He swung her around and then took a big step back. “We have to call the others. They’re all praying, waiting for word.”
Ashley tilted her head back and laughed. If she would’ve had a window, she could almost see her sister smiling from heaven. They had begged God for a miracle, and He had delivered. And in the process Ashley could finally for all time be the sister Erin deserved. This was the second chance she had wanted when it came to loving Erin. Because for all the ways she had failed to be a loving sister to Erin, this one time she had done it right.
She had kept her promise.
Twenty-Five
ASHLEY WALKED THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR THE DAY AFTER the hearing at just before noon — both exhausted and elated. She had talked with Landon a number of times since the judge made her decision, and each time they were both emotional. Pausing on several occasions because they couldn’t get over the goodness of God. His faithfulness.
“Landon?” She set her bag down and looked through the main floor. But it was empty. Then she remembered. He had said he was working out back, since he’d taken the past few days off to be with the kids while Ashley was in Texas. Cole and Devin were at a friend’s house, and Kari had picked up Janessa to take her and Annie to the park.
Only Amy was home with Landon. She’d been invited to go with Kari, but she wanted to stay home. Ashley walked to the back kitchen window and stared out. Sure enough, there was Landon digging near the pond. The filter was broken, and he needed to dig up a pipe to fix it. And there, sitting on a bench near the gazebo, was Amy. Her shoulder-length blonde hair looked particularly pale in the bright sunlight. She sat back far enough on the bench that she could swing her legs. Ashley studied her. This was better than a week ago when she barely got off the couch. But even from this far away Ashley could tell she wasn’t happy.
But this news was bound to help. Ashley savored the relief as it washed over her again. Amy was home for good. She felt the tension in her shoulders ease, felt her heartbeat settle into the rhythm it had before the accident. The thing was, they could understand if Amy had gone to heaven. Going to heaven was a goal, a gift … a gain, according to the apostle Paul in Scripture. They would’ve grieved her loss and celebrated her home-going — all at the same time.
But going to live with Candy Burns?
That would’ve been something Ashley and Landon never could’ve understood. With that woman raising her, there was no telling what would’ve happened to her or who she might’ve become. But now … now she was forever in the Baxter family. She would continue to learn what Erin and Sam had been teaching her. She would grow up loving Jesus and helping others and surrounded with family. Because of the miracle God worked in the courtroom yesterday, Amy was home.
Where she would be loved all the days of her life.
Ashley went outside and walked over to the bench where she was sitting. “Can I join you?”
“Sure.” Amy slid over and made room for her. “How was your trip?”
“It was good.” She took hold of Amy’s hand. The girl was quick to cling to her fingers. “Do you know why I went there?”
Amy lifted her eyes to Ashley’s. “You had a talk with my social worker?”
“Yes, that was part of it.” Ashley watched Landon put down the shovel and join them.
He stooped down and gave Ashley a quick kiss. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” She looked at Amy. “I was just telling her about my time in Texas.”
Landon straightened and put his hand on Ashley’s shoulder. The two of them had decided that Ashley should give the girl the news. “Then I think I’ll let you two talk and I’ll go back to digging.” He winked at Amy and she responded with a grin.
This was new, and it touched Ashley’s heart to the core. Her husband and her niece building a bond. It was a small step but it was definitely a step in the right direction. When Landon was back working on the pond, Ashley turned to Amy again. “You asked about the social worker. I talked to her about making you part of our family.”
Amy looked up, her blue eyes full of the familiar fear. “What about my birth mother?”
“Well … that’s the good news.” Ashley stroked Amy’s hair. “Your Uncle Luke and I talked to a judge, and the judge said you don’t ever have to go see your birth mother. Not ever. You can live here and you never have to go back to Texas again.”
Ashley wasn’t sure how she expected Amy to react. But the one thing she didn’t expect was what was happening now. Huge, crocodile tears gathered in Amy’s eyes and dripped onto her jean shorts. She hung her head and her shoulders began to shake. The motion must’ve hurt her broken arm because she hugged the cast to her chest.
“Honey, what is it?” Ashley put her arm around the child’s shoulders. She hadn’t cried since she came out of the coma, and many times Ashley had spoken to Amy alone, hoping she might open up about her feelings. But now? “You want to be here, right?”
She wiped her face and her nose on her arm and in a move that seemed to take all her effort, she stood and fell into Ashley’s arms, collapsing against her, sobbing and crying as if her little heart wasn’t only broken.
It was broken in a million pieces.
“I … miss my … mommy … so much.” Amy put her healthy right arm around Ashley’s neck and held on tight. “I wanna be … in heaven.”
So that was it. This wasn’t Amy rejecting the idea of living with them. It was the emotional breakthrough Ashley and Landon had been praying for. She ran her hand lightly along Amy’s back and let her cry. A few times Landon stopped shoveling and looked over. But Ashley signaled to him that they were okay. Amy needed this.
“It’s okay, honey, I’m here. I understand.”
“But … why didn’t … God take me home … to heaven, too?” Her sobs still came in a rapid series, the tears flooding her eyes and running down her face, her nose still runny. “I miss them. I want my sissies. And … and Heidi Jo is … my best friend.”
