Anna's Healing (26 page)

Anna coughed, caught her breath, and asked, “I won't need the shots anymore?”

“You won't. Everything will go through here, and it will be easier to maintain IV fluids you need.” Mary Joe worked as she talked, and the doctor assisted her.

Anna thought that was funny, but she couldn't find the energy
to share the joke. The doctor was assisting the nurse. The world was upside down.

Mary Jo inserted the PICC line, which she explained was a “peripherally inserted central catheter.”

Anna was nearly asleep by the time they finished stitching around the catheter. Mary Jo sat beside her and squeezed her hand. Once she had Anna's attention she said, “Your regular visiting nurse will stop by each day. If this starts bothering you at all, have your aunt or uncle call us. I'll come back out right away and check on you.”

Anna nodded, but she was already drifting off. For the rest of the day, she was aware of very little going on around her. She occasionally caught looks of concern passed over her head and heard whispered conferences that took place in the hall.

Her birthday came and went with a promise to celebrate once she was better, and behind those words she heard the unspoken concern—if she was better.

All work on the quilts and the produce stand and the garden stopped, but those same things filled her dreams. Fabrics sporting ponies, cows, and birds. Sunlight bouncing off buckets of fresh vegetables. Her fingers dipping into the dirt around the garden plants. Her parents and brothers and sister. Erin and Samuel and Jacob and
Mammi
.

Always her grandmother provided a bridge between sleeping and waking. At one point Anna thought to ask her if she ever left her room. Was she getting enough sleep? Was she eating? Perhaps it was time
Mammi
allowed someone else to sit beside her bed. When she managed to voice those concerns,
Mammi
would smile, pat her hand, and continue doing whatever piece of quilting or knitting that occupied her.

Time passed, hours and days when her condition stayed the same, until one afternoon for no apparent reason she suddenly worsened.

There was talk again of moving her, but there was little more that the doctors could do at the hospital. As Amish, the family did not believe in extreme measures. She was receiving excellent twenty-four-hour care from her loved ones and the nurses. Occasionally, a second bag of fluids was piggybacked on the IV because she became dehydrated. She simply couldn't stay awake long enough to eat or drink.
The visiting nurse easily managed these things, and the word
hospice
whispered through Anna's mind.

Was she dying? Would they tell her?

When her condition continued to deteriorate, it was decided—again—that she would fight this latest battle at home.

Each time Anna opened her eyes, it was
Mammi
that she saw, sitting beside her bed, knitting, reading the Bible—her voice a low steady melody that washed over Anna and cooled her brow.

“Why am I still here?” she asked one morning as a summer sun blazed outside the window.

“No one wants you back in the hospital.”

“Doc Hartman—”

“Even he says you're receiving the same medicines here you would have there.”
Mammi
nodded toward the side of Anna's bed.

She turned her head and saw a small metal stand holding a stack of medical supplies and the tall metal pole holding the IV bag.

“The nurses, they take
gut
care of you, Anna. Don't worry about having to return to the hospital. We all agree you'll get better faster in your home.”

Anna blinked back tears and accepted the chips of ice
Mammi
spooned into her mouth.

“My
mamm
?”

“She will come next week if you haven't improved.”
Mammi
returned to her chair, which she had scooted even closer to the bed. Reaching out, she claimed Anna's hand. “You have many visitors, Anna. Erin and Samuel, Jacob, and Bishop Levi. Some of the girls from church came by yesterday, and Rebecca Byler came the day before. She brought you some magazines from the store. All of these people are praying for you. Stay strong, child. Focus on letting the medicine work.”

Anna's mind went back to her original question. She hadn't meant why was she still here—at her home. She'd meant why was she still here—on this earth. What was the point? She was such a burden to others. If she could not get well, could not return to the small things she enjoyed, what was the reason to tarry in this life? But she didn't say any of those things. Instead, she allowed herself to sink back into a restless, dream-filled sleep.

CHAPTER 39

T
he next time Anna woke,
Mammi
was not in the chair by her bed. Outside the window was a deep darkness. She could make out a smattering of stars and a quarter moon. The lantern beside the chair in the corner of the room was turned down low. She blinked again, wanting to clear the sleep from her eyes. Her mind felt fuzzy and full of cobwebs, but she made a valiant effort to focus on what was happening around her. That was when she recognized the sound—a soft sobbing. Glancing to her right, toward the door, she saw Erin and
Mammi
. Erin was swiping at her cheeks and
Mammi
was rubbing her back.

Why was she crying? What had happened?

Her heart raced as she imagined another tornado or someone hurt by the tractor. Then she heard Erin whisper her name and break into tears again. “Should we take her to the hospital?”

“Doc says it won't make any difference.”

“But—”

“She'll either get better or she won't.”

“I can't bear it. I can't lose another child. I know Anna is not mine, but it feels as if she is. I simply cannot go through that again.”

“
Gotte
never gives us too much,”
Mammi
reminded her. “Let's pray together, both of us, that He will spare our Anna.”

She woke several times the next day, when Dr. Hartman was examining her, as the nurse administered still more meds through her catheter, and when they changed her sheets. None of those things bothered
her. She was overwhelmed by the desperate need to fall back asleep. Her struggle to wake fully never lasted more than a couple of minutes. Eventually, she closed her eyes and stopped fighting the weariness. She allowed it to claim her.

