Song of Renewal (38 page)

Learning to cope was actually an adventure. Some days, as exercise restored her appetite, Angel tackled cooking, careful not to burn herself when turning her own bacon or sausage and scrambling her eggs. Though always nearby, intuitively Mama refrained from hovering.

For that, Angel’s gratitude knew no bounds.

Cooking was accomplished with an electric frying pan anchored to an adjustable countertop Daddy had installed especially for Angel’s chair-positioned height. Bread was a cinch with the toaster oven. Her own coffee maker/hot chocolate machine resided there, too, as well as a restaurant-assortment of beverage mixes and herbal teas. Next to that sprawled a mammoth wicker goodies basket, perpetually stocked with granola bars and myriad other healthy choices. Fresh fruit magically appeared, never running out.

One evening a couple of weeks after her homecoming, Angel insisted upon making spaghetti sauce in her frying pan. That would be her contribution to dinner. Mama did the noodles and salad. Daddy had caught on quickly and had already added a
spice turntable to a lower cabinet, within Angel’s reach. Daddy designed a fancy plaque to overlook the entire section. It read, “DANGER: ANGEL CROSSING.”

Those times were the great ones.

Her early treks to the hospital for both occupational and physical therapy helped Angel gradually advance her coping skills, especially in personal care. Now, her therapy sessions took place at home.

Those first days’ bath time challenged Angel. At her adamant request, Mama visibly restrained herself from interfering to allow Angel time to learn to maneuver herself in and out of the specially raised tub. Exercise had strengthened the girl’s arms and upper torso even more noticeably in recent weeks. Mama sensitively allowed her privacy and independence while Angel bathed herself and shampooed her own hair.

Sometimes, Mama helped Angel blow and dry her hair, considering it “mother-daughter time.”

But mostly, Angel opted to do it herself, shooing Mama off in other directions. “Mama, you’ve got a life, too,” she insisted, meaning it. “Let me do the things I
can
do. That’s not only helping me, but it helps you as well.”

Daddy had hired a medically trained caregiver from the get-go. Dixie came right after lunch and worked Angel hard until mid-afternoon. “These workouts exorcise spasms and avoid leg muscle atrophy,” she kept telling Angel, garnering enthusiastic cooperation.

“That won’t do,” Angel was fond of retorting as she puffed her way through a series of muscle-strengthening workouts.

Dixie was deaf to the word “can’t.” She was great for Angel, her match in both determination and tunnel-vision expectations. She listened to, really
heard
Angel’s hopes and aspirations. She never, in word or indication, doused Angel’s hope.

Her favorite response was, “We are limited only if
we think
we are limited.”

Yep. Dixie was just what the doctor ordered.

One day, Angel suggested to her mother, “Mama, why don’t you get somebody else to come in a couple of times a week and give you a time-out? You need to do something productive.” Then she got an idea. “Ballet! Go back and take some refresher classes.”

At first, Mama resisted – but only halfheartedly. “Then you can dance for me!” Angel had tacked on. “I’ve missed your dancing, Mama.” Angel had fought dirty and hard. Knowing Mama so well, she’d easily won.

But her battles had only just begun.

The church looked beautiful to Angel as she motored slowly down the aisle. Tears prickled against the back of her eyes as familiar textures in crimson, white, and oak beckoned to and flooded her with lifelong memories. Her parents trailed as she selected a spot at the end of a pew and expertly positioned the chair out of traffic’s way. They filed in past her and took their seats.

Pastor Dill’s text reading included one of Angel’s favorite Bible verses. “Let us read aloud together Romans 8:28 from the King James Bible,” he instructed the congregation.

“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.”

As Angel read the words aloud, they smote her. If “all things” meant even her accident and paraplegia “work together for the good to them…called,” then it meant that her situation was in the greater design of things. A bigger picture.

Did that mean that she would not necessarily be restored physically?

Disappointment swamped her.
Is that what you mean?
she silently questioned.

Angel felt torn between two spiritual spheres, one in which she claimed by faith nothing less than total restoration, another in which she decided that “Thy will be done,” whatever the outcome. Could she actually trust that completely? Even after her coma, and life-or-death survival, this thing facing her loomed like the Great Smoky Mountains.

This was like no other test she’d ever faced.

At service’s end, she parked herself in the vestibule, out of the way, while her parents milled and visited with the pastor and friends. Her hopes of blending into the background to morosely vegetate were abruptly aborted.

Folks soon spotted her and migrated her way to chat and offer supportive platitudes. They came in all flavors, the wellwishers. Some were quite loving and sympathetic. Some were overly effusive, others perfunctory and insincere. Little kids were something else entirely with their nakedly curious gazes. Angel never failed to reap grinning responses when she quipped, “Wanna see me get a wheel?” and became a real person to them. Adolescent scrutiny was often baldly pitying.

Angel stretched herself to take the initiative when gazes accidentally collided, flashing a smile and sending a simple “Hi!” With that, she became real flesh and blood, not an icon for disaster. Her teen peers often didn’t know what to say, so they avoided her. It was too painful to relate to her. Adult glances were more screened, but Angel sensed the underlying “how tragic” sentiments.

It all exhausted her. Wiped her out. She felt limp as a noodle.

On the drive home, she gazed into the clear blue sky and sought peace with what she’d experienced today. What she’d
learned. Number one and most important, she realized that even though no one else outside her inner circle knew it, she’d come a long way in recent weeks. She’d grown in self-reliance, even staying alone in the house for growing lengths of time while Mama and Daddy were out – at her insistence – living their own lives. With the elevator and a drive-in shower stall upstairs, she was now fully mobile and independent, able to bathe herself and attend to most of her own personal needs. At least for limited periods of time.

