“Yell with me. One, two, three!”
Emery hit the last pin. A spare!
Each girl bowled with another resident. For those in wheelchairs, Louie helped them roll the ball.
We spent a blissful hour and a half serving on the fourth floor. I knew this was only the beginning. There was a reason Mom was there. God had a purpose. It was up to me to choose each day how I would face her disease.
Every day I dodged bullets. Every day, I was mentally exhausted. Every day, I would return to memories of Mom and me, from my childhood on up. Nearly every day, I felt broken, but by God’s divine intervention and power, I was beginning to feel inspired, encouraged, and enlightened. God would pick me up and carry me through the next day. I was weak, but He was helping me become strong.
TWENTY - SIX
LIVE THE LIFE
Christmas 2016
A FEW WEEKS AFTER THE GIRLS’ program, I received several phone calls from mothers telling me their daughters were begging to go back before Christmas break. In the midst of holiday parties, finals, homework, and extracurricular activities, these girls were eager to entertain Mom and the residents again. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spread Christmas cheer.
One friend bought twenty gingerbread house kits and bags of candy. We took a combination of seventh-grade girls from Frensley’s class and fifth-graders from Emery’s class to sing Christmas carols and traditional hymns. Spreading out among the tables, they helped the residents decorate the gingerbread houses, some of them going from table to table, hugging people and wishing them merry Christmas.
Mom was so happy, she couldn’t sit still. She wanted to entertain everyone and play. She, too, went from resident to resident and hugged each one, telling them how much she loved them. In a day full of laughter, joy, and holiday fun, I knew the best was yet to come.
Dad and I had booked the private dining room downstairs for a Christmas dinner with all of our family. We couldn’t wait to bring Christmas to Mom, to have her feel like she was “hosting” Christmas as she had done in the past. Of course, she couldn’t cook anymore, and she couldn’t go out to buy her favorite pies—which was pretty much every flavor.
Dad and I met with the chef of the facility, who told us about his passion for his profession. All I could think about was the list of dishes I wanted him to prepare. I wanted Mom to feel like she had the best Christmas ever, surrounded by the husband, children, and grandchildren she loved with all her heart.
“Chef, it’s my heart’s desire that Mom feel she is hosting her family with her own decorations in the room and that she chose the menu. Daddy and I both want her to feel like she is at home.”
He smiled from beneath his tall, white chef ’s hat. “I also want her to feel at home, and I think this is a beautiful thing that you are doing for your wife, David, and your mother, Sarah. I will do whatever I can to make it the best Christmas for your family.”
My eyes filled with tears as I smiled with gratitude and I grabbed Dad’s hand. He tilted his neck up with a closed smile, doing everything he could to stop that knot of emotion in his throat from giving way to tears.
The chef asked us about the family’s favorite Christmas foods.
“I would say “Green Bean Supreme,” as she called it, with the fried onion rings on top. Definitely a turkey with homemade gravy and dressing, and she loved sweet potato casserole with marshmallows and pecans. What else, Sarah?”
I chuckled. “For sure that fruit salad with all the stuff in it! I don’t know what it’s called, but she loved that—Grandma English always served it, too.”
The chef wrote notes quickly on a white piece of paper. “Oh, yes! The residents love that fruit salad with grapes, chopped apples, a little pineapple and maybe some watermelon, nuts, a little whipped cream. I’ve got you covered.”
“Oh, and she loves a basket of croissants or warm rolls with butter. I think some brown-sugar ham slices might be nice, too. Beck didn’t love it, but someone in the family always wanted it, so she would cook it anyway,” Dad said.
“Tell me about desserts,” the chef said. “Does she like sweets?”
Dad and I exploded with laughter. Does she like sweets? Oh Chef, little do you know!
“Can you make every pie possible? She’s obsessed with pies during the holidays. She would order three or four ahead of time, and then walk in the door two hours later with about eight or nine,” I said.
Dad chuckled. “I always knew who would be eating the leftovers—I could not take the weight off for weeks after Christmas.”
