Parting the Waters   

 

Finding Beauty in Brokenness

 

 

 

 

 

By Jeanne Damoff

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He sank from sight, but not unseen—

Omnipotence chose not to intervene.

“Beyond the brokenness

The beauty lies.

 

Open your eyes.”

 

Until a pebble falls,

The calm remains;

But in the ripples lie

Life’s greatest gains.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue

     “Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow.”—James 4:14a NASB

           

Late in the afternoon on Wednesday, May 22, 1996, the phone rang. I dropped my laundry basket in the utility room and darted through the kitchen to snatch the receiver before the answer machine picked up the call.

“Hi, Mom!” Jacob sounded excited.

“Jacob. Where are you?”

“I’m at Kevin’s. He wants me to spend the night tonight and go to the eighth-grade canoeing party tomorrow.”

As a ninth grader, Jacob had just completed his final exams. Thursday was a free

day for freshmen. Kevin’s teacher had approved the boys’ plans, so I didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t go. Jacob asked if I’d bring him some clothes and a toothbrush.

            “Sure. Do you need a swimsuit? Or money?”

“We’re not swimming, but I do need money.” He laughed. “A couple hundred dollars should be enough.”

“Right. Very cute. Anything in particular you want to wear?”

            “Um . . . yeah! Bring that purple cow shirt Adam gave me, and my black shorts.”

            “Okay. I’ll be over in about ten minutes.”

            I replaced the cordless phone in its base and headed up the stairs to Jacob’s room. Even though I knew what to expect, the utter chaos stopped me at the door. What a slob. I sighed, but—affection conquering disgust—I waded in. The black shorts lay in the middle of the floor. Now to find the cow t-shirt.

I kicked aside his maroon corduroys and the “new” blue-and-white plaid, double-knit slacks he’d bought at Good Will for fifty cents. Jacob loved those tacky pants. Their appeal eluded me, but I couldn’t help feeling proud of his trend setter ways. He managed to gain approval from his peers, no matter what he wore.

            After almost tripping on his skateboard, I scooted it behind the electric guitar stand and lifted a photograph from the floor. Jacob and his best friend, Natalie, on a roller coaster at Six Flags—him with unruly, blond curls and mischievous, blue eyes; her with beautiful fair skin and flaming red hair. Both of them laughing. I smiled at their youthful enthusiasm, then chuckled to myself. I felt like the one on a roller coaster.

Watching my oldest child blossom into early adulthood had been a wild-but-fun adventure. He was smart, funny, talented, and interesting. I liked who he was becoming. Who wants boring children? I pushed aside his comforter, which lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Ah! The purple cow shirt.

I stuffed the items in a small duffel bag, grabbed my purse off the kitchen counter, and stepped outside into what felt like a sauna. Heat shimmered off the hood of our navy-blue Suburban. My energy level wilted as I thought ahead to the next few months. Summer always overstayed her welcome in East Texas.

Sweat dripped down my legs. My shorts stuck to me as I slid into the SUV, which I could have sworn had been preheated to 400 degrees. I turned the key, punched the AC button, and pushed the fan speed to Max.

Five minutes later I drove past Trinity Episcopal School, where my three children attended and I taught Bible to all the grades from pre-school to junior high. I glanced at the empty building. Only one more day of school, then summer vacation. I needed a break as much as the kids did.

Kevin’s parents owned a large, historic home a few blocks from Trinity. I loved the restored older homes in that neighborhood. As I turned on their street, I amused myself by imagining the ancient hardwood trees wore broad, leafy hats to provide shade  from the sun’s relentless rays. Pulling into Kevin’s driveway, I hopped out of the SUV, scooped up the duffel bag, and knocked on the screen door. I leaned close and peered into the unlit kitchen.    

            Entering the room from a hallway, a shirtless, smiling Jacob emerged from the shadows. It seemed like almost overnight he’d lost his soft, little boy look. His physique was becoming more and more like his father’s—lean and muscular.