“I know, baby.” Ashley held her with both hands, rocking her and praying away the very great pain. Tomorrow she would call the church secretary and get Amy set up with Christian counseling. She wanted to do everything she could to help the girl process the unthinkable.
“What does God … want me to do?” She pulled away far enough to search Ashley’s face. Amy’s eyes were red and swollen, and her nose was completely stuffed. “You said I’m not in heaven … because He still has something … for me to do.”
“Lots of things.” Ashley framed the child’s face with her hand and searched her eyes. “He gives us things to do every day. And when we’re done here, He takes us home.”
She nodded, and it seemed like maybe she had turned a corner in this moment. But then a rush of tears came once more. “I … just miss … them so much.”
“I’m sorry, Amy.” Ashley pulled her close again. “I’m so sorry.”
Ten minutes passed while Amy clung to Ashley with her good hand, as if by letting go she might drown. Gradually … probably more because she was worn out than because the pain had lessened any, the sobs slowed and an afternoon breeze dried her face. She sniffed and wiped her arm under her nose once more. “I’m sorry, too.”
“You’re sorry?” Ashley would’ve hugged the girl all day if it would’ve taken away even a fraction of her heartache. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because you did a nice thing. You went to Texas and made it so I can live here.” The corners of her lips lifted, and her swollen eyes all but disappeared. “That’s what I want, Aunt Ashley. I want to live here with you. But then …” her smile fell off. “I remembered that most of all I wanna live in heaven.” She shrugged one shoulder. “And that made me sad.” She tilted her head. “I wasn’t sad to be here, okay?”
“Sweetie, I know that.” Ashley kissed Amy’s forehead. “And I want you to cry. Whenever you feel like crying or talking or asking questions, we can always come out here and you can do that.”
“Okay.” Amy yaw
ned big. “I’m tired. Can I please go to sleep for a while?”
“Yes, honey. Let’s go.” She took Amy’s hand and they walked into the living room, where the sofa still doubled as the child’s bed. Ashley waited while Amy climbed up and sprawled out. The air conditioner was on, so Ashley grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and spread it over her. “You okay?”
“Yes. I’m happy.” Amy’s eyelids already looked heavy. She reached for Ashley’s hand. “Wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Because until heaven, for now I’m home.” Her smile was one of the sweetest Ashley had ever seen. “That makes me happy, Aunt Ashley.”
“It makes me happy, too, honey.” Ashley sat on the edge of the couch and rubbed Amy’s back while she fell asleep. The whole time she marveled over the emotions of a child. How Amy could be sobbing one minute with no sign of comfort or relief, and then the next minute exhibit unhindered joy, her happiness sweet and genuine. It was that faith-like-a-child lesson her father had noticed at his barbecue birthday. The idea that kids held on more loosely. They might cry and grieve, but then just as easily they could transition to a happy thought or the chance to play with dolls.
Or, like for Amy Elizabeth, the joy in being home.
At least until heaven.
JOHN WAITED UNTIL THAT NIGHT TO slip away to his home office and open the package. Three months had passed since the accident, and summer was over. With the coming of fall the missing only grew worse, both the missing and the certainty that Erin and her family were safe and whole and happier than they’d ever been.
But sometime around the first of September, John wanted more than the hope of heaven to keep him company on the long winter days ahead. He wanted meaning and purpose, a glimpse of understanding into why Erin had to leave here so soon. And so he looked up the national registry for organ donors and wrote a letter. People met with the recipients of organ donations all the time these days. Hardly a month went by when John didn’t hear about a talk show or news program featuring the reunion of organ donor families and the person who received the organ.
Just yesterday the news out of Indianapolis told the story of a teenage boy who died in an ATV accident, and his grieving mother getting the chance to hug the young father who received the boy’s heart. The mother was quoted saying, “Just the chance to hug that man and hear my boy’s heart beat one more time … I felt like his life still mattered. It was the greatest feeling since the accident.”
John wasn’t sure about a reunion with the recipients. But stories like that one made him at least want a little information. Or maybe his being a doctor made him feel this way. After all, he’d only shared his curiosity with Brooke, out of all his kids. She didn’t feel the need to know, but she understood his thoughts.
“It’s not really a connection to them,” Brooke had told him the last time they talked about it. “But if it brings meaning to the accident, then look into it, Dad.”
So that’s what he had done. His letter was a formality, a written request that the registry might give his name and address and some basic information about the Hogan family to any of the people given organs from Erin, Sam, or the girls. In case the recipients wanted to know more and in the hopes that they might contact him. That was all he could do. If the recipients wanted to stay anonymous, then that was that. But John had to try, and this morning when he brought in the mail there was a large manila envelope slipped in with the bills and advertising. The address at the top made him stop for several seconds, staring at it.
It was from the national registry.
Elaine was visiting her daughter across town. John had told her about the package, but he hadn’t shared the news with any of the others. Elaine understood that he wanted to be alone to read whatever it held. There would be time to share the contents later. He opened his office window and sat in his leather computer chair. A cool bit of fresh air drifted through the screen and with it the hint of burning leaves from somewhere nearby.
