The loud ringing of the phone beside Matthew’s bed startled Ann so much that she grabbed the phone swiftly, sending it flying out of her hands.
“Hello,” she whispered, after fumbling to pick it up again. She remembered that Matthew was in an induced coma, he couldn’t be disturbed, but she still said quietly again, “Hello.”
“Hi Ann, how’s Matt doing?” Shelly asked with concern.
“Not good at all, Shell,” Ann said feebly. “He was in surgery again this morning to relieve swelling. He’s so weak. They have him in an induced coma. I’m so scared, but there is nothing I can do but pray and wait. Wait and pray,” Ann said in misery.
“Ann, it’s going to be alright. It has to be. Children are so resilient. They bounce back from all kinds of things. Matt is a strong and healthy child. He’ll get through this, you wait and see,” Shelly offered.
“I hope you’re right, I’m praying for just that with all of my heart. At least he’s still here,” she said with a spark of hope in her heart. They talked a little longer, and then Marty got on the phone.
“How are you doing, sweetie?” her mother asked.
“I miss you, Mommy,” was the replied. “Can Matt come home now?”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. But, I’ll let you know as soon as he can,” she answered gently.
Ann gave as much comfort and love as she could over the phone. They talked for a while, then Ann needed to say good-bye.
“Hugs and kisses over the phone,” she told Marty. “I love you very much, and I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
When Shelly got back on the phone, she told Ann that she was going to take Marty to see a movie.
“Oh, Shell, that’s a great idea. That will keep her mind off of the hospital some. You’re the best! You know that, don’t you?” Ann said with feeling.
Her friend simply replied, “I’ll call you later and let you know when we’ll be coming tonight. Give Matt a kiss from us. Love you, Ann, and keep in touch. God bless and bye for now.”
Ann sat there for a second, looking over at Matthew, watching his chest rise and fall, softly, steadily. Putting the phone back on the receiver, she got up stiffly. Stretching, she came to a decision and walked over to the nursing station. Finding Nancy there, she asked, “Do you have a chapel in the hospital?”
“Yes, of course, it’s on the third floor behind the maternity ward. You can see the directions as you get off the elevator,” the nurse informed her.
“Thank you,” Ann responded. “Can you reach me there, if there is any change?”
“Yes. I can send someone to get you if we need to, since there’s no phone in the chapel.”
“Okay. Thank you,” said Ann as she turned and walked to the elevators. Suddenly, she needed to find a quiet place to talk with God, a place away from the conversations at the nursing station, the visitors, and noises coming from the machinery. She needed to find a place of solitude and quiet, just for a short while.
As the elevator doors softly opened on the third floor, she stepped out, following the signs to the chapel. Walking down the hall, she passed the double doors leading to the maternity ward. The last time she had been in there, was to give birth to her son. What a time of pain and joy that had been. The miracle of life is so special, how can anyone not believe in God? That spark, that is life, is so sacred. It can’t be created by anyone, just manipulated, but never created. Only God could do that.
A feeling of loss came over Ann and she almost ran the rest of the way to the chapel. She wanted so much to talk to God, to plead her heart, to find some answers if she could.
In the corner of the building stood a solitary, unadorned door, so nondescript it could be a door to any room. A little metal sign on the door read in small, plain, etched letters “Chapel.” Reaching for the handle, she pushed the door open. It whooshed open silently as she entered, shutting softly behind her. The room was dark and empty. Feeling for the light switch near the door, she soon had a small row of lights illuminating the room. It gave the place a soft, warm, cozy feeling. There were a few pews on the left and right of an aisle dividing the center of the tiny room. Up in front was a plain, wooden table with a red cloth runner draped over either end. On the table lay a large open Bible and a small candle stand. A plain, wooden cross hung on the wall overhead. This was a generic, modest room for the faithful.
Ann walked down the aisle and knelt on a knee rest which was attached to a low wooden wall in front of the first pew. She folded her hands and started talking to God. It comforted her to talk softly out loud to Him. Since no one was there, she talked of her fears, her desires, and her need to know that He loved her.
Downstairs on the street, Emma got off the bus. She had arrived. Standing there, she wondered where to go. A passing intern stopped and directed her to the reception lobby.