Jacob opened the screen and took the bag. Without a word he released the door and sauntered away.

You’re welcome. Nice to see you, too, Jacob.

 Knowing Jacob, he was probably in the middle of an “important” video game. I called after him the words I often say when parting with my children.

            “I love you. Be careful.”

He paused and looked back over his shoulder. “I love you, too. I will.” Then he disappeared into the dark hallway.

            I’m not sure what I would have done if I’d known what lay ahead. But I wouldn’t have just driven away.

Not if I’d known this would be my last conversation with Jacob for a long time.

 

Chapter One: A Pebble Falls

 

“But now, thus says the LORD, your creator, O Jacob, and He who formed you, O Israel, ‘Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you.’”—Isaiah 43:1-2a NASB

 

           

I eased our aging Suburban into a tight space in front of Trinity’s upper-school campus—a rented, gray-brick, office building two blocks away from the elementary school. I’d just returned from chaperoning the seventh-grade class party at Putt-Putt Golf and Games in Longview, thirty miles away. My daughter Grace and her classmates piled out of the SUV, laughing and shoving each other. As I watched their antics over my shoulder, I checked off one more duty on my mental list. I could almost taste summer.

Glancing at the school entrance, I noticed a fellow teacher, Pam Cheatham, crying. I reached for the door handle, then startled at seeing Pam’s husband, Brent, right outside my window.

He opened the door and grasped my arm as I slid out of the seat. “There’s been an accident. You need to come with us.” Still gripping my arm, Brent led me toward his van.

My mind rebelled against the ominous words. “What? An accident?”  

I scanned the grassy school yard. Students and teachers stood alone or in clumps with stunned expressions—like lost sheep. Confusion clouded my mind. I turned to Brent. “What’s going on? What happened?”

            He didn’t look at me. His mouth was set in a grim line. “We’ll tell you on the way to the hospital.” His firm clasp on my elbow propelled me forward. We’d almost reached his van.

            The hospital!  What about my children?

            I yanked my arm away from Brent and spun around, searching for Grace’s petite frame and long, blond hair among the students. Her widened eyes met mine across the lawn, alarm dawning in her expression. She looked frozen, her face pale.

I wanted to go to her, but . . . Something was terribly wrong. My eyes skimmed the yard again, but I couldn’t spot my fifth-grade son, Luke. School was out. I couldn’t just leave them. 

            Pam met Brent and me at their minivan and opened the back door. They practically pushed me inside.

I hesitated, one foot still on the ground. “What about Grace and Luke?”

“Don’t worry; someone will bring them,” Brent said. He hurried around to the driver’s seat.

This is insane! I slid the back door shut, and Brent pulled away from the curb. I kept my eyes on Grace until I heard Pam erupt into uncontrolled crying.

            She choked out her words. “There was . . . some kind of accident at the lake . . . I don’t know if it involved the canoes . . . ”   

            An accident at the lake? Jacob!

            “Jeremy Maxey is dead!” Sobs convulsed her. “He drowned!” 

            “What?” I strained forward against the seatbelt, trying to get closer to the front seat. “Are you sure? Was anyone else hurt?” With all my heart I hoped they needed me as a Bible teacher.

            “Jacob is in the hospital. . . .”

            Oh, Lord, please no!

            Pam took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “I don’t know what his condition is. George is waiting for you there.” 

            I prayed out loud. For help, for mercy, for wisdom, for Jeremy’s family. For Jacob. I prayed in circles until I didn’t know what else to pray. Then we rode in silence. A cloak of composure concealed a mind that darted from fear to fear, finally pausing on the only comforting news I’d heard so far.

George was at the hospital.

* * *

            A few hours earlier my husband had been working in his office at East Texas Baptist University when the phone rang in the office next door. He heard the biology department chairman answer. Moments later, Roy Darville leaned out his door and said, “Hey, George, you have a call. You can take it on my phone.”

            George stepped into Roy’s office and picked up the receiver. “This is George Damoff.”

