A
Healer Among Us
by Jon Stevens
Chapter One: An Awakening Within
Little Douglas was hurriedly tying his shoes. As usual after school, he changed into his old clothes to go out and play with his friends. There seemed no need to rush, yet his movements betrayed a sense of anxiety. The constant apprehension over his mother's health for as long as he could remember had developed in the little boy a certain nervousness, a quickness of movement not normal for a boy of only nine years. The sense of his mother's life hanging continually in the balance had become a part of him, an inevitable counterpart to his high strung but sensitive nature. The seriousness of her heart condition had made him appreciate his own life all the more, so that he tried to get as much out of each minute as he possibly could. His mind raced as he decided what games he would play with his friends before it got dark. Today he would play cops-and-robbers with snow balls instead of pistols or perhaps sliding down Maecker's Hill in cardboard boxes. He contemplated the possibilities as he neatly hung his school clothes in the bedroom closet.
It was a cold winter in Minneapolis that year, and Douglas had to bundle up against the weather. It had snowed recently, so he put on his galoshes and amply armed himself against the frigid air with sweater, overcoat, scarf and the red-and-blue skullcap his mother had knit for him. He carefully checked his pants pocket for the house key before locking himself outside. His father would be home from work soon and would not like to find the back door unlocked unless Douglas were home.
The overcast sky enveloped him, making it feel colder than it really was. The back yard trees had become ice-covered skeletons which stood as reminders of warmer times and memories. He shivered slightly as he made his way across the alley to where his friend Dick Rohr lived. He went, nimbly balancing himself between the ice patches on the pavement until he found one large enough to slide on—a game he had taught himself on many such trips. Breathy smoke signals in the cold winter air announced his passage all the way. He approached his friend's house from the rear and knocked on the side door. His friend Dick appeared from behind the door.
"Hi, Doug, I'm not ready to go outside yet," he said, struggling with the buttons on his sweater. "Come on in until I get ready."
Still not used to the cold outside, Douglas gratefully accepted. He followed his friend into the familiar living room which had a large picture window that faced the street. The two boys were making plans for the afternoon's activities when Dick's mother came into the room.
"Hello, Douglas. How are you today?" she asked cheerfully.
I'm fine Mrs. Rohr," he said politely.
"And how is your mother?" she asked.
"She's doing very well,'' he replied. "The doctors say she'll come home from the hospital on Monday."
"Oh, I didn't know she was in the hospital again, but I'm glad to hear she's doing so well."
Unthinkingly, Dick turned to his friend and blurted out, "What would you do if your mother died tonight?"
As soon as he said it, Dick's face took on a pained expression. He knew he had said something to offend his friend; he was surprised that such a cruel remark could have come out of his mouth. Rather than being offended, Douglas felt a grave uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. Time seemed to stop for an instant as the two boys looked at each other. In the next moment, a loud voice called out to Douglas. Coming from the ceiling just in front of him, it spoke with an authority and conviction he had never heard. The voice spoke, "Your mother will die tonight!"
The instant Douglas heard the morbid proclamation, he knew it was true. His mother would die tonight. He became hysterical and ran screaming from the house. As he ran out the back door, he heard Mrs. Rohr chastising her son.
"Why did you ever say such a thing?" she screamed at him. "Don't you see how upset you've made Douglas?"
"I don't know why I said it," apologized her son. "The words just came out of my mouth."
Evidently they did not hear the voice. It was meant for Douglas alone.
Horrified and confused, the little boy fumbled with the key as he tried to open the back door of his house. Trembling, with tears streaming from his eyes, he finally managed the lock and raced into the bedroom, where amid sobs, he threw himself on the bed. How could he know that what the voice had said was true? Without knowing how, there wasn't the slightest doubt in his mind that his mother would die that night. The voice had imparted a 'knowing,' and no matter how hard he tried, Douglas could not shake it out of his mind. His small body writhed on the bed in the pain of what he knew. His sobs deepened as he tried to sort things out in his mind. Where did the voice come from? Who spoke it? Feeling terribly alone, Douglas had no answers. His mind was left with just one undeniable fact: his mother would die tonight. How could it be true if it hadn't happened yet? In vain he tried to free his mind of what he knew would occur. Unconsoled, he lay on the bed until dusk, the encroaching darkness seeming to confirm his own sense of doom.
Douglas must have cried for over an hour before he heard the back door click. His father scuffled through the entry way, his arms loaded with groceries. Harry Johnson was home a little later than usual. Gilson's grocery market was only a few blocks away, but stood in the opposite direction from their house as Heinrich Chemical Company where he worked as a foreman. Without his wife Hattie at home the past week, Harry had taken upon himself the responsibilities of grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning and looking after Douglas. Though awkward in these domestic roles, he cheerfully acquiesced, trying not to let on, even to himself, how much he missed having his wife at home. She had a ready smile and sweet disposition by which she breathed life into everything and everyone around her. How ironic, he often thought, that someone who gave so much life to others had to struggle to keep her own.