But then I pictured Mom trying to scoop gooey pecan pie onto her fork and spilling it on her blouse as she tried to eat it.
“Chef, Mom has a very difficult time now using utensils. How can we make her favorite desserts easy for her to eat to prevent a mess? It’s important to us that we protect her dignity.”
He nodded in agreement. “I have the perfect solution. We simply make bite-size pieces, mini pies instead of regular pies. I will bake an assortment of her favorites and perhaps add brownie or cheesecake bites, and then something for the kids, like cookies?”
The chef knew exactly how to resolve our worries.
This will be incredible. Thank You, Lord, that we aren’t alone. Thank You for a chef who understands our concern and our hearts. He, too, wants to give Mom and our family the best. I love this place so much.
THE SOUTH DAKOTA CLAN ROLLED into town earlier than expected. Our kids are the same ages, and seeing how close the cousins had become, even living so far away, was heartwarming. God knew what he was doing as each child bonded with another.
My older brother, David, hadn’t seen Mom since a few months before she was placed. He was the oldest, and Mom had been hard on him for many years.
David loved Mom deeply, but he harbored pain from words said over the years that had penetrated his heart. All on our own journeys in life, I knew my brothers would handle this differently than I had. Though I had no expectations of what the week would bring, I had prayed fervently for months that David’s time with Mom would be meaningful and a time of reconciliation.
THAD AND I HAD INVITED both my brothers and their families over for dinner the evening after their arrival. Gabriel and his family came from nearby Rockwall. We all hoped Dad would be there, but he was going to play it by ear after spending the afternoon with Mom.
Then Dad texted me. “Hey there. You have enough food for me and Mom?”
What? He and Mom? Bring Mom to my house? She hasn’t been here since we placed her!
I texted back, face flushing as my heart beat faster. “Are you saying what I think you are, Dad? Bring Mom with you? Here? To my house?”
“Yes. She wants to come, and I’m ready to get her out of here. What do you think?”
What do I think? Yes! No? I don’t know. What if she doesn’t want to go back? What if she wants him to drive her to their house? I don’t know what to tell him, but I would love for Mommy to be here. God, help! What do I say?
Quickly, my thumbs typed out, “YES! Moment by moment! Day by day! God will help us get her home tonight. I’m so excited, Daddy. Thank you!”
Putting my phone down in shock, I looked over at Thad and the others.
“Y’all aren’t going to believe this. Dad is on his way right now with Mom. This is amazing!”
David and Gabriel, calm and collected, smiled their approval.
Light the candles. She loves candles. Shoot, what about wine? I need to hide the wine.
Again I addressed the family. “We all know about Mom’s drinking problem. I suggest we be as discreet as possible with the bottles of wine sitting out, as I don’t have any nonalcoholic to offer her.”
Gabriel put his arm around my shoulder. “Sissy, don’t worry. It’s going to be a great night. Don’t worry about things that haven’t even happened yet.”
Instantly, a favorite scripture jumped to mind. Philippians 4:6–7: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by
prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (NIV).
Around 6:00 that evening, the doorbell rang.
“Mommy! Come in, come in. Hey, Daddy!”
The kids ran in. “Beauty! Pop!”
Everyone was home for Christmas, but this time, it didn’t matter where the house was or what city we were in. It was like Christmases past.
Thad came over to help me, then kissed me on the forehead. “God is good, sweetie.”
Looking up at him, I said, “He sure is, honey. All the time.”
The adults sat around the dining table and the kids at the breakfast table. Their silliness, laughing, and yelling filtered through from the kitchen. As I looked across the table, I noticed Mom staring at me. Sitting with her hands placed gently on each side of her plate, her eyes spoke to me. Thank You, God. Thank you, Sarah.
She then looked over at David as he talked to Gabriel, and I saw it again. Thank You, God. Thank you, David Jr.
Going around the room, her eyes were speaking to each person. Thank You, God. Thank you, Gabriel. Thank You, God. Thank you, David.