            Elizabeth, the secretary at Trinity Episcopal Church, sounded shaken. “Father Jones just called from Caddo Lake. Something serious has happened to Jacob, and he said I should call and let you know he’d be getting in touch with you.”

            “Something serious?” George suppressed the sense of dread that swept over him.

“What do you mean? Is Jacob okay?”  

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any details, but he should be calling soon . . .”

            The phone in George’s office rang. “I’m getting another call,” George interrupted. “Maybe it’s him. Thank you.” He bolted into his office and grabbed the receiver.

            Philip Jones, Trinity Episcopal Church’s rector and a chaperone at the canoeing party, was calling from a restaurant pay phone. He seemed to be gasping for air, and his voice cracked. “George, I’m so sorry . . . I was too late . . . we tried everything—CPR for twenty minutes . . .”

“What? Philip, I can’t understand you!” George struggled to make sense of the emotional, disjointed message. As the truth sank in, a hideous claw squeezed his heart.  Philip was groping for words to break the news of Jacob’s death.

At the same moment, someone ran toward Philip shouting that Jacob had begun to breathe. Philip’s anguish exploded into hysterical weeping and shouts of relief. “Jacob is alive! Oh, thank you, God! Jacob is breathing!”

Frustrated, George knew he wouldn’t get much more information from Philip. Then he heard an ambulance siren in the background. “I’m going to the hospital.” He hung up.

Ten minutes later George entered the ER and approached a nurse. “My son was in an accident at Caddo Lake. He’s on his way here.”

“Yes, sir. We received a call.”

“Would you please notify Dr. Orin Littlejohn?”

George knew the ambulance drive from Caddo Lake back to Marshall would take about half an hour. He positioned himself at the emergency room entrance. As the minute hand inched its way around the clock, he stood trancelike in the sunlight streaming through the window, refusing to let any clear thought possess his mind. He would wait until he could assess the situation himself.

Dr. Littlejohn, our family physician, arrived from his office across the street and greeted George. Though Dr. Littlejohn tried to engage him in conversation, George kept his eyes fixed on the driveway outside. His mind was occupied in a battle against panic. 

Finally the ambulance pulled in front of the door. As soon as Jacob’s feet emerged, fear seized George’s heart. He watched the paramedics wheel in Jacob’s shivering, unconscious body on a gurney. His face was pale. His breathing shallow and irregular.

George followed them into an ER examining room where a team of medical personnel hustled into action. The cartoonish cow face on Jacob’s favorite t-shirt mocked the severity of the scene. As though declaring the days of levity gone forever, skilled hands cut through the damp clothing to remove it. A respiratory therapist sat beside Jacob’s head using a hand pump to force air into his lungs. Nurses prepared to insert IVs. “We love you, Jacob,” George shouted as attendants ushered him from the room.

* * *

            By the time Brent parked his van at the ER entrance to let me out, Jacob had been admitted and moved to ICU. George appeared at the door before I landed both feet on the pavement.

            Relief flooded over me when I saw him. I didn’t want to face this alone. When I reached George he took both my hands in his.

A hundred questions crowded my brain, but one urgent thought pressed to the front. “We need to pray.”

“Yes. We need to pray.” His voice sounded gruff.

I wanted George to tell me everything was going to be okay. Hoping for a good sign, I scanned the face I’d known and loved for seventeen years. His firm jaw, the rugged features that complemented his love of the outdoors, those striking blue eyes—they looked back at me now with a steadiness I’d learned to depend on. But fear lurked there, too, refusing to cooperate with his banishment orders.

Familiar faces filled the waiting area, teen-agers hugging, people crying in small huddles. I didn’t want to talk to any of them. I wanted assurance from George. “How is Jacob?”

“He’s . . . I’m not sure . . . Jeanne, he’s very sick. Come on.” He turned and indicated a nurse standing behind him. “We’re supposed to go somewhere and talk with Philip. This nurse is taking us.”

