CHAPTER TROIS

On my eighth day at the hospital, I returned with a sandwich from the cafeteria, to find a middle-aged man standing in the corridor peering in the window of Sky’s room. He was well-dressed—dark suit and hat with the customary umbrella hooked on his arm. The chiseled jaw and proud tilt of his head informed me this was Sky’s father. I gulped with dread, recalling the tales Sky and Helena had related about him. At the moment though, with raw pain etched across his face and his shoulders slumped as if he carried the weight of the world, he didn’t appear threatening.

He turned toward me. “You must be Esther,” the clear steel-grey eyes skimmed over me with the vaguest hint of a smile.

I shook his hand, noting a firm grip that matched the natural air of authority he’d passed on to his son. “It’s a pleasure to meet you… ”

“Everett. Please call me Everett.”

I brought him into Sky’s room where Helena had fallen asleep in the chair next to the bed. She woke and regarded her son-in-law with a tight smile.

“Hello, Everett. Glad you could stop by.” She excused herself and gave my arm a squeeze on the way out.

“I’m afraid I am not the most popular person with dear Helena,” he commented without taking his eyes from Sky.

I offered to give them time alone, but Everett shook his head. “I’d like to ask you to repeat what I’m about to say to him when he wakes.”

“But you can tell him yourself,” I protested.

“Sometimes it’s hard to hear through years of misunderstanding. Maybe he will hear it if it comes from you.”

He crossed to Sky’s bed and pulled the chair closer. He sat and took hold of Sky’s hand. I took a seat on the cot.

With trembling fingers, he smoothed back the hair from Sky’s forehead. “I’ve been such a fool, son, doing things the way I was raised instead of giving you the one thing you needed most. You wanted my time, and I was always too busy doing something important that doesn’t even matter now. I’d give anything for you to be a tiny tyke again, running to hug my legs when I got home from work.” He smiled at the memory. “I’d love to travel the world with you and Emma… but that chance is gone now.” He paused to wipe his eyes. “I know you thought I never approved of your music, but I am so proud of you.”

It was hard to swallow past the growing lump in my throat. How I hoped, somehow, Sky could hear his father and feel his approval. It seemed so sad this moment had to come now when Sky’s life hung in the balance. Surely they would have years of understanding, of making up for the past, right? I refused to consider the alternative, however, it was there, like a bogeyman in the closet waiting to pounce.

Sky’s father didn’t stay much longer. He seemed drained and not inclined to small talk. I tried to lighten the mood by reading more, and playing a recording of sounds from nature—soft breezes, birdcalls, a chattering brook. But the stricken face of Sky’s father remained with me.

Later on, the doctor told us the swelling on Sky’s brain had gone down and they would begin weaning him from the coma-inducing drugs in the morning. The media seized the new information and the update spread through newscasts and papers, renewing the frenzy.

Kate, Helena and James were all on hand the next day for the anticipated moment. Unknown to Sky, he was the “watched pot” the entire day. I continued to read but, like a jack-in-the-box, popped up at every sound, real or imagined, to see if Sky had moved, a toe, a finger, but… no. Finally, by evening, the others left and I continued the vigil alone. James offered to stay but I knew he needed to be with Jeremiah and, besides, I selfishly wanted to be the first person Sky saw when he woke.

I had a virtually sleepless night, afraid I would miss the first sign of his waking, and moved into the next day bleary eyed and frazzled.

That day wore on, hour after eternal hour. Kate continued her massage and natural remedies, determined Sky should suffer none of the ill effects of lying still for an extended length of time.

Other than phone calls to family and my interactions with Helena and Kate, I was a complete hermit, drawing the window blinds and guarding Sky’s privacy as best I could. The doctors and nurses kept close tabs on him as well, but discovered nothing to raise our hopes.

On day three of expectation, I spied an entertainment magazine in the waiting room with a picture of me that had been taken at Frank’s funeral next to one of Sky’s old photos. The screaming headline was hard to miss.

“A WIDOW BEFORE SHE’S A WIFE?”

A knot of fear churned in my stomach. I should have dropped the rag in the trash, but I flipped to the two-page story, reading of my own dedicated presence at Sky’s side “as hope dwindles.” One paragraph in particular stabbed my soul.

“Doctors report as Sky’s lack of response to external stimuli continues, the chances of the superstar suffering permanent brain damage increase.”

