence remained, she stood and stretched. “The group will be here any minute. I’ll let you decide if you’re ready to talk. If you are, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Okay.” A heavy feeling settled over her shoulders and Maggie moved them up and down, trying to rid herself of the oppressive weight. When it would not leave, she went to pour herself a cup of herbal tea, found her regular seat, and nervously waited for the others.

Sarah opened up revelation time by announcing that she had received her discharge orders.

“Next Monday I’ll be going home with my parents.” She smiled, and Maggie noticed that the bruises on her cheeks were gone now. Sarah had explained to the group several sessions ago that her last boyfriend had beaten her regularly. Her breakdown had come when she feared she was pregnant for a fourth time and had suffered the worst blows of all when she’d told him the news. She had been considering suicide, but went home instead and shared everything with her parents. With their help, she’d gotten through her time at Orchards more quickly than many people. She would be expected to continue treatment on an outpatient basis for the next three months.

“How do you feel?” Dr. Baker leaned back in her seat and focused her attention on Sarah.

“Most of the time great, like a truck has been lifted off my shoulders.”

“Most of the time?”

Sarah’s face clouded. “There’re still times when I think of my babies, Dr. Baker. But I’ve learned something here at Orchards.” She looked at the others and for a moment her eyes caught Maggie’s and held them. There was compassion there, and Maggie wished she had taken the time to get to know Sarah better. “I’ve learned there’s nothing I can do to change the past, but I can take responsibility for today. By doing so, I can grasp onto tomorrow, too. My babies are safe in the arms of Jesus. When I think of them now, I think of them that way. And I look forward to the day—in God’s timing—when I’ll join them there.”

Dr. Baker smiled at Sarah and looked around the room. Maggie had the uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at her, that they were all thinking how she was the only one in their midst who hadn’t shared yet. “Anyone else?”

Say something, Maggie. It’s time you talked it through.
She gritted her teeth…and suddenly the words were out before she could stop them. “I hate my husband.”

Every member in the group was suddenly focused on Maggie. Dr. Baker cleared her throat. “Do you want to talk about it, Maggie?”

Normally this was when the doctor would step in—especially if it was a person’s first time to share in front of the other group members. But Maggie didn’t want someone else summarizing her situation.
She
wanted to tell them. They had shared their hearts with her, their lives and losses. Now it was her turn. She nodded to Dr. Baker, then turned to face the group.

“I’m here because I had a…well, a breakdown, I guess. All because of something that happened nearly eight years ago.”

Maggie glanced from face to face and saw she had their undivided attention—and more than that, their empathy. They had each journeyed back in time at one point or another and found it almost unbearably painful. Now Maggie could see that they were there for her, ready to hold her up or hug her close or cry with her should her journey backwards become too difficult.

She drew a deep breath and told them about falling in love with Ben, and how young and pure and ideal her intentions had been. How Ben had—for a time—chosen Deidre over her, and how she had taken up with John McFadden. She shared with them the fact that she’d gotten pregnant and how, for a brief while, she had considered keeping the baby.