The nurse led us down a long hall. We passed a room with curtains drawn across the glass wall. George leaned toward me and whispered, “Jeremy’s family is in there.”

            I hadn’t been thinking about Jeremy. The horror of it all crashed over me. I tried to walk, but my legs didn’t want to obey my brain.

            “I think I might faint.”

            George supported me as the nurse led us into an empty examining room. We sat in dazed silence and waited for Philip to join us there.

Unknown to us, Philip had arrived from the lake soaked and distraught. Ten or more local pastors from various denominations had already gathered in the ER waiting area. When Philip staggered into the room, they encircled him, united as one in prayer for their fellow shepherd.

Bolstered by their support, Philip joined us in the examining room. A tall man with coal-black hair, he had exchanged his priest’s collar that day for a maroon polo shirt and jeans—vestments for a pleasant spring outing with his daughter’s class. Now, damp from head to foot, he perched on the edge of the bed. We sat in chairs opposite him, waiting. I dreaded hearing what I longed to know. 

* * *

            As Philip began to speak, I listened as one in a twilight zone, hearing the recitation of facts, but unable to connect my emotions. Philip explained that the students and adults had divided into small groups to ride in canoes. At least six adult chaperones were present, including two Texas state game wardens. The group enjoyed paddling canoes all morning and stopped near a marina at noon to eat. After lunch, some of the kids splashed and waded in the water near the boat ramp. Swimming hadn’t been on the agenda, but it was a hot day. 

            When the time came to load the canoes and continue, Jacob and Jeremy were missing. Someone checked the bathrooms at the nearby restaurant. No sign of the boys. Students and chaperones fanned out, calling their names.

            On an impulse, Philip pulled off his shirt and shoes and dove into the murky water to search, swimming along the bottom, hands groping in the darkness. He had no idea where to look, and it was impossible to see anything below the surface.

            After several dives, Philip felt a body on the lake bottom at a place where the water is about fourteen feet deep. He grabbed, pulling Jacob to the surface, unconscious and blue. He yelled, “I’ve got Jacob!”

The kids on shore went berserk when they realized what was happening. As soon as Philip got Jacob on land, some of the adults started CPR. Philip and several others dove to search for Jeremy. The remaining chaperones tried to calm the kids.

A woman in the restaurant came out and coordinated the CPR efforts. They tried for almost twenty minutes. No response.

At that point, Philip had located a phone and called George.

* * *

            Philip spoke to us with feeling and dramatic gestures, but I felt distant and unattached, like a woman hearing someone else’s tragic story.

He couldn’t be talking about Jacob. This couldn’t be happening. But it was.

             Jerking myself back to the present, I remembered Philip had come straight from the lake to the hospital and must be exhausted. “You’re still in your wet clothes.”

            He looked down as if noticing his soggy condition for the first time. “Yeah,” he agreed with a sad laugh, “I guess I should go get cleaned up.” He looked at George and then me, his eyes bearing the sympathy of a priest and parent. “I’ll be back.”

            “Thanks for all you’ve done.” George’s voice was hoarse with quiet emotion. “You’re our hero.”

            After Philip left the room, we sat in numb silence, staring at the wet spot he’d left on the bed. Reality pressed in around us, cold and threatening. By a conservative estimate, at least ten minutes had elapsed while Jacob was under water, and it had taken another twenty to revive him. We joined hands and prayed for our son. 

            George and I had begun praying for our children before they were born. We trusted God’s promises and believed he had created them for his own purposes. His love for Jacob far surpassed ours. Faith joined fear in my heart as we committed Jacob to the Lord’s care once again. But fear remained.

            We rode the elevator to the third floor. Apprehension escorted me down the hall toward ICU. A sign on the door limited visitors to one at a time. George waited outside as a nurse led me into the patient area. She reached for the curtain. I took a deep breath.

 

 

 

Chapter Two: First Ripples

“Hold us quiet through the age-long minute

While Thou art silent, and the wind is shrill:

Can the boat sink while Thou, dear Lord, art in it?

Can the heart faint that waiteth on Thy will?”

