Chapter Eighteen
Chapter
Eighteen
The doctor’s voice was gentle enough to make
Mark even more worried than he already had been. He gripped his
mother’s hand a little more tightly, then tried to focus on what
the doctor was saying. “We’re still monitoring the situation. The
tests show that it was a stroke, and it’s safe to say that there
will be some lasting effects, but I’m afraid it’s too early to be
more definite than that.”
“He’s getting worse,” Mark said, fighting to
keep his voice under control. “Yesterday his speech was slurred,
but we could both tell what he was trying to say. Today, it’s…it’s
not words at all!”
His mother nodded her agreement but didn’t
speak. Mark knew that she didn’t trust herself not to cry.
“Your father’s brain has suffered a serious
injury and it’s swelling right now in reaction to that. We’ve given
him some medication to help that go down, but the best tool will
still be time. I know it seems like we’re not doing much, but our
focus right now is on preventing another stroke and making sure
that any side effects of this one are managed. Once he’s stable,
believe me, there are a lot of resources available in the hospital
to help him out. And there will be more for you to do as well. I
know it’s frustrating, but for now spend time with him, keep him
calm, but spend time on yourselves too. You need to be well-rested
so you’ll be ready for anything.”
Mark had heard the same advice given to
countless families over the years, and had repeated it many times
himself. But he realized now, just as he had after Jimmy’s death,
how difficult it was to follow the recommendations. It was as if he
and his mother had received an injury just as surely as his
father’s brain, and as if they too needed some time for the
swelling to subside before they were ready to function again. “What
should we be telling people? Everyone’s calling, wanting to know
how he is, what they can do. Is there anything they can
do?”
“If he has a few close friends who’d like to
visit him, that’d be fine. But the visits need to stay short. Ten
or fifteen minutes, with time for him to rest in between.
Otherwise, I hope you like casseroles, because I expect you’ll be
getting lots of them.”
Just like when Jimmy had died. Mark knew his
mother’s mind was wandering back to that time just as surely as his
own was. This wasn’t as bad. This was going to be okay.
“Thank you for your time, doctor.” Mark’s
mother had apparently gotten herself back under control.
She and Mark stood and left the doctor’s
cluttered but cozy office, wandering into the sterile hallway and
standing as if lost. “He’ll be okay,” Mark said, trying to sound
confident.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” his mother
said. “First the…the man…getting out of jail so early, and now
this. Jimmy’s gone forever, and your father’s so ill.” Her hand was
shaking as it clutched at his. “You’re all I have. You’re my
strength, Mark. I need you.”
“I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through
it.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her until she seemed
to be back in control.
As she drew away, she forced herself to
laugh. It was shaky, but at least it was a start. “Of course we’ll
get through it. And I’m just being silly. I know you aren’t going
anywhere. I might not like the idea of sharing you with the church,
but at least I don’t have to worry about some woman stealing you
away!”
Mark didn’t know why he was annoyed by the
comment—probably because she hadn’t even considered the possibility
of a man claiming a portion of his affections. Of course,
there was no reason she should think of that. Mark had never
brought a man home to meet his family, never even mentioned a
prospective love interest’s name in front of them. It was part of
the truce they’d struck, he supposed; his family wouldn’t object to
his orientation, and he wouldn’t remind them of it. Similar to the
détente with the church and the congregation—he could be gay if he
had to be, but he’d better not flaunt it. With the understanding
that “flaunt” included such things as holding another man’s hand or
bringing a male date to a church function.
But none of that was important, not at the
moment. Right then, he needed to focus on his parents, and doing
the best job he could as their sole remaining child. “Why don’t we
stop in and see Dad for a few minutes and then I’ll take you home?
You can get some sleep, have something to eat and you’ll feel more
like yourself.”
His mother was not someone who appreciated
other people taking over and making plans on her behalf, but this
time she barely seemed to notice that it had happened. She just
nodded vaguely and allowed Mark to guide her down the hall toward
her husband’s room.
Mark let her go into the room alone, taking a
moment in the hall to collect himself. His father had never been as
outwardly forceful as his mother, but he’d been the solid rock on
which Mark’s foundations had been built. Seeing the strong man
brought so low, so quickly…it was a shock, to say the least.
Mark wasn’t in the habit of making
individualized prayers, asking for specific things. It had always
seemed a bit pushy to tell God how to best do his job. And maybe,
in the opposite direction, Mark was arrogant enough to think that
he could take care of things himself without asking for divine
intervention. Either way, he didn’t ask God for a miracle cure, or
even for the strength to see his family through this rough time.
Instead, he repeated the Lord’s Prayer, mindful of the meaning of
every word, and found in it the same comfort that he always had.
Thy will be done, he repeated in his mind after the Amen.
Thy will be done.
And it would be. The beauty of an omnipotent
God was that His will would be done, regardless of Mark’s actions.
If God had decided to take Mark’s father to Heaven, or even if He’d
just decided to rob the formerly vital man of his strength and
independence, then God would get His way. But in the meantime, Mark
would do what he could to help his father regain his strength. And
to help his mother, as well.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside
with a wide, confident smile. He kept his voice fairly quiet, but
made sure it sounded strong as he said, “You’re looking better,
Dad! I guess Mom told you what the doctor said. So that’s okay,
right? We’ll give it a few days and see where we are. We’ll make it
work.”
He ignored the twisted grimace on his
father’s face and focused instead on his mother’s grateful smile.
That was the reward for his performance. It was enough.