Vow to Cherish Page 12

  “Mom, you shouldn’t have made Sam sit in Dad’s chair. That’s Dad’s chair. He should be sitting there. It’s not fair.”

  Julia pulled his head to her shoulder and sat with him until his sobs subsided.

  She ruffled his hair affectionately. “You’d better get to bed, bud. We’ll finish the movie tomorrow, okay? You gonna be all right?”

  He nodded.

  She steeled herself and went down the hall and knocked softly on Sam’s door.

  His reply was a muffled “Yeah?”

  He was lying on his stomach in bed, the pillow bunched into a ball under his chin. She rubbed his back tentatively, testing his response. He didn’t reject her.

  “Sam, I’m sorry…it wasn’t about the chair, was it?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “It’s about Dad? That’s what Andy says.”

  “Andy’s pretty smart.” He rolled over and gave her a sad half grin, then turned serious. “Mom, I’m kinda mad at God. I don’t understand why He let Dad die. You and Dad always told us that God loves us, that He wants what’s best for us. But I don’t see how it could be best for us to lose Dad. No way.”

  “Oh, Sam.” Julia sighed and sent up a quick prayer—an SOS to heaven for the right answer to give this searching young man. “Honey, I was mad at God for a while, too. And I won’t pretend to understand why this happened to us. I’m like you…I can’t believe God thought it was best for Dad to die and leave us to go on without him. But I think it’s what we do now that it has happened that is important. Maybe the laws of nature are more to blame for Dad’s death than God is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She scrambled to piece her thoughts together in a way that might make sense to him. “I truly believe God is great enough that He could have reached down and saved Dad from the wreck—if He had chosen to. But for some reason we’ll probably never understand, He didn’t. And we have to go on from there. The Bible says that all things work together for good to those who love God, and I’m just trusting that that’s true.” She rubbed her son’s back as she spoke and prayed that God would meet Sam with the answers she couldn’t provide. Strangely, she had tried to comfort herself with those same words, but they had not taken root in her heart and mind.

  They talked for an hour then—mother and son. Sam spilled out hurts and fears that had been locked inside for all the months since he had lost his dad.

  And late that night, alone in bed, Julia made the decision to leave Chicago. They would go somewhere—away from this city of memories. After Christmas she would start looking for a job outside the city. It was time to build new memories of their own.

  John

  Chapter Eighteen

  Christmas had become a time of great sadness at the Brighton house. John dreaded it for weeks beforehand and could not bring himself to decorate the house in any way. It seemed sacrilege to adorn the house for celebration when there was more cause for mourning.

  When Brant and Kyle came home two days before Christmas, they went to the garage for the ladder and boxes of lights, and without consulting John, they spent the afternoon stringing lights on the house and hanging their stockings on the mantel. They put the tree in its stand in the front hall, but decided to wait until Mark and Jana came to hang the ornaments.

  John tried to allow their loving efforts to lift his own spirits, but he felt powerless to escape the depression that engulfed him. The battle to reconcile his present circumstances with God’s goodness had exhausted him. He knew, in a place deep within himself, that God was in this trial somewhere. Or at least God was with him through it.

  When he and Ellen had buried baby Catherine, they had known the assurance of blessing even in the sorrow. That blessing had come in the formation of a greater bond of love between husband and wife, and in the fulfilled hope of more children. But Ellen’s disease offered neither the bond nor the hope. He toiled to find even a hint of God’s hand in all this, but he came up empty. Yet somewhere, somehow, that deep river of faith continued to flow in him, keeping him from utter despair.

  Jana and Mark arrived on Christmas Eve afternoon. A few hours later, they were putting the final touches on the Christmas tree when Howard and MaryEllen pulled into the driveway. With MaryEllen’s arrival, the kitchen became a haven of homey sounds and spicy aromas.

  Jana had grown close to her grandmother since Ellen’s illness, and John knew both women relished this time together. Jana still needed her mother, and sensing this, MaryEllen had become the confidante Ellen could no longer be. They baked cookies and breads, talking as fast as they stirred.

