When the phone rang at 8:13 Wednesday morning, I was standing in my recently remodeled bathroom, thinking how the separate his and her closets had sure turned out to be wasted space under the circumstances. I was hurrying to put on my makeup—in this particular case it was brown eyeliner. I’ll never in my life pull out my brown eye pencil again without remembering that exact moment—sort of like most people have triggers that remind them of the day the Berlin Wall came down, or Pearl Harbor, or 9/11. It’s amazing how close I came to missing the moment altogether, considering for a long moment just letting the call go to voice mail. I was already running late and the only people who called these days were telemarketers.
But something made me pick it up.
“Mom, it’s me.”
Kurt’s voice was little more than a whisper. Just the sound of it poured over me like the sweetest of symphonies, barely remembered but desperately yearned for.
“Oh, Kurt.” The joy of saying his name lasted no longer than the word on my lips. A picture formed in my mind of my son at the police station, getting his one phone call. There was no other reason he would be calling. “Kurt, are you okay? Where are you?” I tried to remember Lacey’s words, to convince myself that even if he were arrested, it really could be the best thing for him.
“I’m fine. I’m in Orange County.”
“You’re where?”
“Mom, I’m in rehab.”
Rehab. Oh, the hope that had remained buried beneath the word prodigal for so long burst forth like a ray of sunshine after years of rain. “I knew it! I knew it would happen. Oh, Kurt, I am so proud of you. How long have you been there? How are you doing? Can I come see you?”
His laugh sounded weak. “Whoa there, Mom, take it easy.” I heard him take a couple of deep breaths, then he continued. “I’ve been here for a little bit. I’ve finished the detox process.” He gave a low whistle. “That memory’ll keep me clean the rest of my life.”
“It must have been awful.” I’d seen enough about withdrawals and the like to know it had been terrible. I pictured my son shaking, sweating, crying out in pain. Still, a part of me was grateful for it, if the memory of it helped keep him clean.
“It was hard—this call’s even harder.” I could hear him take another breath. “I’m sorry. For the drugs and the lies, and for going off the deep end at the time when you needed me most. I shouldn’t have let you face that alone.”
Alone. Kurt didn’t even know his father hadn’t lived here for the last few months, and yet he’d said the word alone. That’s how far we must have fallen as a family.
“Oh, Kurt, you’re forgiven. When can I see you?”
“They tell me I’ll be an in-patient for maybe six or eight more weeks. When I start to get out, I’ll give you a call.” A muffled voice sounded in the background. “Oh, time’s up. I’ve got to go. Love you, Mom.”
“Wait—” But I was too late. The line went dead. He’d hung up the phone before I had the chance to find out where he was, the phone number there, or even a second to voice a response. I stared at the wall trying to ignore the ache in my chest. In spite of everything that had happened, he knew I loved him with all my heart, even if he’d hung up before I could say it. Right?
Almost immediately, I picked it back up and pressed the button for the caller ID. At least I’d know where to call him. The screen lit behind the black lettering of the display.
Private Caller.
I sank onto my bed exhausted, trembling. A few moments with my son was more than I’d had in over a year, but all I wanted now was more. But I had no way of reaching Kurt, of finding out where he was, checking on his progress. In that moment I vowed that this would never happen again. I walked around the house and made sure there was a pen and paper in every room. The next time Kurt called, I would ask for his number and write it down before we talked about anything else. I just hoped there would be a next time.
“Mom, aren’t you ready? I’m going to be late for school.” Caroline stood in the doorway, her fists pressed against her hips.
I ran to her and threw my arms around her. “Oh, sweetie.”
She pushed away and looked up at me. “What’s got you acting so weird?”
“Kurt just called. He’s getting well.”
“Kurt’s coming home?” She threw her arms around me and squealed in that high-pitched way only a ten-year-old girl can.
Her immediate assumption that he would be coming home took me aback. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything to her about this yet, but everything inside of me screamed that she was right. I reached down, picked her up, and swung her in a circle. Together, we began to chant, “Kurt’s coming home, Kurt’s coming home.” And every time we said the words, I came to believe them just a little more.
Through a miracle of speed, determination, and sheer luck, I managed to drop Caroline at the front of the school with two minutes to spare. I watched her skip toward the door, her blond hair bouncing with each step.
A small voice of worry kept whispering in my head, saying Kurt wouldn’t call again, he wouldn’t make it through rehab, it wouldn’t last long. Maybe I shouldn’t have told Caroline anything after all. Who wanted to see her hopes destroyed?
I turned my car toward the church and began to sing “Amazing Grace” at the top of my lungs. Maybe I couldn’t stop the internal voice of doubt, but I could at least drown it out.
I found it hard to sit still during the morning staff meeting. The music director told of his plans for a children’s summer choir, the children’s director revealed plans for vacation Bible school, detail by painstaking detail. All these things were treated with utmost importance—and I knew they were important. Really, I did. Our church was the fastest-growing church on the central coast. We were gaining a lot of notice and it was an honor to be a member of this team. But today, I couldn’t think about anything other than my son.
“Alisa, I know the spring women’s Bible study is well under way. I’ve been getting a lot of positive feedback,” Ken Maddox, the senior pastor, said as heads nodded in agreement all around the table. “What do you have in the works for the women this summer?”