Though the house without her seemed cold and lifeless by comparison, Harry found consolation in his son. The love he felt for Douglas made the burden of Hattie's illness much easier to bear. It was at these times, when his wife had to be hospitalized after a heart attack, that Harry tried to lessen the boy's anguish by showing him greater affection than usual. In her absence, the two shared the household chores without the slightest misgiving. Their mutual concern for Hattie at such times created a special bond between them. There were no lights on in the house, and Harry wondered if Douglas had come home yet. His arms still loaded with groceries, he pushed the door closed with his foot and turned on the light.
I'm home Dougie. Are you here?" he called out.
There was no answer from the little boy's room which was just off the kitchen. Douglas' mind raced as he tried to figure out how he would react to his father. What would he say to him? How could he tell his father what had happened at Dick's house? He knew his father would believe him, or at least take him seriously, for he was not in the habit of lying or making up stories. Knowing that revealing any of it would only hurt his father, he decided he would not say anything. He momentarily appeared in the doorway.
"Oh there you are, Dougie," spoke his father. "Did you just get home? Why were all the lights out?"
I was playing at Dick's house," he replied sheepishly.
"Well, we better get started with dinner now," he said
"I have to be leaving for the hospital soon to see your mother."
The mention of 'hospital' made Douglas shudder. He walked stiffly across the kitchen floor, trying desperately not to show his inner upset. He reached for the dinner plates in the cupboard and began setting the table. His movements were mechanical and slow, and he found it impossible to control the involuntary shaking which was visibly overtaking him. Harry was turned away from Douglas as he put the groceries away in the cupboard, not noticing his son's unusual behavior. Increasingly, an invisible wall separated them. Through the thick silence, Harry spoke casually over his shoulder.
"Why are you so quiet tonight?" he asked Douglas. "You're usually talking up a storm."
I just don't feel like talking," he replied weakly.
By the tone of his voice, his father knew that something was wrong and looked directly at him.
"What is wrong with you, and why are you shaking so?" he demanded.
For a few moments, Douglas said nothing. He would have liked to tell his father everything—to share with him what had happened at Dick's house, to free himself of the burden of what the voice had foretold. Instead he merely replied, "I'm fine, Dad. Nothing's wrong."
Douglas couldn't hurt his father by telling him the truth. He knew how much Harry cared for his mother, that what the two of them shared was a special love, different from what he observed in his friends' parents.
As Douglas continued setting the table, his mind wandered back in time recalling some of the happy times he shared with his parents, particularly the holidays. He remembered how his mother would decorate the entire house for each festive season. There was a wonderful assortment of trimmings and brightly colored ornaments set aside for each holiday, and Douglas was always there to help. He remembered at Halloween how he had always placed the orange-and-yellow jack-o-lanterns in their places in the front windows, and how the decorations of black cats and witches had seemed so scary to him as they peered menacingly from their roosts on the back door and kitchen windows. His mother laughed when he recalled exactly where each decoration should go year after year. He felt particularly helpful in putting up the black and orange rolls of crepe paper in the dining room. He remembered holding one end at each corner of the room while his mother twisted the paper to create a spiral effect. She then taped them to the chandelier in the center of the room. He beamed with pride when his father came home from work to compliment the work they had done.
Christmas was especially beautiful. Douglas eagerly awaited the chance each year to unload the many boxes of ornaments stored in the attic. He was fascinated with all the brightly colored ornaments—the reds, the greens, the blues and yellows. He loved the smell of freshly-cut evergreen branches that were hung on the fireplace mantel. Decorating the tree was a special treat. He particularly loved the tinsel. His mother would lift him onto the stepladder in order to place the shiny strands on the upper branches of their beautifully gilded Christmas tree. The bright lights, the colors, the beautiful silvers and golds—all filled his boyish eyes with fantastic wonderment. Just being with his parents at such times had made him completely happy. But Christmas wouldn't be the same this year....
Tears welled in his eyes. The reality of the present came back to him with a jolt. He scarcely realized he had finished setting the table, and his father was looking at him strangely.
For heaven's sake, Douglas! What's the matter with you tonight?"
"Nothing. I'm okay Dad," he said rubbing his eyes, trying not to show his tears.
Harry knew his son was disturbed by something but didn't want to pursue questioning him further. His thoughts were on his wife. Her condition had been improving the past couple of days, and he was anxious to go to the hospital to spend some time with her. He would question Douglas later about his unusual behavior.
Dinner was unusually quiet. Though normally talkative, Douglas said very little. He barely picked at his food and feared his trembling, which he was trying to keep under control, would become obvious.
"What's the matter, Dougie? Is something bothering you?" his father again asked.
No, nothing's wrong," he replied, trying to form his words with as little expression as possible. "I'm fine."
Harry decided to change the subject. "I'm going to the hospital tonight to see your mother," he said. "You'd better stay home because I may be home late, and you have to go to school tomorrow. This is only Thursday night. You can go tomorrow night because you won't have to go to school the next day."
"But I have to go to the hospital tonight!" he immediately blurted out.