It was several minutes before she even touched her fork or picked up a piece of bread. She was living in a dream and peace was written across her face. She didn’t seem to want to eat. She simply wanted to stare at her three children and their spouses and be in the moment. Her heart touched, she was emotionally, mentally, and spiritually immersed in love at that moment.
For an instant, I didn’t see anyone around the table except Mom in her lavender dining chair. She was an angel, sitting at our table, encouraged by the love in our family and our oneness in Christ.
What transpired that night was unbelievable. Mom and Dad had come over, we had a delicious dinner and visited by the fireplace, then they returned to Mom’s new home without a glitch. Only by the grace of God could this have happened, and we had felt His grace. And my dad had the best night in years.
THAT NIGHT I WENT TO sleep sobbing. In awe of God and His wonder, I cried until 2:00 in the morning. My mom had come home. I had missed her so much, and being together with our extended family was perfect. I couldn’t have prayed or wished for anything better. It was the unexpected amazingness of God.
About 4:00 a.m., I awoke to Elijah tapping me on the shoulder. “Mommy, I am itchy all over.”
I walked him quietly back to his room and rubbed some soothing ointment over him. I tucked him back in, then returned to our bed. Thad was making the little sounds he occasionally does when in deep slumber. The house was especially quiet, and I could not go back to sleep. I dwelled on the private dinner we were planning at Mom’s place—the decorations, place settings, and where to put the gifts.
Making a cup of coffee, I spent some time alone with God. Then I headed to the attic and collected some of Mom’s Christmas decor and put it by the back door.
At 7:00 a.m., while everyone else in the house slept, I loaded the car and headed to Mom’s. If last night was that great, I can’t wait to see what God does tonight!
Pulling up to the front, I grabbed a cart and took the decorations inside. Trish, my sister-in-law, had been so sweet to help me with decorating the day before, but I wanted it to look even better. Like my mom, I wanted the best for everyone. I wanted to surprise even Trish.
I decided to make a “Longhorn” tree in honor of my older brother, who had played football at the University of Texas. If it weren’t for David, we wouldn’t be such die-hard Longhorn fans. Following his example, Gabriel and I both attended UT. David had done so much for me at UT, and our few years together in Austin strengthened our bond. So a tree with burnt-orange-and-white Longhorn ornaments was what our family needed.
After decorating a three-foot Christmas tree on the entry table, I placed gifts under and around the tree, along with a favorite picture of Mom and Dad. Mom’s tall Christmas nutcrackers stood on the buffet table, and the main dining table had a beautiful flower arrangement surrounded by candles. Her favorite Christmas linens and fine china completed the table.
Mom’s favorite children’s plates, depicting Rudolph and Santa, were on the kids’ table. It was truly our Houston dining room, just like the Christmases we’d treasured from years before.
LATER THAT DAY, THE FAMILY gathered on the fourth floor to spend “happy hour” with Mom. Happy hour consisted of live music, cheese, fruit, popcorn, soda, and nonalcoholic wine.
As I walked through the door, I heard the piano. Looking up, I saw Big Ginny, her two precious granddaughters, Amber and Jade, and Little Ginny dancing with Mom. They had started a dance party on the fourth floor.
At the piano was Denny, a self-taught and incredibly talented pianist from Cuba. Mom was mesmerized, listening to him as he played songs the residents knew—everything from Elvis to hymns to “Que Será, Será,” one of Mom’s and my favorites.
Trish whispered in my ear, “Remember how you wanted to hire him for our family Christmas dinner? The wonder of God!”
I did not expect to run across Denny this day at the memory-care residence. Oh, God. You are amazing. There is no such thing as coincidence.
I turned to Trish. “This is incredible.”
“Yes, it is. And it’s also divine.”
We hugged and held each other’s hands as we watched Mom dance. I was exhausted from the night before, but I got a surge of energy watching Denny play and Dad grab Mom and twirl her around.
Dad looked so handsome. He had on my favorite color, purple, and Mom was wearing a silver top. They were two lovebirds enjoying the moment, sharing their love while shining God’s light throughout the fourth floor. Life was a dance, and they danced like there was no tomorrow.
