Chapter 28

Yirmeyah

I didn't want to give up. I insisted that we discuss it with the doctors and the physical therapist, and only abandon the therapy sessions if there was no hope. I prayed that they would tell us there was hope. I prayed as fervently as I've ever prayed, that they would tell us there would be improvement.

But God sometimes answers with negative words. Jesus prayed that the cup might pass from Him, but God's answer was that the cross was necessary. Paul prayed three times that his thorn, whatever it was, might vanish. Instead God gave him grace to bear the thorn. I prayed for days that God would give us the answer I wanted. Instead, He gave me the answer that Cassie had already understood.

Both Cassie's neurologist and her therapist had the same response: Therapy wasn't going to create any significant improvement. Only time and steady exercise might do it – and those things didn't require doctors and therapists. Cassie had already been doing everything she could with her left hand and leg at home, simply because she didn't want to lose what function she had. To continue the therapy, we had to conclude, would be simply to throw money away.

And we didn't have it. My insurance had run out long ago. Cassie's had ended when she resigned her position, and the severance pay had long since gone. The church was paying a portion of the bills, and private individuals were helping, but we were about to the point where debt would require us to stop anyway. I hadn't admitted that to myself until Cassie brought up the matter, but we were just about to go under financially. If we'd had to pay rent or a mortgage, we'd have already been bankrupt.

So we thanked the doctor and the therapist, and went out to the UNM campus. I put Cassie in her wheelchair, and took her to the duck pond. I helped her out of the chair, and put her on the grass, and we sat there beside the water. We didn't say anything for a long time. The ducks swam around peacefully, and students walked by every once in a while. It was December, just before Christmas, but a sunny day, and we weren't too cold bundled up as we were.

Finally Cassie turned her head to me. I saw the slight slackness of the left side of her face, and wept as I thought that it would always be there. Her face, her arm, her hand, her leg – all would forever bear the marks of the stroke. "Yirmeyah," she said, wiping my tears off with her fumbling left hand, "don't be sad. You have me, and we have David and Stephen, and we all have God. Who needs a whole body when she has the Almighty at her side?"

I choked, and caught her hand and held it to my face. "Cassie, I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to be your shield against evil. And I couldn't do anything about this. I can't do anything about it now. It breaks my heart to see you this way and know that I didn't prevent it."

"Yirmeyah, you couldn't prevent it. This wasn't someone who attacked me in our house – that I know you could and would have dealt with decisively. This was something that happened outside our control. It's not your fault."

"I had to fight for a long time against a desire to sue the hospital."

She nodded. "I know, for I fought the same thing, and had to tell myself over and over that it wasn't the hospital's fault and it wasn't the doctor's fault, and if they hadn't treated me with those drugs I might have bled to death. And I learned to be grateful for what they did, for they saved my life and brought me back to you and the twins."

"I know. I've thought the same things." I pounded my fist on the brown dry grass. "I have been so angry at times, Cass. I've wanted to strike out, to hit something or someone. But who? What? There's nothing I can hit, Cassie."

She leaned toward me, and I caught her body as she half fell against me. Her weakened arm reached around my waist, while her right hand caught the back of my neck and pulled our lips together. She kissed me for a long time, gently. When she pulled back a bit, she said, so close that her breath brushed my face, "I love you, Yirmeyah Hudson. I will love you as long as I live. And out of my love I want to tell you that you need to get rid of your anger. It's no one's fault. There's nothing to blame. It's just something that happens in a world tainted by sin. And adown, I'm alive, and here with you, and I've given you two wonderful healthy beautiful sons, and I'll help you raise them in the ways of the Lord."

She pushed back a little further, and I put a hand on her left shoulder to hold her upright. It was the kind of gesture that had become habitual over the past year and a bit. It was now as natural for me to provide support for her left side as it was for me to kiss her at night before going to sleep. Looking me in the eyes, she asked, "Do you need to talk with someone – a counselor, a therapist, a pastor, someone who can help you with this?"

I thought about it. It came to me that she had a good idea. "Yeah, I think that might help."

"Then tomorrow call Darvin Carpenter. He's a lot like you, he's a country boy like you are, and is informal like you, and talks like you do except for the accent, and probably you'll be able to talk to him comfortably. Let him be your pastor in this. For I love my husband, and I want him whole again. My body is crippled, adown, but that's nothing; your spirit is in pain, and that is what hurts me truly. Talk to him, Yirmeyah."

"Okay, Cassandra, I'll talk to him."