Beauty from Ashes

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

Jake’s got his arm around me, and I’m sure he means well. Sure that in his mind, it’s the perfectly reasonable reaction when your brand-new wife is sitting next to you bleeding tears out her eye sockets. I’m not making any noise. Since we’re in the back pew, I doubt anyone notices me unless it’s Grandma Lucy. I wonder, does she know? Does she realize what she’s just done to me, or is she so Holy Spirit stoned she can’t pay attention to anything else?

Refusing to be comforted because her children are no more. That’s the depressing verse I had to memorize at Bible quizzing. The one I could never get why a bunch of teenagers like us would have to know by heart.

Refusing to be comforted ...

Except now all Grandma Lucy seems to be able to talk about is comfort. She’s used the phrase balm in Gilead — which I remember from high school English class — twice already, and it doesn’t sound like she’s going to let up anytime soon. I think she’s planning to shove comfort down all our throats before she’ll ever relinquish that mic.

“I will heal her,” she’s saying now, as if she’s turned herself into God’s direct mouthpiece. “I will guide her and restore comfort to her,” and my clammy hands and hummingbird-wings heart make me realize that she still talking about me, except now I don’t know what it means. What kind of comfort can I expect if Natalie’s in heaven and I’m not?

“Then you will call, and the Lord will answer. You will cry for help and he will say, ‘Here am I.’” Something about what she says — or maybe it’s more the way she says it — makes me wonder if my interpretation wasn’t entirely accurate. Because if my daughter’s really dead like I thought, I know in the center my soul that I would be just like that woman in the Bible verse, refusing to be comforted. Except that’s not how I feel right now as Grandma Lucy keeps one hand raised up like an eighty-year-old rock star. Like that old dude with the huge lips, the one who did that Super Bowl show a while ago. But her words bring me nothing but comfort. I know I once said it would be a good thing when my daughter dies, but that was before I saw her. The real her. So I start to think that maybe that vision I got wasn’t a picture of Natalie in heaven. Maybe it was more like a picture of her soul, of the little girl she would have been if it hadn’t been for that brain hemorrhage. Or maybe — do I dare hope? — maybe that’s the picture of the little girl she’s going to grow into one day. Not just in heaven when of course everyone’s perfect. But right here on earth.

“Everlasting joy will crown your head. Sorrow and sighing will flee away. Then you will find your joy in the Lord, for he has endowed you with a crown of splendor. For his salvation will last forever, and his righteousness will never fail.”

My tears have stopped, for now at least, and I realize that this stranger, this Grandma Lucy lady with her above-the-waist slacks and ridiculously oversized collar has given me something that no doctor or nurse or pediatric specialist ever could.

Hope.

“He will shelter you with his strong and mighty love. You don’t need to be afraid. The valley of the shadow of death holds nothing to fear, for he is with you. He is there, pouring his love into your weary heart. So don’t lose courage. Don’t fear the shadows. Just when you think the darkness will consume you forever, he will make your night shine like the noonday sun. Let those who walk in the dark, those who are crouching in fear in the night of despair, let them trust in the name of the Lord who hides you in the shadow of his hands. Even in the midst of trial and storm, his unfailing love for you will never diminish.”

And I realize then as Grandma Lucy pauses that I don’t want her to be done. I need to know more. All this about comfort, it must mean Natalie’s going to be ok. Right? Isn’t that what you would take away from her whole batty speech? But what if my first idea was right? What if Natalie’s already died? I glance over at Jake. His mom would have called by now, right?

So I don’t quite know how I feel as Grandma Lucy sheepishly hands the microphone back to the pastor. I didn’t notice earlier how short she was. If I were to stand next to her, she wouldn’t come past my shoulder. I still can’t place why it feels like I’ve met her before. Part of me wants to talk to her. Wants to ask her what it all meant, but what if I’m wrong? What if she doesn’t even know who I am? What if she has no clue about Natalie or any of that?

Then why would she have said any of those things?

The pastor gives a brief dismissal, and I stand on shaky legs. I’ve got to hold on to the back of the pew to keep my balance. I don’t look at Jake. He’ll think I’m nuts. He puts his arm around me. Protective. He’s ready to go. Probably afraid of keeping Mama waiting any longer. But I don’t want to leave. Not yet. I glance at the front of the church. I just want to get one more look at Grandma Lucy. If she sees me, if she makes eye contact, I think I’ll know. I’ll understand what she was trying to tell me.

Except she’s hugging the pastor’s wife, and Jake’s got the keys in his hand, and my stomach’s growling in anticipation, but my skin’s prickled with worry about Patricia and what she’ll say if we’re late for lunch.

I don’t shake Jake’s arm off me. I don’t walk up the aisle. I don’t talk to Grandma Lucy. But as Jake leads me out the church, there’s one single question swirling around my brain.

What if that bat-crazy lady wasn’t talking to me at all?

PART TWO:

Patricia