Harry could not account for his son's unusual behavior. Douglas rarely shouted, but to do so after being so quiet all evening stuck him as bizarre.
"Why do you have to go tonight?" he sighed with exasperation.
Douglas merely repeated himself, "I have to go to the hospital tonight!"
"I can't understand why you're carrying on so," said Harry. "Mother's doing fine, and she'll be home on Monday. Why do you have to go tonight?"
Douglas lowered his eyes as he answered his father's question in his own mind. He again repeated himself, this time more softly, "I have to go to the hospital tonight."
"Well for heaven's sake!" his father finally exclaimed. "If it's that important to you, of course you can go.
The ride to Asbury Hospital in downtown Minneapolis was only twenty minutes by car. On the way, Douglas kept himself immersed in his thoughts, responding only in monosyllables to his father's comments. Harry pondered the boy's strange behavior with concern. Why had he insisted so strongly that he go tonight? Why was he still trembling so pathetically? He wanted to dismiss Douglas' carrying-on as nothing more than boyish insecurity but inwardly found it difficult to do so. They both gazed at the perfect rows of houses along Chicago Avenue and Lake Street. Like soldiers in review, the dwellings were citadels of their respective boundaries, each one conveying its individual character as they passed. The elms along Tenth Avenue loomed garishly above the street lamps as cold gusts of wind swayed their branches to and fro. Quaint tree-lined streets soon gave way to the hustle and bright lights of downtown Minneapolis. As Harry pulled onto Twenty-Third Street, where Asbury Hospital could be seen in the distance, Douglas cringed. In a few minutes, he would see his mother for the last time. How would he act? What would he say to her? The little boy found himself lost in confusion as feelings, all too new and complex, overwhelmed him.
When they arrived at the hospital room, the door was open. Hattie was sitting up in bed and seemed in exceptionally good spirits.
"Hattie, you're sitting up!" Harry exclaimed and kissed her on the cheek.
Yes, I'm feeling much better tonight," she said brightly, "and I see you brought my little boy, didn't you! Come here, Dougie. Sit beside me here on the bed." She patted the bedspread.
Douglas smiled weakly as he ambled onto the bed to be near her. His mother hugged and kissed him.
"I hope you've been doing your homework, young man," she said affectionately. "I'll be home in a few more days to check on you.
Yes," he replied, lowering his eyes.
"And why are you so nervous tonight, Dougie? You're trembling so, it's shaking the bed. Has something happened?" she asked, looking up at Harry.
"He's been like this all evening, Hattie. I don't know what's wrong with him. Here, Dougie, why don't you sit over here on the chair? You don't want to make your mother nervous.
Douglas complied with his father's suggestion. As he sat on the chair next to the bed, he watched his mother as she engaged in conversation with Harry. Her soft, brown hair appeared luminous under the dim overhead lighting, and her complexion, though pale, took on a pinkish glow. A look of radiance surrounded her which she projected through her gentle smile. Her cheerfulness and good humor had returned this evening, and she unwittingly won Douglas' smile whenever she glanced over at him. Her countenance tonight reminded him of the photograph of her as Beauty Queen of the City of Minneapolis, which stood on the bookcase in their living room. Douglas had always loved the picture which showed her in the royal robe and crown, holding the keys to the city. She was nineteen when she was crowned and had been selected from scores of other contestants for the title. Douglas loved to hear his mother tell the story behind the picture; he had asked her on several occasions to repeat it.
It seemed they had been there only a short while when it was time for them to leave. Douglas was still shaking when his mother hugged him goodbye.
Don't you know what time it is, young man?" she said teasingly. "You'd better go home and get some sleep. You have to get up early tomorrow for school." She made no further mention of his trembling or of the tears she saw in his already reddened eyes. She responded to them by saying only, "Don't worry, Dougie. Mommy will be alright."
Her eyes glistened when she spoke, and Douglas noticed in them all the genuine love and concern she felt for him. He hugged her again, lingering there longer than usual. As his father led him out the door, Douglas turned to give her one last look. She smiled at him and waved goodbye.
It was about two a.m. when the phone call came. The first ring made Douglas' heart pound. He had lain awake the entire night dreading it. After a number of rings, Harry finally answered. Douglas heard only mumbling from the living room, but he knew it was the hospital to tell of the news. There was silence after Harry hung up. After several minutes, the door to Douglas' room suddenly swung open. Douglas pretended to be asleep. Harry stood motionless in the doorway in a state of shock, not knowing whether to wake Douglas, to call other family members or just what to do. After a long silence, he spoke out loud to himself, "My God, the boy is going to be without a mother!" and left, closing the door.
Throughout the rest of the night, phone calls came in from various friends and relatives, all expressing their condolences and offers of help. Douglas hadn't slept the entire night save a few hours before dawn. In the morning, it was his Aunt Nell, Hattie's sister, who came into his bedroom to tell him the news. It was the first time since the previous afternoon that Douglas had been able to cry openly. For a long time, they embraced each other in tears.