  Ellen sat at the kitchen table and watched, but she showed no interest in joining them. Still, it seemed a comfort to her mother and her daughter to have her nearby. From his desk in the den down the hall, John could hear her speak quietly now and then, as if to herself. And though he knew Jana and MaryEllen could make no sense of her words, they responded whenever she spoke and tenderly included her in their conversation.

  Around nine o’clock that evening, John went out to the kitchen and led Ellen in to get ready for bed. She fell asleep almost instantly, but he lay awake and listened as grandmother and granddaughter talked late into the night.

  The next morning he awoke to plump loaves of bread cooling on the kitchen counter, and the aroma of roasting turkey. MaryEllen was already bustling about the kitchen.

  Later, they laid a feast on the oak table in the dining room. The table was set with Ellen and John’s wedding china and an elegant centerpiece of holly and tall white candles that Ellen’s mother had brought.

  There was much love around that table, and John felt his spirits begin to lift. Ellen seemed oblivious to the faces gathered around her, yet in their own way, each of them ministered love and acceptance to her. They were trying so hard to break through—to reach her in whatever faraway place she dwelled. John willed her to acknowledge them, to show some glimmer of recognition. It would mean so much if she would just give Jana a smile, or give the boys that teasing grin she had always reserved for them.

  But Ellen existed on another plane. After dinner she sat on the sofa staring at the TV while the guys watched a football game. Then she got up and paced between the kitchen and the conservatory. She had developed a shuffling gait that made her look older than her fifty years. It made John ache to see her that way. Yet in repose, her face was still beautiful—as smooth and free of creases as someone ten to fifteen years younger. Her youthful beauty made her affliction seem all the more cruel.

  Today, as he did every morning, John had lovingly applied lipstick and blush to Ellen’s passive face. She was wearing the pale violet dress he’d laid out for her that morning. He had brushed her hair till it shone, and except for the vacant stare that marred her eyes, she truly looked beautiful. If it meant nothing to her, it comforted him to have her look pretty and well kempt.

  In the afternoon when it was time to open gifts, John coaxed Ellen to sit in the overstuffed chair near the fireplace. The family gathered around her as though she were the centerpiece of this celebration, and in a subdued spirit, they opened their gifts.

  Ellen began to open the brightly wrapped packages that John put in her lap. Painstakingly she took off each ribbon, and taking care not to tear the paper, she removed it, folded it neatly, and stacked it by her chair. She held each item up and inspected it quizzically, as though wondering what to do with it.

  She opened a bright blue sweat suit from John and tried to pull it on over the clothes she was wearing. John gently took the outfit from her, and with a quiet explanation, he folded it and laid it beside her chair. Ellen opened nightgowns, a sweater, and from Jana, a little porcelain bird for her collection. This made her smile, pleasing Jana immensely.

  As she opened each package, John patiently explained who it was from until Ellen nodded a response. She laid down the last gift in the small pile that had collected at her side. Then she looked around the room, a tiny smile of recognition flashing in her eyes. “Than
ks you…thanks you to…to…. Good. Good…” Her words crashed into one another the way they’d come to do of late.

  But then, to John’s astonishment, Ellen bowed her head and began to pray. With clarity and eloquence, the muddled syllables were suddenly replaced with clearly enunciated words of praise. “Oh, Father, thank You,” she prayed, her voice bubbling up half an octave. “Thank You for this day You have made. Thank You for this love You have given us. Thank You, Lord…thank You…” Her words trailed off, but a serene smile remained on her face.

  John was stunned. He looked around the room, wondering if anyone else had heard her. The tears that cascaded down Jana’s cheeks, the emotion on the faces of his sons and Ellen’s parents, told him he wasn’t imagining it.

  Not wanting to spoil the reverence of the moment, but needing to understand what had just happened—wondering even if a miracle had taken place, a healing of some sort—John touched Ellen’s hand.