The article went on to list the possible symptoms ranging from speech difficulties, decreased motor skills, paralysis, amnesia, and even death.

There it was in black and white; all the fears I had been fiercely ignoring.

I sank to the floor with the poisoned dagger hanging from my hand, hardly able to breathe.

Twila, my kind nurse from day one in the hospital, happened to pass the waiting room. Her cheerful bedside manner had made the hospital stay more bearable and even Kate, efficiency itself, had complimented Twila’s professionalism and cheer.

“Having a sit-down strike?” she asked. When I didn’t answer, Twila came closer and squatted down to eye level. I handed her the magazine.

“Ah yes! Always have a nose for drama, don’t they?” Her tone was lighthearted but there was no smile in her eyes.

“Is this true?”

“Is it true?” Twila repeated slowly, as if buying time. “That’s hard to say since every situation is different.” She took a deep breath. “Keep in mind, this magazine likes to offer the most dramatic interpretation of any bit of information,” she ripped the offending magazine in two and dropped it in the trashcan. “Now, yes, Sky is in a precarious position but there are cases I’ve seen that defy explanation. We can do all we can physically, but there is an element, a factor, that cannot be charted by statistics. It deals with love and faith and plain old stubborn courage.”

I searched her honest blue eyes for the hope I so desperately needed. She gave my hand a squeeze.

“Don’t you let some gossip rag steal that from you.” She stood, ripped the magazine in two and dropped it in the trash. “Can I make a suggestion?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“You need a break, Dearie. You need to laugh, do something fun. You owe that to him if you’re going to have the strength to see this through.” She gave my shoulder a pat and bustled away.

Of all things Twila could have suggested, she wanted me to have fun? Of course, she was right. How much help would I be if I couldn’t even peel myself off this waiting room floor? Kate and Helena were with Sky, so I started with the basics, a hot shower and styling my hair. A little make-up concealed the dark circles under my eyes and I ditched the hospital scrubs for some fresh clothes. Kate had fixed salad and homemade bread that I tore into, discovering I had an appetite after all.

I told Helena and Kate I was going for a walk and wandered the various floors and wings of the vast hospital. The gardens on the side of the building facing the Thames were inviting, but too many newshounds lurked there, so I went instead to a central courtyard, occupied only by flowers, trees, and a small, bubbling fountain.

I smelled the roses and dug my hands into the dirt, thankful to touch nature again after my extended concrete entrapment.

Later, in the endless, white corridors, I discovered the maternity section and watched the nurses tend to tiny, new lives. A man approached with a young woman wrapped in a fleecy robe leaning on his arm. They murmured together, eyes glued in adoration on one of the bundles with a little pink hat on its head.

Their joy gave hope even as it burned my raw heart. Continuing down the hallway I passed large double doors with a sign that read, “N. I. C. U.” I asked a nurse if I was allowed to enter that area.

“I’d best go with you,” she answered as she juggled a mound of medical files in her arms. “Just a minute, okay?” She bustled to the desk and disappeared behind a wall, but soon returned and showed me to a station where we both scrubbed to the elbows and donned sterile robes.

“It’s my break anyway.” She studied my face. “You’re here with Sky aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Hi. I’m Amy.” She reached to shake my hand. “We’re all pullin’ for ‘im.” We pushed through two sets of double doors and into a careful hush broken only by the rhythmic beeps of monitors and other equipment. A young couple worked together to bathe a tiny baby under the watchful eye of another nurse.

“They’ll be taking him home next week,” she informed in a whisper. “They’ve had a tough go of it. He was born so early, but it’s lookin’ like he’ll pull through.”

We moved through the dimly lit room, trying not to break the almost chapel-like hush. In the last section, a young woman slept in a rocking chair by an incubator housing the tiniest human I had ever seen. Amy took a step back and lowered her voice.

“I don’t want to wake ‘er, poor thing. She’s been here every minute since the babe was born.”

When I asked about their situation, Amy said labor had started too early, the doctors couldn’t stop the process and the baby girl had been born at a time when even the skin on her miniature body was not fully developed. “Poor darlin’ can’t be touched without it hurtin’ ‘er.”

Amy shook her head as I felt my heart go out to the exhausted young woman in the rocking chair. I crept closer to peek at the baby in the incubator, marveling at the intricate web of veins visible beneath diaphanous skin. But tiny fingers, toes and other features were perfectly formed.

