Miracles in the ER (33 page)

It was Gordon. He was gone.

She stood in the hallway, her eyes closed now, waiting.

Gordon’s cardiologist stepped through the door and stood before her. He was flushed and sweating. His eyes moved to the floor and he slowly began to shake his head.

“Mrs. Jefferson, I’m afraid—”

She raised her arms over her head and started running. She didn’t know where she was going, and she didn’t care. In her mind she was screaming, but no sound passed her lips.

It was midnight, and a corridor stretched empty in front of her. She reached its end and stumbled left, past the closed doors of sleeping patients. Then a right, aimlessly following this unfamiliar and impersonal labyrinth.

“Lila.”

The voice came from behind her—unfamiliar. She ran on, shaking her head.

She turned another corner, this time into a shorter corridor that ended abruptly in a large, uncurtained window.

“Lila.”

The voice again, just behind her.

She reached the end of the hallway and her weathered, work-hardened palms slammed into the plate glass. There was nowhere to turn, nowhere to hide.

She gasped for breath and her hands fell to her side.

With slow, shuffling steps, she turned around.

The hall was empty.

She took another deep breath and shook her head.

“Lila.”

The voice was behind her again. She spun around, her face inches from the window, and stared into a black, cloudless sky. A sliver of moon was off to her right, and just above it was a star—bright and shimmering, larger than she had ever seen. It was billions of miles away but looked so close…

“Lila.”

She searched the dark sky…her eyes returned to that singular star. The voice was coming from somewhere in the night, no longer unfamiliar. It surrounded her, and the sound of her name warmed and calmed her.

“Lila, he is with
me.
”

She knelt in front of the window, her hands outstretched on the cold tile floor. And she cried.

“I don’t think she’s cried since that night, when Gordon died.” Ed slowly stroked his chin and looked into my eyes. “She’s had plenty reason to, with her other two boys. Lee was killed in an auto accident and James had a heart attack. It was hard for her, of course. But she was the strong one in the family—just like now. She’s the rock.”

The door of cardiac opened and Lila Jefferson stepped out. She saw the two of us and walked over.

“Thank you for what you did, Dr. Lesslie.” She smiled at me, then turned to Ed.

Lila took his giant hands and cradled them in her own.

“Ed, I’ve always known where Samuel’s heart was, and I
know
where he is now. I know where they
all
are.”

I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.

J
ESUS
, in John 11:25-26 (
KJV
)

A Benediction

David Youngblood was taking a shortcut on his way home from Greenville and was making good time on India Hook Road. He passed Bonnybrook on his right, made the next turn in the road, and slammed on his brakes. Traffic was backed up as far as he could see and was barely moving.

Must be an accident up ahead.

He settled back in his seat and glanced at his watch. Ten-fifteen a.m. He still had plenty of time to make it to the neighborhood cookout.

Minutes dragged, and he crawled with the other cars toward Celanese Road, where things should clear out. Ahead, near the Westminster school, he saw the flashing lights of police and emergency vehicles.

Twenty minutes passed, and he was near the cluster of patrol cars and ambulances. Policemen, firemen, and paramedics were standing in groups talking, and one lone officer was waving the line of traffic forward. Whatever had happened was over now. David glanced toward his left to the side of an EMS unit. A bike lay crumpled in a heap in the tangle of tall grass.

I was hot and sweaty, and it took an effort to pull my golf bag out of the car’s backseat and hoist it to my shoulder. My wife and I were at the beach for a few days, and I had just finished a round of golf with a friend.

“Let’s get cleaned up and see what our brides want to do.”

“You mean her?” He pointed to a third-floor balcony where my wife stood waving her arms and calling my name.

I couldn’t understand what she was yelling, but something was wrong. I hurried to the elevator, pushed the “3” button, and waited.

The door slowly opened. Barbara was standing in front of me. Her face was drained of color and her lips quivered.

What was wrong? The kids? My father? Her parents?

“I’ve already packed our things.” Her voice trembled and she shook her head. “We’ve got to go—now.”

I stood staring at her, jumbled thoughts twisting through my mind.

“Barbara, what—”

“John is dead.”

I shook my head. I didn’t grasp what she’d just said, I must have…

“John is dead.”