As she stood in line for the reception desk, she realized she was waiting for help. Help from somewhere, anywhere, she thought. Help in finding my daughter and maybe the condition of my grandson. Help in finding a way to talk to her, to get her to listen to me for just a second. Emma’s heart fluttered while she waited in line.
“Mrs. Henderson is in the hospital chapel,” the receptionist informed her, after getting off the phone with the ICU nurse. “Your grandson is stable for now, but he is still listed in critical condition. To find the chapel, take one of those elevators across the room to the third floor, and follow the signs. It’s just past the maternity ward.” She explained.
Emma listened with tears hiding in the corner of her eyes. Slowly, with dread in her heart and determination springing from the deep desire to see Ann, she went to the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. The doors quietly closed, lifting her swiftly and delivering her too soon to the floor that led to her daughter. Emma stepped off the elevator with trepidation in her heart and stood in the hall.
She had been here three years before for Matthew’s delivery into this world. Now he was somewhere in this building fighting for his life. Emma sighed sadly and followed the directions to the chapel door.
Knowing that Ann was inside that room, she stood outside, struggling to find the nerve to go in. With a trembling hand she softly opened the door and very quietly stepped inside. The door closed silently behind her.
As she stood in the semi-darkness of the room, she could see her daughter was alone in this place, talking softly out loud to someone, but Emma couldn’t see who it was. Then she realized Ann was talking to God. She huffed to herself, God, what God? Instantly, she regretted her thought. After all, she hadn’t been right about a lot of things. No, she wouldn’t discount the existence of God if it meant she could talk to Ann.
As she silently stood there listening to her daughter’s heart-felt desires being expressed so openly and honestly, Emma felt very uneasy. Her daughter seemed to talk to God as if He was a real person, someone who was really there and could do something about what was happening to her grandson.
All of a sudden she was afraid. Afraid of what Ann might say and do when she found her standing there. And afraid that there might be a God, a God she didn’t know and was scared to know. Emma couldn’t decide what to do.
Say something to her, or just turn around and leave forever! she told herself. Hesitating for a few seconds more, her desire to talk to Ann overcame her fear and she said softly in a trembling voice… “Ann?”
Ann knew that voice too well. She closed her eyes and didn’t turn around. All at once she was angry that her mother was there. That she would defy her order to stay out of their lives. She couldn’t face her right now! She wouldn’t face her right now! All this in a fraction of a second, in her heart, like a small explosion of emotion.
Slowly rising, Ann stood up and turned to face her mother. Anger dissolved into shock when she saw her. Gone was the strong, stubborn, controlling force she had known all of her life. Emma looked so small and vulnerable, standing in the back of the room with a look of loss and bewilderment that Ann had neve
r seen before. In the soft light of the chapel, she almost didn’t recognize her. Emma looked gaunt and pale, but what stood out the most was the lost puppy look that she had seen too often on the face her own daughter.
Emma pleaded, “Ann, please don’t send me away. I won’t say a word. I promise. I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll be good, please,” she said with tears in her eyes. “I need to be with you and Matthew,” she beseeched.
Ann’s heart crumbled and melted. With tears in her eyes, she flew to her mother and wrapped her arms around her, holding her sobbing body. They both cried from the pain of loss and their forced separation.
“Ann, I’m so sorry for hurting you. I didn’t realize how scared I’ve been all these years, until you weren’t there anymore. I was so determined to make things happen, no matter what, and now look where I am. I miss you so much. You’re my heart, my life. I don’t know what to do without you,” she sobbed.
“I missed you too,” Ann told her, wiping her eyes. “Let’s not talk about that right now. We can work this out later.”
“How’s Matthew?” Emma asked.
“Oh, Mom…” Ann said in a grieving voice as she pointed to a nearby pew. In that little room of the Lord, in the tiny corner of the hospital, mother and daughter sat and talked.
Ann shared all that had been happening in the last couple of months. Emma shared her feeling of loss without Ann. They talked about Matthew and Sean, of how life didn’t turn out the way you thought it should.
