help him begin to move forward with
his life. Charlie even talked about things that they could still do together.
Brenden heard
it all, absorbed it, and then threw it all away. He was blind, and that meant
life was over. Oh sure, he had read about people like Helen Keller, who
overcame her double disability; Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles, who were
remarkably gifted in music; and there was even this guy, Eric Weihenmayer, who
recently climbed Mount Everest. But they weren't Brenden McCarthy, and he
wasn't willing even to try to get his life back. What was the point? God had
dumped him on that mountain, and so he would quit, give up.
Lying there
in his hospital bed, the weight of his situation crushing his chest, crushing
his heart, he was sure that God would not punish him for wanting to escape.
Wasn't it God who had caused his injury? And so shouldn't God cut him a little
slack, forgive him for his sin and grant him his place in heaven?
Visiting
hours finally ended, and the blessed night settled over the hospital. He was so
glad his mother and Charlie had gone back to the motel and he was alone. And
where was Lindsey? He didn't know, and his recognition that she wasn't there
profoundly deepened his sense of hopelessness and self-pity.
Time moved
slowly because he was unable to sleep, and in that state he found himself
unable to shut off his mind. For the hundredth time, he considered how he could
bring his now worthless life to an end. He wished that his head had split wide
open in the fall. He so wished that he had died that way, certainly causing his
mother grief, but nowhere near as much as she would feel when he acted on the
decision he knew he was going to make.
How to end it, he
thought. How to rid the world of a useless young man with an
infirmity. How to check out of my personal existence.
The limitations
of his blindness reduced his choices, even in this ultimate act. He knew from
listening to conversations that he was on the second floor of the hospital,
probably not high enough to jump, even if he could find and then open a window.
There were no pills available, and nothing sharp within his reach. So what did
all that mean? He would have to go home and work on his demise from there. And
yet that wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be fair to his mother. No. He would
have to create an alternative, and that would require him to at least tacitly
begin some kind of rehabilitation process, even if it only meant that it got
him out of his house and into a different environment. So tomorrow he would go
home, and then he thought of a phrase that almost made him laugh. He would keep
his eyes open— ha! —until he found the opportunity
to— what? He knew the inevitable answer to that question.
How MANY DAYS HAD IT been? Mora wondered as Charlie drove her back to the motel
where they had been staying. She actually couldn't remember. Time ceased to
exist, and like her son, day and night did not seem to have any significance.
The world turned, but hers stopped. She had buried her husband, and now what?
What did the fates—or more relevant to her, faith—really mean? What did God
have in mind? What test was she expected to cope with now? What was she
supposed to learn?
After
thanking Charlie and closing the door to her room, she flopped onto the bed and
buried her face in the pillows. She wanted to scream. She wanted God to hear.
She wanted him to know how unfair it all was. I
could cope with Brian's death , she thought, but
my son being blind; I don't know if I can handle that. More to the point, I
don't know if he can. Or even more to the point, I don't know if he has the will.
Her thoughts
somehow became a prayer. Dear God, please give Brenden the
strength to understand the way and to accept his burden as your will. Amen. Like a hamster on a wheel, the
thought kept revolving—the same prayer over and over again.
Over the last
few days, she had done what she always did—jump into any crisis and try to
become
his life. Charlie even talked about things that they could still do together.
Brenden heard
it all, absorbed it, and then threw it all away. He was blind, and that meant
life was over. Oh sure, he had read about people like Helen Keller, who
overcame her double disability; Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles, who were
remarkably gifted in music; and there was even this guy, Eric Weihenmayer, who
recently climbed Mount Everest. But they weren't Brenden McCarthy, and he
wasn't willing even to try to get his life back. What was the point? God had
dumped him on that mountain, and so he would quit, give up.
Lying there
in his hospital bed, the weight of his situation crushing his chest, crushing
his heart, he was sure that God would not punish him for wanting to escape.
Wasn't it God who had caused his injury? And so shouldn't God cut him a little
slack, forgive him for his sin and grant him his place in heaven?
Visiting
hours finally ended, and the blessed night settled over the hospital. He was so
glad his mother and Charlie had gone back to the motel and he was alone. And
where was Lindsey? He didn't know, and his recognition that she wasn't there
profoundly deepened his sense of hopelessness and self-pity.
Time moved
slowly because he was unable to sleep, and in that state he found himself
unable to shut off his mind. For the hundredth time, he considered how he could
bring his now worthless life to an end. He wished that his head had split wide
open in the fall. He so wished that he had died that way, certainly causing his
mother grief, but nowhere near as much as she would feel when he acted on the
decision he knew he was going to make.
How to end it, he
thought. How to rid the world of a useless young man with an
infirmity. How to check out of my personal existence.
The limitations
of his blindness reduced his choices, even in this ultimate act. He knew from
listening to conversations that he was on the second floor of the hospital,
probably not high enough to jump, even if he could find and then open a window.
There were no pills available, and nothing sharp within his reach. So what did
all that mean? He would have to go home and work on his demise from there. And
yet that wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be fair to his mother. No. He would
have to create an alternative, and that would require him to at least tacitly
begin some kind of rehabilitation process, even if it only meant that it got
him out of his house and into a different environment. So tomorrow he would go
home, and then he thought of a phrase that almost made him laugh. He would keep
his eyes open— ha! —until he found the opportunity
to— what? He knew the inevitable answer to that question.
How MANY DAYS HAD IT been? Mora wondered as Charlie drove her back to the motel
where they had been staying. She actually couldn't remember. Time ceased to
exist, and like her son, day and night did not seem to have any significance.
The world turned, but hers stopped. She had buried her husband, and now what?
What did the fates—or more relevant to her, faith—really mean? What did God
have in mind? What test was she expected to cope with now? What was she
supposed to learn?
After
thanking Charlie and closing the door to her room, she flopped onto the bed and
buried her face in the pillows. She wanted to scream. She wanted God to hear.
She wanted him to know how unfair it all was. I
could cope with Brian's death , she thought, but
my son being blind; I don't know if I can handle that. More to the point, I
don't know if he can. Or even more to the point, I don't know if he has the will.
Her thoughts
somehow became a prayer. Dear God, please give Brenden the
strength to understand the way and to accept his burden as your will. Amen. Like a hamster on a wheel, the
thought kept revolving—the same prayer over and over again.
Over the last
few days, she had done what she always did—jump into any crisis and try to
become
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