The four-hour trip to Rock Hill was a blur. Without cell phones, we were cut off from family and friends, left with only a few scant pieces of information to try to piece together. All we knew for sure was that the world had been turned upside down, changed forever.

John was the thirteen-year-old son of two of our closest friends, Walter and Jeanie, and one of the best friends of our two sons, Robbie and Jeffrey. Somehow, he was dead. But maybe—just maybe—that was a mistake.

We drove straight to Walter and Jeanie’s home, and the truth was right in front of us. They lived in the back of a cul-de-sac, and it was filled with cars and people. I turned in, hoping to find a place to park.

“Stop and let me out.” Barbara reached for the door handle and I had barely come to a halt before she was gone, hurrying toward the house.

Cars were pulled onto neighbors’ lawns, and every conceivable place to park was occupied. I slowly made my way to a nearby street, found a spot, and began to jog back to the house.

“Hey, Robert.”

I stopped in the middle of the road and turned around. David Youngblood, a good friend of mine, was hurrying to catch up.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, puffing.

We shook hands and I nodded.

We walked in silence—my mind spinning, chasing tangled threads of thought.

“I saw his bike.”

My head jerked toward him.

“Out on India Hook. Some crazy driver swerved off the road and…he died instantly.”

The vision played itself out in my mind and I shivered in the muggy June heat.

We turned into the cul-de-sac. People were everywhere, milling around the yard, whispering, shaking their heads. They would silently nod when we made eye contact.

A group of teenage boys was standing under a basketball goal at the end of the driveway—heads down, hands stuffed in pockets.

David’s head turned in their direction. “It’s really going to be tough on all his friends.”

My boys! And my daughters! I have to find them!

“My kids—” I waved a hand toward David and hurried up to the front door. I was barely able to squeeze into the foyer when I walked in. A quiet murmuring filled the house and I glanced around, trying to find Barbara.

Jeffrey, our younger son, had been at the beach that week with Walter’s sister, brother-in-law, and their children. I searched the dining and living rooms but couldn’t find him.

Audrey, David’s wife, tapped my shoulder. “Barbara’s upstairs with Walter and Jeanie.”

I made my way to the bottom of the stairway and took two or three steps. My hand was on the rail, and I stopped—empty and drained. A huge weight pressed down on me. I couldn’t begin to know the pain and devastation Walter and Jeanie were experiencing. Just the very thought—

“Daddy!”

I turned toward the front door and saw Jeffrey standing there, looking up at me.

He slipped through the crowd at the bottom of the stairs and bolted up to where I stood waiting.

Our eyes met. No words were spoken. We wrapped our arms around each other…and cried.

We stood that way until Audrey came to the bottom of the steps. She nodded to me, reached out, and took Jeffrey’s hand.

“Let’s go find Robbie and your sisters.”

I needed to find them too. But first I needed to see Walter and Jeanie. “Your mom and I will be down in just a minute, Jeff.” I turned and walked heavily up the stairs.

I tapped lightly, opened the door, and stepped into our friends’
bedroom. Walter was pacing in front of the far window. Jeanie was sitting beside Barbara on the bed, and the two had their arms around each other.

The door closed quietly behind me.

A cloud descended over Rock Hill and over and around the people who knew and loved John and his family. Even strangers—or those whose lives barely had been touched by this family—sensed that something was different. Something was lost. We were lost.

The next few days were a blur—dragging painfully into a future none of us would have chosen.

We settled into an uncomfortable but necessary routine. Family and friends would make their way to Walter and Jeanie’s home. Children and teenagers would gather, trying to find comfort and security with each other—each of us seeking our way through this sorrow.

Yet in the midst of this darkness there were welcomed glimpses of light. Whether it was with friends at church, my coworkers in the ER, or our children and their friends, the conversations always turned to John:

“What about that time at church camp when we decided to take our bikes down that steep hill in front of the hotel at Bonclarken? Everybody chickened out except John. When he finally made it back to the dining hall, he was all scratched up and bleeding—and he was grinning from ear to ear.”

“You remember when some older kids were picking on McAuley? John was a head shorter than they were, but he stood right in front of the meanest one and backed him down. And then the whole bunch high-tailed it outta there. I’m tellin’ ya, he was the man.”