—Amy Carmichael

 

            Tubes, wires, and monitors crowded the space around the bed, engulfing Jacob in an antiseptic jungle. With machine-pumped oxygen bringing a healthy-looking blush to his cheeks, the scene brought both relief and sorrow. I reached for his tousled, curly hair.

            “We haven’t had a chance to wash his hair yet,” the nurse apologized.

            Wrapping a strand around my finger, I looked at the sandy grit on his scalp.

Jacob. I’m so sorry.

* * *

            When Jacob was thirteen months old, I spent a weekend at Children’s Hospital in Houston. A friend’s four-year-old daughter had contracted a rare virus that attacks the central nervous system, causing serious brain damage or death.

            The people who camped in that waiting room lived with constant fear and sorrow.

Several times a day nurses evacuated visitors from the ICU patient area, signifying a little soldier had lost the battle.         

Heart-breaking images replayed in my head as I drove the long road from Houston to our former home in Nacogdoches. Like a junkie desperate for a fix, I burst into the kitchen, swept my chubby toddler into my arms, and headed for the back-yard.  Intercepting George’s inquisitive glance, I blurted, “I just need some time with a healthy child.”

             Large hard-wood trees formed a canopy over our heads, and the grass was a cool carpet under my bare feet. Jacob and I were worlds away from glaring lights, white uniforms, broken bodies, and wounded souls. Meandering through the yard, we stopped often to examine an interesting twig or to sniff honeysuckle and taste its nectar.

             I pressed my cheek against Jacob’s blond curls, holding him as close as I could without crushing him. He giggled, unaware of the fear that gripped my heart. With the vision of dying children fresh in my mind, I longed to shield him. Like the thick branches standing sentinel against the sun, I wanted to stand as a barrier between Jacob and all that is painful and destructive in the world. “God, You know I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing Jacob suffer. Please protect my precious baby.” I knew only the Lord could keep him safe and well in the days and years to come. I couldn’t do it. 

             And I didn’t.

* * *

            The nurse escorted me back to the waiting room, where I spotted George conferring with Dr. Littlejohn. I joined them, standing close to George.

Dr. Littlejohn explained, “Jacob is receiving ‘paralyzing’ drugs to keep him asleep. His body needs time to recover from the trauma he’s been through before we discontinue the drugs and let him wake up.”

            “Will he wake up as soon as you stop the drugs?” I wanted assurance.

            “That’s what we hope will happen,” he replied in his kind, fatherly manner. “Meanwhile, the hospital will conduct blood tests, x-rays, and scans to determine Jacob’s condition. The contaminated water introduced into his respiratory system could cause pneumonia or other infections. The tests will help us know what we’re dealing with, and then we’ll take it from there.” 

            “What about brain damage?” George asked.

            I winced.

            Dr. Littlejohn paused. “We’ll just have to wait and see. Until Jacob wakes up, there’s no way to know what damage, if any, was done to his brain. Meanwhile, we can pray and hope for the best.”

            Wait and see. But how long would we have to wait? And what would we see? I couldn’t endure the thought of brain damage. Jacob had to get well.

* * *

            While several people had been attempting to revive Jacob on the shore, a few men had continued diving to search for Jeremy. They located his body after thirty minutes. Though concern for Jacob consumed me, I also felt the impact of Jeremy’s death. It was all so unbelievable. Questions abounded, but answers were in short supply.

            Jacob was a strong swimmer. How could he drown with all those people around? 

            In the aftermath, Jeremy’s aunt said he couldn’t swim. Did Jacob try to help Jeremy and go down with him? I doubted it. Jacob had taken Red Cross Life Saving and knew better than to attempt a solo rescue. He would have called for help.

            Did Jeremy start to sink, panic, and grab for whatever he could find, the nearest object being Jacob? How could such a struggle remain unnoticed with all those responsible adults present?

