An Angel Named Grace
Beep! Whoosh! Hummm.
I wanted to silence the monitors over my head. But if the noise ceased, would I stop breathing? Would this troublesome heart stop beating? Would my fragile lungs stop taking in good air and releasing the bad?
What if they did? This body no longer does what I want it to do.
The hospital was quiet—as quiet as a hospital gets. The door to my room was open, and I could hear the call bells from the other rooms. The chatter and laughter from the nurses’ station seemed incessant.
God, what do you want from me? What am I supposed to do with this tired body? I don’t even have the strength to pound a nail let alone build a house, a cabinet, a dollhouse, or cradle! Picking up one of my grandchildren is more than I can handle. God, what kind of life is this?
I love my family. Betty is the best wife a man could ask for, and the girls and their families . . . I know they need me and love me. But they are all taking care of me instead of my taking care of them. I don’t want to miss watching the grandkids grow up. I don’t want to leave Betty alone, and what about my girls?
The battle raged in my mind. The ache in my back matched my pounding head. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, and yet sleep wouldn’t come.
We’d made one more trip to the emergency room. I now had a stent in my chest to protect my lungs and a pacemaker to protect this troublesome heart.
Worries, fear, and discouragement were my constant companions. It appeared they’d be my only companions during this long, long night. At the nurse’s insistence, Betty, the girls, and their families had all gone home. Supposedly rest was the best thing for me. Didn’t the nurses know my family was what helped me hold on when this tired body was telling me to just let go?
I knew from past experiences that the staff tried not to disturb patients during the night. They depended on all those monitors to alert them to anything wrong. The loneliness overwhelmed me, though, and increased the fear. I didn’t want to be alone. I continued pleading with God.
As I listened to the rhythm of the heart machine, memories of another lonely, discouraging time surfaced.
After my open-heart surgery, bouts of depression began. Then a car accident left me battling insurance companies, stacking doctor visits, and enduring more pain and more depression. I finally had to give up building and refurbishing, which I loved doing. I’d meet the guys for a walk and coffee at the mall, and that would help for a while.
Betty kept busy with the house, the girls’ families, selling Avon, and caring for me. She couldn’t understand, try as she would, what I was going through, why I was so hard to get along with. We fought, and I’m afraid I made life pretty miserable for her.
Taking long drives soothed me. Sometimes I’d just take off and be gone a few hours. Other times I was gone for a few days. I didn’t learn until later that Betty and the girls prayed for me every time I left.
I don’t remember what brought it on, but on one particular day, I took off for the mountains. I didn’t know where I was headed, but knew I’d had enough of the struggles. At some point I pulled off near the top of a mountain pass. I looked over the mountainside. I stood there for some time, thinking, wondering, and praying . . . and in the quiet I heard my name.
“Bill.”
I jumped and looked behind me—nothing. I leaned over the edge, searching. No one was there. Maybe behind the truck. I stooped to look under it.
Again—“Bill.”
I dashed behind the truck, walked all the way around it. Nothing—no one was there.
It’s just my imagination, I thought, maybe the wind in the trees?
“Bill!”
Was there a person down the road? Twisting and shielding my eyes from the sun, I looked for someone in the distance—but I knew the voice was right next to me.
“Where are you? Who are you? What do you want?” I asked.
“Bill, I’m not finished with you. I’ve still got work for you.”
Deep inside, my heart knew what my head was still trying to figure out. His voice was strong and clear. I couldn’t see Him, but I knew God was talking to me. He was right beside me. Talking to me!
I stood thinking for quite some time. I realized I had a wife who loved me. I had five beautiful girls who had husbands and children—all who loved me and relied on me.
We were a lucky family—with health, love for one another, and from time to time new babies. God wanted me to share that. We were blessed. He had plans for us, and I was in the middle of those plans, if only to tell the stories and remind others of God’s blessings.
I couldn’t get back in the truck and turn it toward home fast enough. I wanted to tell Betty and the girls, wondering if they’d believe me. It was hard to believe myself that I had heard the voice of God.
My mind returned to my hospital room. The mountain memory kept me going most of the time. But these constant visits to the hospital, each time leaving me weaker, seemed too much to handle.
Something warm and comforting touched my arm. “Hi, Bill. My name is Grace. I’m your nurse tonight. I just wanted to see how you are doing.” She paused. “You seem to be restless. How can I help?”
She checked my temperature and read the monitors. Her hands smoothed the covers and the wrinkles from my sheets. Helping me raise my head, she fluffed my pillows. “Would you like another pillow or blanket?”
“I don’t think so. My back hurts, and I can’t seem to turn my mind off.”
I was relieved to have her there. Her presence made me feel more comfortable.
“That’s natural. You’ve been through a lot. I’ve got some time. Would you like a back rub?”
She helped me roll onto my side. She took out the lotion in my bedside table and talked as she rubbed it onto my tired, achy back.
“Would you like to tell me about your family?”
I told her about meeting Betty in grade school and how I used to torment her. “She wore her hair in pigtails and I loved to tie them in knots.”
I told her about how her parents felt about me as a result of those stories. “Later, they wouldn’t let her go out with me. But love won out, and we have a great family and have been married nearly fifty years.”
I told her about my girls and their families, explaining the twenty years between my oldest and youngest. I told stories about all the kids and how happy I was when they were around.
“It sounds like you have a lot of reasons to enjoy life,” she said. The tenderness in her voice and the gentle rotating hands seemed to sense all the places that ached, inside and out. As I drifted off to sleep, my mind traveled back to that mountain and God calling my name.
The next morning, I woke up feeling better. I wanted to find Grace and thank her for calming me and helping me sleep. When they brought my breakfast tray, I asked, “Is Grace still here? I’d like to thank her for last night.”
The young man gave me a puzzled look. “I don’t remember a Grace,” he said.
“She was my nurse last night, and she helped me to relax and get to sleep.”
Again, he looked puzzled. “Maybe she just works different hours than I do. I’ll check.”
Later, when the morning nurse came in to check my vitals, I made the same inquiry. “We don’t have a nurse here named Grace,” she answered.
“Would you please check for sure? Someone gave me a back rub and made me feel so much better last night. She had light brown hair tucked under her cap. She wore a white uniform.”
Amy, the morning nurse, looked at me and shook her head. Later she came back in, “Bill, there was not a nurse named Grace anywhere in this wing, not only last night, but on any of the staff lists. Besides, we haven’t worn white caps and uniforms for nearly twenty years.”
I was able to go home from the hospital a few days later. Even as I recovered and began to feel better, I was not able to stop thinking about Grace. She was the answer to my prayer on that dark, lonely, scary night.