  She looked up at him, but his hopes sank as he saw the vacant confusion still in her eyes. The smile she gave him was not one of recognition. John’s momentary disappointment was quickly replaced with a sense of awe. He had witnessed a miracle. While Ellen’s mind was wasting away, he—they all—had been offered a glimpse of the spirit within her that communed with an eternal God. It was an answer to John’s prayer. She had acknowledged their presence. She had felt their love. And she still knew her God. It was enough for John.

  Chapter Nineteen

  John punched his pillow and rolled over in the bed for the tenth time in as many minutes. Light from March’s full moon streamed in through the thin curtains, glaring harshly in his wide-open eyes. He flopped onto his back and yanked on the blankets, pulling them over his face. He expelled a breath that came back on his face hot and moist.

  In the bed beside him, he heard Ellen’s even breaths as she slept peacefully—a mixed blessing. Chances were she’d be up and wandering the house about the time sleep finally overtook him.

  Ellen had caused him yet another dilemma. He sighed again. That wasn’t fair. Poor Ellen couldn’t help what had happened to her. But that didn’t change the fact that John was in a quandary. The district conference for school administrators was to convene in Springfield early in March. John planned to leave after work on a Wednesday and would not return until Sunday evening. It struck him that in all the years since Ellen had become ill, he’d never once left her for more than a few hours.

  At the beginning of February Ellen’s condition had deteriorated to the point that John had hired two retired nurses from their church to come in and stay with her part of each day. Sandra offered to come and stay with her on the evenings when John had school board meetings.

  He was still working full-time most weeks, but his social life—and Ellen’s—had virtually come to an end. To make matters worse, their bank account was dwindling at an alarming rate.

  The school district had been incredibly supportive, giving him time away from the office when Ellen’s needs were his first priority. But John felt he could not continue to give his job such halfhearted attention and still feel worthy of keeping it. And this conference was not optional.

  He considered driving Ellen to the Randolphs’ to stay for those few days, but MaryEllen had fallen on an icy sidewalk a few weeks ago and broken her wrist. Even if she hadn’t had the accident, it wouldn’t have been fair to place the burden of Ellen’s care on her mother. In spite of their good health, Howard and MaryEllen were, after all, both almost eighty.

  Sandra offered to take a few vacation days from her job to stay with Ellen, but John didn’t feel right about that either. Sandra had already sacrificed so much for Ellen—for him, really.

  He didn’t even tell the kids about his conference. He knew each of them would, without hesitation, offer to make arrangements to get off work or school and come as soon as they could. He didn’t want the burden on them either.

  But the weight of his responsibility left him physically exhausted and mentally beaten down. He finally drifted off, not one step closer to a solution than he’d been when the interminable night began.

  The week before John was to leave for the conference, he finally called a number that he found in the Yellow Pages for a home-nursing service. The price was higher than they could afford, but on Monday morning the agency would send a registered nurse out who could stay with Ellen the entire time. She would cook for Ellen and do her laundry, as well. He decided the peace of mind was worth it. Besides, what choice did he have?

  On Wednesday the doorbell rang at exactly 6:00 p.m. John opened the door to a cheerful, grandmotherly woman. He’d been expecting the traditional white uniform and nursing cap, but the woman was dressed in casual street clothes.

  “Hello.” John extended his hand. “I’m John Brighton. Please come in.”

  “Thank you. Anne Grady with Homecare.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m very grateful you could come. Come on in, and I’ll introduce you to my wife. They did tell you that Ellen has Alzheimer’s?”

  “Oh yes. I have all the information right here.” She patted the bag that hung heavily from a strap on her shoulder. “I’ve worked with quite a few Alzheimer’s patients before, Mr. Brighton. I’m sure everything will go just fine. How long has your wife—may I call her Ellen?”

  “Yes, please. She’ll be more comfortable with that.”

  “How long has Ellen been ill?”