That evening she dreamed again. These weren't the nightmares that had become familiar. These were new dreams, and they frightened her with their brightness and hope.

Her and Jacob, walking through a field and holding the hand of a small boy.

Erin preparing a large meal.

The bark of a dog, and Samuel working on the tractor, a smile on his face as the crops grew tall and thick around him.

Her mother and father, bending to kiss her.

Mammi
, smiling as she touched the Bible in her lap.

Mammi
, whispering the promises of God.

Mammi
, believing.

Anna woke suddenly. Though the small battery-powered lamp dimly lit the room, there was enough light for Anna to see her grandmother.
Mammi
was there, sleeping in the living room chair, which had been brought into the corner of Anna's room. Her glasses were on the table beside her, resting on top of the Bible. Her face looked older without them, an assortment of lines and wrinkles—the map of a life rich and full and blessed by God.

Suddenly, Anna wanted to live.

More than she had ever wanted anything before, she longed to see another sunrise and to breathe with healthy lungs. She wanted to roll her chair out among the harvest. She wanted to marry Jacob. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she realized she'd been looking at her life all wrong. She'd been so focused on what she had lost since her accident that she hadn't stopped to consider what she'd gained.

She was no longer a stranger in her
aenti
's home.

Her
onkel
cared for her deeply.

Jacob—always her heart returned to Jacob and his kind eyes, gentle touch, soft words.

They lived in a caring community that looked after one another.
Bishop Levi was a
gut
man. He would guide them through any troubles they faced. Hadn't he sat by her bed and prayed for her, for all of them?

The quilting allowed her to help others. She wanted to feel the pull of thread through fabric again, to piece together blankets of love for the children.

Anna saw it all clearly as she lay in the dimly lit room in the middle of the night and wept.

She saw her life, as it truly was, and she longed to grasp it and hold it to her breast.

“Please,
Gotte
. Give me another chance. Forgive me—
ya
, forgive me for all my sins. For not believing. For not appreciating.” Sobs shook her body, and she squirmed down underneath the summer quilt on her bed. She didn't want to wake
Mammi
. She didn't want to alarm anyone, but suddenly the desire to cry out to God was overwhelming. She could no longer deny the need to bare her heart to Him and to share her hopes, her fears, and her dreams.

She wept and she prayed and she cast all of her cares on her heavenly Father. Once she had done so, she fell into a deep and restful sleep.

As she slept, her dreams were filled with light, warmth, and a peace unlike any she had ever experienced. Again she walked through a field of wildflowers that winked and nodded in the late afternoon sun. She held a folded quilt in her arms. When she glanced down she saw that rainbows danced across bright blue fabric. Hugging the quilt to her, she walked through the field of flowers and into crops which were ripe and ready for harvest. In the middle of what should have been Samuel's field, picnic tables had been arranged like those they set up after Sunday services. Sitting around the table was everyone Anna had ever loved—her parents, brothers and sister, and the members of her new community. Chloe and Jacob sat together, smiling at her.

“How can I see everyone… everyone in one place?” she murmured.

The answer seemed to come from all around her. Did she hear it? Or was it merely a truth beating in her heart? “They all love you, Anna. Everyone wanted to be here for this.”

“I don't understand.”

“It's not important for you to.”

Anna realized the answers were correct. These people loved her. They always would. And she didn't need to understand what she was seeing. She only needed to experience this moment of complete peace and surrender to it. So she stepped forward, into the group, and she was surrounded by the unconditional, unlimited love of her family.

The sun was suddenly brighter, and she had the urge to cover her eyes.

Excitement rippled through the crowd, and fear quickened her pulse, but one look at Jacob assured her she had nothing to be afraid of. He motioned for her to look up. When she did she saw a clear blue sky, the sun setting and stars beginning to appear. Above and below, over and through the sunset and stars were rainbows—not one but hundreds of rainbows. The sight was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen.

Suddenly she remembered the bishop's words as he sat and prayed by her side.

And God said, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come.”

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to bathe in the beautiful promise and healing warmth of God's Son.

CHAPTER 40

A
nna woke early the next morning as the dawn began to streak across the eastern sky. The blind covering her window was raised, as it had been since she'd been bedridden, allowing her to study the colors of pink and lavender against the blue of a summer sky. It was beautiful—absolutely beautiful.

Mammi
was once again in the straight-back chair beside her bed. She was quietly reading—from the Psalms—words of blessing and hope. “The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns, where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy.” Anna was distracted by a distant memory, a dream of light and life-sustaining warmth. Gooseflesh pebbled her arms and her heart—her heart felt light.

She stretched. The breeze through the window tickled her skin. It was early, based on the softness of the light outside the window, but no doubt Samuel was already in the barn. Did she smell biscuits cooking? Her stomach growled, and she realized she was hungry. Ravenous, in fact.

“You're awake.”
Mammi
placed her hand on top of her open Bible.

“
Ya
. Something smells
gut
.”

“That would be Erin's biscuits. We also have fresh eggs that Mary Beth brought over.”

“Sounds
wunderbaar
.”

Mammi
studied her, pushing her glasses up on her nose as if she needed to see better. “You look
gut
.”