It was workable and that was a big score for Angel.

Her journal daily talked back to her, measuring her successes. Monitoring and correcting her mistakes. It characterized her.

Angel felt a profound stirring in her heart. The question sprang from nowhere and everywhere.
What will I do if I never walk again?
It had hovered there in the periphery of her mind ever since she’d returned from the living dead. The ramifications of her answer drifted in and out as she weighed who she was and what she was truly capable of. Her will hovered there for long moments, weighing, balancing.

Staring her down. Daring her.

“I love you, Angel,” Mama said suddenly, turning to gaze back over the seat, reaching to touch Angel’s arm. “Just think; this time five months ago, you weren’t even here with us. And look at us now. We’ve got a lot to be thankful for, haven’t we?” Tears shimmered in her eyes as she squeezed gently then shifted herself to again face the front.

A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver
.

Wisdom.

Proverbs 25:11 was framed and flanked other favorites on Angel’s bedroom wall. She rolled her eyes heavenward and whispered, “Yeah, I hear you.”

Aloud, she replied, “Yes, we do, Mama.” The words released a certainty Angel had never before felt. And she knew then that even if she did not ever walk again, she would consider herself blessed above measure to be who and where she was.

She could, if need be, blossom right where she was.

Above all, she now realized what was truly important in life.

chapter nineteen

They came into their spacious, airy den. Its comfort embraced them. Seven months after Angel’s homecoming, on her seventeenth birthday, in fact, she still marveled that her life had been spared. How easily she could have gone on like Troy had.

Troy. His love would follow her all the days of her life. He’d led her to the knowledge that she was the one who rescued herself. That she had it in her to be what she wanted to be. That the good things in life were hers for the taking.

Above all, he’d shown her that she could choose to live.

That did something to her. Something that made her feel invincible.

Angel’s motorized wheelchair whirred and angled into the spot once occupied by an easy chair. Owing to the fact that everything in the house accommodated her needs, she no longer thought in terms of limitations. Her parents’ love spoke eloquently, everywhere she looked. No expense had been spared in this gift to her. Expense with the renovations. Mama and Daddy called the renovations “renewals.” They used that term a lot lately.

Mama and Daddy lounged on the sofa facing her. “You’ve come a long way, baby!” her dad sang with pride. She acknowledged him with a big grin.

“I have, haven’t I?” She said this with not a trace of conceit.

She’d worked through the loss of Troy. Was slowly adjusting to his being gone. Not easy. She’d learned to lean toward the good memories, was aware that those times during the coma walk had helped prepare her.

Angel’s cell phone rang. It was Aunt Charlcy.

“Hey, brat! Happy birthday! What you guys doing to celebrate?”

“Mama and Daddy gave me a choice: party or whatever else I wanted. I chose to just chill out together.”

“Can’t blame you, honey. You’ve had enough drumrolls and acclaim lately, haven’t you?”

Angel laughed. “Enough for a lifetime.” She rushed to add, “Not that I don’t appreciate all the approval stuff. It’s just nice to take quiet time, reflect on how far I’ve come. To enjoy where I am. Y’know?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I do.”

Angel heard the smile in Aunt Charlcy’s voice. It was great hearing that because not so long ago, it had not been there. She knew its source.

“Aunt Charlcy, it was great seeing you and Uncle Raymond volunteering at the church soup kitchen. I enjoyed being able to help with the serving, too. I noticed you two at the church homecoming dinner last week. That man can pack away some food, let me tell you. Are you two gonna get hitched again?”

Aunt Charlcy laughed tightly. “Whew, you’re just full of it, aren’t you? Actually, it’s a distinct possibility, hon. He’s hanging out at my house, freeloading anyway. Might as well marry ‘im and make him a dependent, doncha know?”

“I know Lindi’s over the rainbow over her daddy being back and all. I talked with her last night and she can’t stop crowing about it.”

“Yeah. Knowing the truth about his shielding us from his illness and how facing possible death changed his priorities. Yeah, makes all the difference.” A long pause. “Say, Angel, truth is, Raymond and I are still married. We – ah, called off the divorce awhile back. Didn’t want you to think I was lying to you when you find out later on.”

“That’s great, Aunt Charlcy.”

They rang off. Angel looked confused for a moment. “Mama, did you know Aunt Charlcy and Uncle Raymond called off their divorce? How do you call off a divorce?” She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Duh. I guess they just moved back in together, huh?”

“Apparently so,” Mama replied, raising her brow at Daddy. Angel saw a warm, knowing smile slide between her parents. She knew they celebrated the renewal in Charlcy’s life.

So did she. Family was great.

Adjusting to her physical and emotional changes was another thing entirely. She supposed that, in cases like hers, it was to be expected. Her sense of self was constantly evolving, never hesitating long enough to grow static.

As though divining her thoughts, Mama gazed at the ceramic figurine of Scrounger, now nestled in a prominent perch on the coffee table, where everyone could be reminded of the dog’s great spirit and courage. They shared a misty-eyed smile.

Overcome suddenly with melancholy and what-mighthave-beens, Angel blurted, “I might not be able to rock ’n’ roll, but there are other things I can do, huh, Daddy?” She didn’t dare ask her mother. She’d always wondered since the accident, was Mama terribly disappointed?

But her mother replied. “Got that right, Angel. Daddy and I both want you to do what you want to with your life. Anyway,” she grinned sympathetically and with a touch of knowing, “ballet was my passion. Not yours. I know that now.”