  “She was diagnosed about three years ago. But we were beginning to see symptoms probably a year or more before that.”

  “Is she still coherent? Does she recognize people?”

  “Not very often. Once in a while she seems to know the kids when they come home. I think sometimes she knows who I am…or at least I’m a familiar face to her. But she rarely calls any of us by name or even speaks directly to anyone anymore. She’s fairly quiet, actually. When she does speak, we usually can’t make any sense of what she’s saying.”

  He led the way back to the kitchen. “The doctors say Ellen is in the early stages of dementia, if that tells you anything. They tell me I’m fortunate that she’s so quiet and subdued.” He shook his head. “Fortunate seems a strange word for it.” He didn’t mean to be maudlin. He murmured an apology and continued with his instructions.

  “Ellen does still take care of most of her personal needs. She dresses herself if I lay out her clothes and keep reminding her to get dressed. She can bathe herself if I run the bath water. You’ll need to stay with her, though. She fell asleep in the tub once…. I don’t trust her alone.” He felt panic rising in his throat. There was so much information Mrs. Grady needed to know. What if he forgot to tell her something important?

  He raked his memory. “Let’s see…what else do you need to know? Her medications are on top of the kitchen cupboard, and I’ve written down the schedule and dosages. She feeds herself, but she won’t eat unless you put the food right in front of her, and sometimes even then you have to keep reminding her to eat. She seems to be getting thin, so I try to give her frequent snacks. There are sandwich fixings in the refrigerator and plenty of soups in the cupboards. Ellen likes salads for lunch and there are vegetables in the crisper for that. Please make yourself at home. I hope I’ve stocked the cupboards with some things you like.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Would you have any objections if I took Ellen out in my car?”

  “Not at all. She would enjoy that.”

  “Does she need help walking?”

  “We usually walk each evening—just around the neighborhood. She likes to hold on to my arm. She won’t break any records for speed, but she does pretty well. Around the house she gets along fine on her own.”

  “She goes to the bathroom by herself?”

  “Oh, yes. Really, except for cooking and bathing she does amazingly well. I do help her with her hair and put a little lipstick on her. She was always so careful about how she looked.”

  They’d come to the living room where Ellen sat
staring at the television. John went over to her and touched her shoulder. She looked up at him blankly.

  “Ellen, this is Anne Grady. She’s going to stay with you while I’m in Springfield. Remember, I told you I have some meetings there?”

  In spite of his conscious efforts not to, John had begun speaking to Ellen in the tone one would use with a small child.

  Anne Grady sat down beside Ellen and took her hand. “Hello, Ellen. How are you?”

  Ellen looked at her but did not respond.

  “I’m Anne. I’ll be here if you need anything, okay?”

  Ellen turned and looked up at John. “Oh, oh, oh, oh, okay.”

  So often now, her speech sounded like a broken record. She would speak a syllable and then couldn’t seem to turn it off. It irritated John more than any other symptom of Alzheimer’s.

  Anne Grady reached over and patted Ellen’s leg affectionately. Ellen quieted and turned back to the TV.

  The older woman rose to her feet and smiled. “I think we’ll do just fine, Mr. Brighton. Now if you would show me around the house, I’ll get settled so you can be on your way.”

  It felt strange to be on the road. Except for short trips to visit the kids or the farm to see Howard and MaryEllen, John and Ellen had stayed close to home for the better part of the past three years.

  When they’d first found out Ellen was sick, John had offered to take her to all the exotic places they had dreamed about—Europe, the Caribbean—but Ellen told him she just wanted to be home. So they had made the most of every minute in the house they both loved. Now, he felt oddly vulnerable without her by his side.

  Despite the three pages of detailed notes and phone numbers he had left with Mrs. Grady, he kept thinking of additional things he should have told her. At the last minute, he had called Jana and told her about the arrangements so she wouldn’t worry if she tried to call home and got no answer. Still, he was afraid he had forgotten something important.