            No one saw or heard anything. One of the game wardens mentioned his discomfort when the students started playing in the water. But he didn’t see the boys go under. No one saw. It wouldn’t have taken much. Just one kid . . . just one adult . . . a cry for help . . .

            Why did they let those kids get in the water? And why did Jeremy try to swim if he knew he couldn’t? 

            These were only the first questions. Many more followed. Meanwhile, Jacob lay unconscious in ICU, breathing with the help of a respirator, connected to monitors, tubes, and IVs. And no amount of questioning would change reality.

* * *

            Grace and Luke arrived at the hospital with friends. Relief surged through me when I saw my other children for the first time since being whisked away from the school. But I also felt anxious. How were they handling this? 

            George and I gathered them into a group hug. After a few moments I said, “Grace, you can go in and see Jacob if you want to.”

            She pulled away. “No.” Her voice was quiet but determined. “I don’t want to see him.” She turned her back on us and headed straight into the waiting area.

            The warning in her eyes told me she’d already built a wall around her pain and wasn’t ready to let anyone in yet. I decided to give her some space. What had Grace and Luke been hearing and thinking all afternoon? How would we help them through this?

            When a young nurse offered to take eleven-year-old Luke into ICU, he followed without hesitation. I tagged along, unsure what his reaction would be. The nurse drew back the curtain, and Luke’s eyes opened wide as he looked first at Jacob and then at the hospital apparatus. With his wire-rimmed glasses and straight brown hair, Luke resembled a spellbound Harry Potter.

The nurse watched him and, after a few moments, spoke in a soft tone. “What do you think of all this?” 

            Luke paused. “Expensive.”

            Caught off guard, the nurse laughed. I smiled but wasn’t surprised. An optimist in general, Luke greeted all of life with expectant curiosity. He would most likely communicate whatever was on his mind. Grace, on the other hand, had always been a reserved child. She might look like a fairy-tale princess, but there was nothing dainty about her resolve. If she chose to conceal her feelings, no one would be able to pry them out of her.

I imagined Luke would be okay. Grace caused me more concern.

* * *

            Hoping to hear an encouraging report, Jacob’s friends, their parents, church members, school personnel, and others from the community filled the ICU waiting room and the adjacent hallways. One visitor counted three hundred people. Hospital staff, marveling at the multitude, brought out carts filled with snacks and drinks.

            Day wore on into night, but the crowds didn’t thin much. We all stood watching the news on the waiting-room TV, as the anchorwoman reported the afternoon’s tragic events. Jacob had already been taken away by ambulance when film crews arrived, but video footage captured the anguish over Jeremy’s death. An exhausted diver wept on the pier after efforts to rescue Jeremy failed.

            The report ended with a comment about Jacob’s current condition and hospitalization. Everyone in the room looked at George and me. 

            Somebody, say something! I shook off my surreal nightmare to break the awkward silence. “Well, I sure am glad we have news reporters to let us know how Jacob Duh-MOFF is doing.” I mocked the mispronunciation of our last name. No one wants to say DAM-off. 

            People smiled and seemed to relax. A few chuckled. I returned their smiles, as if to say, “Please be satisfied. We are handling everything just fine.”

Muffled conversations sprouted around me. The chatter faded into the background, and I stared at the now-blank TV screen as a scene replayed in my mind. Face buried in his hands, a grief-stricken diver wept beside a lake that had stolen my son.

* * *

            A little later, Dr. Littlejohn approached George and me. “You should probably go on home and try to get some rest.” He paused. “And I think it would be good if you called your families.”

I didn’t want to alarm our families. Why scare everyone? Jacob might wake up soon and be fine. “Maybe we should wait a few days and call them when we have more definite information.”

He mustered a sad smile. “I think it would be best if you go ahead and call them now.”

            Marshall Regional Hospital’s entrance was just a short block from our front door. I appreciated the convenience but wished with all my heart we didn’t need it. We stepped out of the hospital’s cold brightness into the muggy warmth of an East Texas night. George and I didn’t talk much as we trudged home under a starry sky to make some very difficult telephone calls.