Heading downstairs to the private dining room, Mom asked David Jr. if he was hungry.
“Yeah, Mom. I’m real hungry.”
“Let’s eat then. Can you whistle? I need you to whistle.”
He chuckled. “No, Mom. You were the whistler. I can’t whistle like you.”
Childhood memories flooded back. When my brothers and I were several blocks away, we would hear this loud whistle with two tones, then run home knowing it was dinnertime. In high school, I’d be warming up for a basketball game, and Mom would let out that loud whistle. Then she’d wave and give me a thumbs-up for luck. When I was in college, Mom and Dad had seats near the cheerleaders for football games. Taking a water break between cheers, I’d hear her whistle. Looking up in the stands, there she was with two thumbs-up and a wave.
Mom’s whistle was her trademark. At any sporting event, special occasion, or family gathering, she could grab our attention. My heart fell when she’d tried the whistle a year and a half ago, and it was half as loud as it was in her prime. Now there was no sound at all.
I turned to Mom. “Hey, Mom, Ginny can whistle. Let her do it for you.” Ginny and her family had come down to see the private dining room but weren’t staying for dinner.
“Ginny, I need you to whistle,” Mom said.
Ginny complied. Within seconds, the entire room fell quiet and all eyes were on Mom. Everyone thought she had whistled.
Taking charge, she hosted dinner as if she were at her old place.
“I want to thank you for here. For coming. You be joy, and you’re all . . .” She paused and smiled, then couldn’t speak. She had a difficult time getting her words out now, but we knew what she meant.
She continued, “You bring joy. Thanks for coming. I love you. All of you. David and I thank you.”
And with that, Daddy said, “Let’s hold hands and pray. Come on, kids. We need you to close the circle.”
After prayers, Ginny and the others left. As Mom sat down, she grabbed her fork and exclaimed, “My napkins!”
She’d noticed! I was so happy. She’d recognized her beautiful Christmas linens. She noticed her Santa and her candles, as well as her fine china from her wedding. She even knew the kids’ place ma
ts and plates.
Looking up at Dad, she said, “Thank you. This is wonderful, isn’t it? Look at them.”
He kissed her on the cheek. “Yes, it is wonderful, Beck. We are very blessed.”
AFTER DINNER, DAVID JR. HAD a surprise for us all. He asked if we would go into the room around the corner because he wanted to play something on the piano for Mom.
My brother had played the piano since he was ten or eleven. He’d wanted to play the guitar, but Mom said, “If you want to play the guitar, you need to learn to play the piano first.” So he took piano lessons for years. David stopped playing after college, but when he and Trish had children, he began to play again. Their children now loved music and were taking cello, harp, and piano, with guitar lessons to come.
We all found a seat around the piano. Mom sat close to David Jr. so she could see his hands hit the keys and watch his fingers.
As the melody began, I began recording video with my phone, knowing this would be a time to remember.
As David Jr. began to play, Mom put her left hand over her heart. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled at Dad, then she shook her head as if to say, “David, look at our son. Is this not beautiful?”
She faced David Jr., her eyes so peaceful.
Suddenly, the song picked up, and we realized the tune was Coldplay’s “Viva La Vida,” Spanish for “Live the Life.”
Tears poured down my face even as I recorded the video. As I looked to Dad, he stepped back, rubbing his eyes and nose. He was doing everything in his power to keep his emotions under control.
Then I zoomed in on Mom’s face. The more David played and the louder the song, the more she shook her head, mesmerized. Her eyes locked in on his hands, and, with her left hand still over her heart, she became almost still. Her reactions and body language were the most beautiful things I had ever witnessed, and this moment was the most meaningful I’d experienced with my family.
She didn’t need to say a word. You could see it in her eyes, the subtle movement of her face, and the way she fixated on her son’s music. David had touched her, and he had touched all of us. One word summed up the picture in my mind: “forgiveness.”
Broken Beauty Page 24
