Sean clutched the shawl and marched back to his spot in the waiting room. After what seemed to be hours, the nurse finally escorted him to the ICU room where Hope was now settled. Her body appeared frail in the large bed. Tubes and chords attached her to numerous machines replete with small blinking lights and humming noises.
He stared at her battered face, squeezed the prayer shawl, and whispered a prayer. “God, I love her. Please spare her. I need her.” Tears slid down his cheeks and dripped onto his shirt. “She was right. I can’t get through something like this without you.”
He spread the shawl over Hope’s chest and sat in the only chair in the small room, never taking his gaze from her face.
* * *
Sean’s vigil by Hope’s side had been going on for four days now. He had only left a couple of times to shower and change clothes.
“Mr. Holland?” a male voice called from behind.
Sean twisted around in his chair to find the doctor. “Yes?”
“I wanted to let you know that we are going to ease Mrs. Holland off some of the medications we’ve used to keep her knocked out.”
“So, she might wake up?” Sean’s pulse picked up a notch.
“We are hoping she will awaken gradually. But, I must warn you that we have no idea of the extent of damage she could have.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I’m not sure about possible memory loss or other impairments like speech.”
Sean’s chest ached, and his whole body trembled. He could only nod. The doctor exited, and Sean turned his attention back to Hope. This precious woman didn’t deserve this. He had made such a mess of everything. What if her memory was gone? What if she couldn’t speak or had some other permanent impairment? She would blame him and rightfully so. Why couldn’t he be laying there in that hospital bed instead of her?
Time to swallow his miserable pride. He yanked his cell phone out of his pocket, bringing up his parent’s number.
“Sean, what’s happened?” His mother’s panicked voice came through.
“Mom, they’re going to wean her off the drugs. The doctor’s not sure…” His voice broke. “Mama, you’ve gotta get people praying.”
His mother sighed. “Thank God.”
“Excuse me?”
“The prodigal returns?”
“Let’s just say that Hope helped me realize that it took more faith not to believe in God.”
His mother sniffed. “All things work together for good for those who live according to His purpose.”
“Oh, Mom, Hope’s just got to be all right.”
“We’re joining in your prayers, Son.”
* * *
Hope became restless as the hours stretched out, rocking her head from side to side or shifting her arms and legs. Still, she hadn’t opened her eyes. Each time Sean would caress her arm or speak her name.
Finally, Sean knelt beside her bed. What was that verse his mother had quoted? “All things work together for good—”
“—for those who live according to His purpose. Romans 8:28,” Hope said in a low voice.
Sean’s head jerked up, and he sprang to his feet just in time to see Hope’s eyes flutter. She gazed into his eyes. Sean bit his lip, at a loss for words. Did she recognize him?
“Sean.” It came out almost like a sigh.
He couldn’t stop a smile. “Hope.” Tears blurred his vision. He blinked them aside.
She glanced at the prayer shawl still draped across her chest and then focused back on Sean. “You prayed?”
“I haven’t stopped since they called me to the hospital.”
Her mouth curved upwards. “Thank God.”
Sean chuckled. “You sound like my mother.” He gently touched her cheek with his hand. Hope leaned into it. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“A big truck.”
He chuckled again. “I’m so glad you’re awake and know who I am.”
Her eyelids fluttered. “I’m sorry. No energy.”
He stroked her arm. “That’s okay. You rest. I’ll be here when you wake up again.”
She closed her eyes and nodded. Her breathing became even.
Now it was his turn. “Thank God.”