“Usually we wrap the babes up snug,” Amy whispered, “but she can’t take it.”

I couldn’t imagine not being able to hold my precious child, especially when they needed me most. “I wish there was something I could do,” I murmured.

“Don’t we all,” Amy stated. “As it is, her mum sings to her and holds her little hand. It seems to help. It’s amazing how skin-on-skin contact can make a difference when other methods fail.”

It was difficult to tear my eyes from the untouchable baby girl; so vulnerable, yet wielding the power to break my heart. I whispered a prayer for the babe and her exhausted, young mother as I thanked Amy and started back to Sky’s wing. The experience in the Neonatal Unit had stirred powerful emotions and longings. I longed for the joy of holding and caring for my own baby—for our baby, Sky’s and mine. Would we have that chance now?

As I neared Sky’s room, I heard the sound of an old-fashioned laugh track. The television was tuned to classic comedy reruns and Barney Fife of “The Andy Griffith Show” was watching a crazed hillbilly run off through the trees. “Well I think he’s a NUT!” Barney stated as the laugh track rolled.

Kate chuckled, sitting in the chair next to Sky’s bed, knitting needles flying. “He loved this show. His little eyes’d shine when Andy and Opie’d walk ta the fishin’ pond. He used ta ask the Missus when he was a little tyke if he could live there and would ask ‘is dad ta take him fishin’ but the ol’ bugger never did.” Kate shook her head as she attacked the yarn with a burst of vengeance. “Wouldn’ta hurt Everett none ta take a day off ta go fishin’.”

“Any change?” I asked.

“Afraid not, lass.” Kate sighed and rose to assemble the oils and towels for Sky’s massage.

“Let me do that,” I offered. “I think I know the basic routine now and you need a break.”

“Thank ye. I would like ta check in on the missus. Might be I could lift ‘er spirits a bit with some fresh scones. Ya hear that, Lester? Ya never could pass up my fresh scones an’ clotted cream. If ya can hear me, I know ye’ll come ’round for that!”

When Kate left I began the process of imitating her massage techniques. I had to avoid stitches and multi-colored bruises, but for the most part, the right side of Sky’s body was healing well.

I started on his hand, noting the guitar calluses were softening on the tips of his fingers. As I worked in the oil I spoke, reminding Sky of all the things he had whispered about our future, our home, and growing old together.

“You’ve made a lot of promises you’re just going to have to wake up and keep.” I moved up the arm to his shoulder as Mayberry RFD gave way to “The Dick Van Dyke Show.”

The episode was one of my favorites, the birth of their baby. Dick sleeps in his crumpled business suit, wrecks the car, and finally rides with Laura to the hospital in a laundry truck as the driver proclaims, “You know our motto. We pick up and deliver!”

This time, the laughter pierced my heart. Ugh! Now my favorite re-run was slicing my heart open too? Immediately a wave of guilt followed fear. Sky’s life hung in the balance and all I could think about was my biological clock. Pretty selfish, eh?

My hair fell forward, brushing Sky’s face, bringing a rush of memories. I stopped, studying his handsome, peaceful features. He was inches from me and yet a world away.

“Where are you?” I whispered, touching his face as I had on the night we first met. “Are you coming back?” I willed his eyes to open and chase this nightmare away.

The memories were etched so clearly in my mind: Sky melting me with his eyes as we danced during his concert; bending to shake a paw and “converse” with my dog, Sammy; laughing with his nephew Jeremiah during our hay war. How could so much life be locked out of reach? How could the artist whose music moved millions to emotional overdrive feel… nothing?

I moved to the small bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light, to wash the oil off my hands. As the warm water flowed, tears spilled down my cheeks. I had been afraid to cry, afraid that any sign of weakness would somehow reduce Sky’s chance of recovery.

I rested my forehead against the mirror over the sink. I was exhausted to my core and had no energy to stem the tide, so I turned off the faucet and let the grief overflow.

Quiet voices drew near and entered Sky’s room. “The drugs are out of his system now. I would have expected him to come around at least thirty-six hours ago,” said Sky’s primary doctor.

“So why hasn’t he?” asked the other.

I reached for the hand towel to wipe my face.

The two men in white bent over Sky as the doctor shone a penlight into Sky’s eyes, gently lifting each lid in turn. “My guess would be the swelling in his brain stem has pressed against the skull too long. The longer he takes to resume consciousness, the more likely we’re looking at permanent brain damage.”