Slowly, he slid his finger beneath the envelope flap and peered inside. As he did, his heartbeat sped up. It was like he thought. The package contained what looked like three separate sealed envelopes and a cover letter. He pulled that out first. It was addressed to him and it explained that enclosed were personal letters from three of the recipients. For his purpose, the registry had written on the envelopes of each of the letters which organ from which of his family members the recipient had been given.
John hesitated. He wasn’t quite comfortable with this, as if by reading about the new location of one of their organs he was learning of their death all over again. But that thought was ridiculous, of course. Erin and her family weren’t back in Texas, too busy to call. They were gone, and he wouldn’t see them until heaven. He took a long, slow breath and slid the contents onto his desk.
Three letters.
Across the front of the first envelope it said: Verified by the Organ Donor Registry—Re: 13-year-old girl, lung recipient, lung donated by Clarissa Hogan.
John felt his own lungs tighten as he read the words again. His sweet granddaughter, so full of life and excitement about the future. And now … now her lungs lived inside another girl. John felt the tears in his eyes. He blinked them back so he could see, and without waiting another moment he opened the letter and pulled out two light blue lined pages from inside.
They were separate notes, and quickly John figured out that one was from the girl, the other from her mother. He read the latter first.
Dear Mr. Baxter,
Thank you for contacting us, and telling us a little about Clarissa Hogan, your granddaughter. The feelings this information stirs are strange and conflicting. We are so sorry about your loss, but so grateful for Clarissa’s gift. Our daughter is bright and beautiful and very active. She is a soccer player, but she has been fighting a rare lung disease for the past four years.
Before the transplant, she’d been given only weeks to live. She was confined to a hospital bed and every breath was a gasp for life. Mr. Baxter, if you could see her now. She is completely healed from the transplant, and this fall she is playing soccer again. I can barely watch her run across the field without crying. The transplant was a tremendous success. We thought we were going to lose her, and now she has an unlimited future. Not only is she still with us, but she is more alive than ever before.
I wanted to tell you this so you would know a little of the good God has worked out of your loss. I haven’t liked to think about Clarissa before this. The idea that another young girl had to give her life so that mine could live simply hurt too much to think about. But your letter gave me hope, Mr. Baxter. My husband and I can no longer be sad or guilt-ridden about the gift of life our daughter has been given. Instead, we will celebrate the fact that Clarissa has new life, also. New life in heaven.
Thank you again for reaching out, and thank you for your gift. Our daughter will take great care of her new lungs, but not a day will go by when we don’t consider the cost of her restored life. The very great cost. Praying for you and your family always. Perhaps one day we will meet—we are open to the possibility. Thank you again. In Jesus’ light, Beth Cooper
John set the piece of paper down and looked out the window at the night sky. His eyes were still damp, but he felt a sense of joy deep within, a joy he hadn’t felt before. Rather than being sad over the reality of the girl walking around whole and healthy with Clarissa’s lungs, John felt grateful. Like the Baxter family’s tragic loss had a greater purpose because of this.
He picked up the second page, the one from the girl. This one figured to be more difficult, since the girl was only a little younger than Clarissa.
Dear Mr. Baxter,
My name is Sienna and I’m a soccer player. But four years ago I got sick, and starting last year I couldn’t play soccer anymore. My lungs were so bad I would get out of breath just getting out of bed or walking into my little brother’s room. The doctors said I was going to die if I didn’t get a transplant.
But I’m old enough to understand how it works. Someone else would have to die for me to have life. So I had a talk with Jesus, and I told Him it was okay if He wanted to bring me home. I didn’t want some other girl to die, and plus I knew I would go to heaven. Some other girl might not know about having Jesus as her Savior. So I asked God not to let me have a lung transplant unless it came from a girl who loved the Lord very much.
Your letter was an answer to my prayer. I’m so glad Clarissa is in heaven with most of her family. Since the operation I can run and play soccer and score goals like before, only now I can breathe. Every day I thank God for my new lungs. But now I add something else, too. I ask God to tell Clarissa hello for me. One day Clarissa and I will be friends in heaven, I believe that.
If you ever want to come see one of my soccer games, that would be great. I play harder now, because I have to try my best every day. It works like that with second chances. Oh, and my coach says maybe I can play in college. Please tell your whole family I said thank you. Until next time, your friend, Sienna Cooper.
John set the page down with the other one and covered his face with his hands. This was exactly what he’d hoped to find when he wrote to the registry. A reason to see good from the devastating loss of his youngest daughter and her family. His tears were happy ones, and he wiped his cheeks, breathing deep the rich fall air. He hoped Sienna Cooper would win every game for the rest of her life, and that God would use her very bright faith and her beautiful testimony to change lives for Him.
The next letter was from the artist who lived at the southernmost border of the state. She was only eight years old, and she’d been given one of Clarissa’s kidneys. The letter was from her father, and it said that he’d found faith in God because of the transplant. He was taking his family to church now. John let his tears fall, let them clean out what remnants of doubt and hopelessness remained lodged in his heart. The picture of what God had done and was still doing by bringing Erin and Sam and the girls home to heaven was getting clearer with each letter.
Coming Home: A Story of Undying Hope Page 26