I shook my head. “I’ve found that with kids out of school, family vacations, et cetera, it’s more frustrating than fruitful to try anything structured. I am planning a weekly meet-atthe-beach event for mothers and their children, and a couple of family movie nights throughout the summer.”
Our programs coordinator, Beth Williams, shook her head. “You know, now that our attendance is averaging over a thousand, you might want to reconsider. If not right away, at least by the end of the summer when construction should be complete on the new Family Living Center. I’m thinking we should take full advantage of the facility as soon as possible— use our talents, that sort of thing.”
I pretended to write a note on the pad in front of me. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind, Beth.”
Ken Maddox cleared his throat. “There are a couple of other things I’d like to discuss with you. First of all, American Christian magazine wants to do a feature on our church, and they want to spotlight you in particular.”
I looked at him in shock. “Me? Why?”
“Well, our women’s ministry department is flourishing, and someone on their staff was present at the last Living With Grief seminar we hosted this winter. They were impressed.” He looked down at his notes. “Speaking of, I understand you are planning to speak at the upcoming seminar next month.” He smiled toward Beth. “And of course, Beth will be there to make sure everything runs smoothly.”
She bobbed her head, as if in time to some unseen music. “That’s my gift.”
I sighed. “Yes, it definitely is.”
Organization was Beth’s gift, there was no doubt about it. But she was so Type A that she was overbearing to work with for any length of time. I tried to avoid doing so as much as possible. I looked toward Ken. “I wonder if we should be looking to feature someone else next month? I could help plan the event.”
Beth broke in. “I told her that was completely unacceptable. I can organize these things just fine, but people come from miles around because they want to hear Alisa’s story. She does such an amazing job.” She looked at me as if God himself had just spoken. Then she began to trace her notebook with her finger and added demurely, “To tell you the truth, though, I wish you would avoid answering the questions about the effect on your family in such detail. Especially the part about Kurt. It just seems so depressing and hopeless, especially after your talk has been so uplifting.”
I had come into this room with no intention of telling what was happening with Kurt. But Beth, in her usual way, riled me up enough that I blurted, “Not anymore. I guess I have a new chapter to add to my story.”
The room went dead quiet. Everyone at this table knew the story of Nick’s death, of Kurt’s resulting fall. They’d all been praying for him, just like I had, for the past few years. “This morning I got a call from Kurt. He’s in rehab and in the process of turning his life back around. …” I blinked the water from my eyes, wanting to see their faces. “Ladies and gentlemen, it would appear that my prodigal is on his way back home.”
“Well, hallelujah!” Ken shouted and the others added their own praises, each voice building my joy. We had all been praying for Kurt’s return, even though it seemed it would never come. Through the years I’d begun to wonder if we were just wasting our time, praying about something that God couldn’t be moved on. In this moment I was so glad that I’d never expressed my doubts to this group, never let them know how much I feared that God was not listening. Now I stood before them and shared their joy, with no spoken words of which to be ashamed. It was a perfect way to end the meeting.
After the meeting, Ken asked me to come into his office and motioned me to take a seat. “This can’t top what you’ve shared, Alisa, but you’re doing a wonderful job here. Folks have noticed and the overseers have voted to move your position to full-time, starting this fall. Pay would be significantly more, of course.”
“I could use that.” I didn’t have to say why. He knew Rick and I were separated, our future unclear, but with the way things were headed, I was likely going to need more of an income at some point. “My only concern with going full-time would be needing to be home for Caroline after school. At least when she’s not at Rick’s.”
“Of course. I knew you would feel that way, and I’m sure we could work it out so that you do some of your afternoon work at home.”
“Sounds good.” I stood up to return to my office, but he waved me back down. “There is one more thing I wanted to talk to you about, but not in front of everyone else.”
I dropped back into my chair. “What?”
“You know that editor friend of mine I’ve been telling you about? Well, I sent him a couple of articles that you’ve written and a CD of your talks. He’s interested in talking to you.”
“Really?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but the jolt of excitement that hit me with this news dwarfed the news about going to full-time. Speaking was something others wanted from me. Writing was something I’d always dreamed for myself. A book! Nick had always been such a reader, and to be able to put at least a little of his life on the page forever … This day was turning out to be the most wonderful in recent memory.
“Here,” Ken continued, handing me a printout, “he gave me a list of things he’d like you to e-mail him. A summary, chapter titles, an opening paragraph, I can’t remember what all. I’ll be praying that God will lead you in this, as He has in all things.”
“Thanks, Ken.” I took the paper from him and returned to my office, happier than I’d felt in a long time. As disjointed as my life had been for the last few years, the pieces were finally beginning to fit back together.
I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about how I would spring the news of Kurt’s turn to my husband. Tonight was obviously the right time, since he always picked Caroline up from softball, then ate dinner at the house before loading Caroline and her things into his truck for her three-night stay. We had planned it that way so Caroline could see things were still okay between us, that we didn’t hate each other. The one thing we had done right through all of this was to try to make our separation as easy as possible on her, no matter how hard that made it on us.
Should I tell him when he walked through the door? Let him eat first? I ran the various scenarios through my head, and in my fantasy, no matter when I gave the news, his reply was always the same. He always said, “All this time, you were right. I wish I had believed like you did.”
A woman could still dream. Couldn’t she?