“How extensive do you expect the damage is?” the other asked.

“It’s hard to tell with the patient unable to respond to stimuli, but in most cases like this, the patient is very different from who they were before. I would guess, in this case, he’ll need round-the-clock care.”

I stepped out of the bathroom with the towel still clutched in my hands. The doctors fell silent.

“My apologies, Miss Collins.” The surgeon recovered his professionalism. “We thought you’d gone.”

“What are his odds?” I asked. “Does he have permanent brain damage? Is that why he’s not waking up?”

The doctor raised his brows and took a deep breath. “I hate that the possibility was presented like this, but, yes, that is likely given the severity of his injuries.” He held a hand toward the doorway, indicating he would like to continue our conversation outside the room. His colleague walked away.

“Perhaps it’s best you face some of these possibilities now.” He looked into my eyes with concern. “These cases can become quite complicated and exhausting, requiring long-term commitment from family and loved ones. Are you prepared to care for a man who might never recognize you, or who might require assistance accomplishing the simplest tasks?” He paused a moment. “According to his scans, significant pressure on his brain stem as well as the force of impact on his skull is affecting several key areas.” He paused again. “Has his grandmother discussed this with you?”

I shook my head.

He sighed. “I thought as much. Look Miss Collins, you’re young. Your whole life is ahead of you. No one would question the commitment you’ve shown, but you need to be aware this is the beginning of a long and unpredictable road.

I tried to grasp what he was saying. Was it possible the Sky I knew and loved would never wake? Would I have to let go of this dream before living any of it? There was a familiar ringing in my ears and I reached for the tilting wall as the memory of that moment I had first blundered into Sky’s life, nearly fainting at the sight of him, flooded back. Had the whole thing been a huge mistake? I couldn’t believe that.

The doctor put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m ordering a sedative for you. Go get a good night’s sleep at the hotel… ”

“No.” My voice was firm. “I need some time alone with him, please. Could you make sure I’m not disturbed?” I shook his hand and walked back into Sky’s room, shutting the door behind me. I reached for the cord on the window-blinds and pulled them closed. With a sigh of relief I slid to the floor, tucking my knees under my chin as the weight of the doctor’s words crushed down.

Fearful possibilities tripled gravity until I was lying, knees tight against my chest, face buried in the hand towel. I moaned, wanting desperately to give voice to the raging storm inside. How could I pray when I couldn’t form words? So the moaning continued as my heart poured out my eyes, soaking the towel in my hand.

“Where are you, God?” I screamed inside as wave upon wave of relentless grief pounded down, bringing images of Sky, alive but unresponsive.

As if someone had opened a release valve, the moans morphed into whispered words, gibberish to my ears, but relief to my tortured mind and heart. I recalled an acting class exercise where the teacher had us play an impromptu scene--no script. We were instructed to use only nonsense words. Liberated from remembering lines, I accomplished a couple moments of raw emotion that had left the instructor and fellow students stunned.

At the moment, I felt connected to the eternal, as if I had joined hearts with God Himself. The fear and confusion calmed. The words my mind couldn’t understand flowed as if I was finally speaking my native language after a lifetime struggling to communicate in a foreign one. Fear bowed to confidence. Confusion melted into peace.

As the hurricane of emotion stilled, words etched themselves on the walls of my mind.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
  and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)

Hope. I grasped it feebly. No matter what the next moment held, I was not alone. Every muscle in my body relaxed as a new phrase pulsed through my frame.

“My grace is sufficient for you,

for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Cor. 12:9 NIV)

Lying in a puddle of tears, with no notion of time, I let go of every hope and dream, every fear, and every demand as I soaked in the presence of something much bigger than my current pain.

When I finally peeled my head off the damp towel and floor, the room was dark save for the tiny lights and indicators of the equipment around Sky’s bed.

Trembling, I sat up and made my way to the sink to splash water on my face. A nurse knocked, entered, and went about her duties. When she was gone, I flicked off the light again, and crossed to the bed where Sky’s face glowed in the dim light of the monitors. I crawled onto the bed beside him, laid my exhausted head upon the crook of his shoulder, curled up against his warmth, and tugged the edge of the blanket over us.

Under a thick layer of peace, like a child tucked into bed with a soft kiss, I drifted into dreamless sleep.