Emma was also curious about Ann’s prayer she had overheard. She asked her daughter about the God she had talked to, and Ann shared her faith with her mother. She shared about God’s love and how her faith had grown since she had given her heart to Him. Ann could see her mother taking it in, but she also knew her mother was resistant to any faith. Well, only God can reach her, if she is willing to open her heart. I’ll give it time and see what God will do, her daughter decided.
“Can I see Matthew?” Emma eventually asked.
“Let’s go up and see.” Ann suggested.
Walking down the hall, past the maternity ward, side by side, mother and daughter reached the elevator. Ann was thinking, How wonderful it would be for Mom to know the love of God and for us to be able to share our faith together. But that is not up to me. Give it time.
Emma was discovering, I like this two sided relationship. It’s so different from our past. I like sharing with Ann. Whether there’s a God or not, I didn’t know. But, I’d like some of that peace and faith she has. I’m just afraid to go any further with it. Where would I start? No, not right now. I’ll give it some time, and wait and see how this God thing plays out.
Walking up to the ICU phone on the wall, Ann got permission to allow Emma in to see Matthew, though she was told sternly, it could be only for a few minutes. Matthew’s vital signs weren’t that stable and Ann could hear concerned in Nancy’s voice.
Ann’s heart started to ache again and her faith trembled with doubt. No, God wouldn’t do this to us, she reasoned. Stop it, she chided herself.
Emma walked into the small room, first. She stood next to her grandson’s bed, gently touching his hand resting on the sheet.
Softly she said, “I love you, Matthew Benjamin Henderson. You get well soon and come to Grandma’s for some cookies, okay?”
Silence came from the normally laughing, energetic little boy. The machines ticked and beeped in the stillness. Emma choked back a sob and turned to face her daughter in the doorway.
“Oh, Ann!” she said in shock and grief. They hugged with tears in their eyes.
Nancy came up behind them. “I’m so sorry, but you’ll have to leave now. We need to watch him closely.”
“Is he very bad?” asked Ann.
“The doctors are very concerned for him right now,” she replied. “We’ll have to wait and see. Where will you be, if we need you?” Nancy asked. “Are you going to the waiting room on this floor?”
“No. If it is okay with you, Mom, let’s go back to the chapel. I feel closer to God there,” Ann stated.
“I don’t mind,” replied Emma. It didn’t matter where she was, as long as she was with Ann. She cringed at the thought of going home to wait, sitting alone in that sad, empty trailer.
They took turns, one at a time, tenderly kissing him good-bye. Emma quickly left the room and stood in the hall, waiting for her daughter.
“We’ll be back soon,” Ann said softly to the little boy in the bed. She laid a gentle hand on his small shoulder, said another prayer for him, then joined her mother. They walked to the elevators in mutual silence and heartache.
The chapel was still empty. Emma had Ann sit in the front pew, while she offered to sit in the back. She told her daughter it was to give her more privacy, but in truth she wanted to be alone herself. For, deep in her heart Emma was very afraid for Matthew. She had seen death so many times on the farm. It came by disease, accident, or slaughter and Emma had seen death on Matthew’s face.
An hour later, Dr. Phillips walked into the chapel, looking for Ann. When she looked up and saw the look in his eyes, she knew something was wrong. Trembling she rose to her feet.
“Please… sit down, Mrs. Henderson,” he said gently, as her legs turned to jelly. She sat down hard on the wooden bench.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Henderson, but your son’s injuries were so severe. We tried very hard to save him.” Ann didn’t hear him anymore. His voice was there, but his words dissolved into pain and a black hole opened.
She stood at the precipice, blackness and sprinkling stars bursting in her head. She tried hard not to fall in, not to faint, not to lose the world she was in. She wanted Matthew! She wanted the Lord! “Oh, Lord, help me,” she sobbed. “No! No! No! This can’t be happening! He can’t be gone!” she cried.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Henderson,” he said sadly as he stood up and left the room quietly.
Ann sobbed into her hands. She couldn’t believe he was gone, that she would never see him playing in the house again. He was so young. Now he would never grow up and have children of his own. She would never be able to kiss his little face again.
Emma sat with tears running down her face and onto her folded hands.
Ann and Emma had lost their little boy, the grief ran deep, and Ann struggled to hold on to her faith, to her love of God. It was like swimming in the dark. She could see no way out, but she had to try.
Saying Goodbye