God's Waiting Room
Created | Updated Jul 11, 2005
Emily was sitting in her favourite position, a high-backed chair that looked out directly over the lawn. Over the years her auburn hair had thinned and greyed, and the long tapered fingers that had once been so active lay idle in her lap. The grounds of Birchwood House were immaculately kept, and the wide borders were crowded with flowers of every shape and colour. All morning rain had soaked the grounds, but shortly after lunch it slowly eased off and the skies brightened. Emily watched as the last of the rain droplets fell from the waxy leaves and hit the ground. Time had etched the marks of happiness and sorrow into her face, yet her eyes remained bright and curious. Nature had never ceased to amaze her with its beauty. It made her feel alive.
A few days ago the Birchwood staff had made the decision to move her into one of the single units, a small room tucked away discreetly at the far end of the west wing. Martha Adams another long term resident had smiled sympathetically. “They’ll be able to keep a closer eye on you,” she whispered. And then in a louder voice, “I’ll come and sit with you, once you’re settled in of course.” Emily had returned Martha’s smile but somewhere deep inside she knew what nobody else seemed prepared to voice. It was only a matter of time.
From some way off in the distance she could hear the chorus of children’s voices as they drifted across the landscape. She smiled to herself, listening intently until the sounds gradually faded away. Suddenly she was ten-years old again, charging across the school playing field, the wind catching her hair, her cheeks flushed with fear and excitement as Danny Evans the oldest boy in the class came bearing down on her. She could still recall his victorious whoop as he wrestled her to the ground. And upon the grass they had fallen, exhausted and panting for a time, each trying to regain their breath. When she finally turned her head to look at him he grinned widely and suddenly poked his tongue out. Emily rolled her eyes and then they both burst into helpless fits of laughter.
It seemed that the bond between the two of them would never be broken. Every morning she would arrive at school to find her best friend waiting at the gates for her. Until one Monday morning he wasn’t in his usual place. And later that day her teacher had taken her to one side and gently explained that Danny wouldn’t be coming back, some sort of boating accident over the weekend. Danny was dead? No, it couldn’t be possible. He was just a kid and had so much to live for. For a moment the whole world came to a standstill and she never even heard the sound of her own scream. “Nooo!”
When Emily had recovered enough from the shock to return to school she could feel her classmates staring at her as they leaned over to each other and whispered. As she glanced across to Danny’s empty desk she felt an unfamiliar pain, one that would never be entirely quelled. Nobody ever mentioned his name again, at least not to her. Funny that she should be thinking of him right now.
Suddenly clouds moved in and it began to rain again, much harder than before. Emily shivered and pulled the cardigan closer around her shoulders. Slowly she got up from the chair and made her way over to a small cabinet that sat in the corner of the room. And almost as if she felt guilty of thinking about Danny she opened a drawer and took out a small faded photograph of a young man in a uniform. “Tom,” she said softly, “oh how I miss you.
And Emily remembered that her childhood days had all too soon disappeared. Soon the shy young girl had flowered into a young woman, full of hopes and dreams. When she had shown some serious potential as an artist the young painter dreamed of placing her name amongst the greats. But she hadn’t counted on the unexpected arrival of Tom Phillips. And the first time that Tom had taken her into his arms she had known instantly that this was where she wanted to stay. Oh he hadn’t made her feel alive in quite the same way that Danny had, but he made her laugh and she knew that she loved him.
The next half a century had passed with frightening speed. Looking back, it was hard to pinpoint an exact time when things began to change. It more than likely started a long time before she really noticed, but the early signs were gradual and very subtle. Tom’s memory hadn’t been quite so sharp for a number of years and he would frequently lose or misplace all sorts of things. One time he searched for over an hour for his spectacles, not realizing he was still wearing them. “I’m just a forgetful old man,” he would say with great humour. “Why, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on properly.” He would laugh at his own little joke and Emily would laugh along with him.
But then Tom began to experience bouts of depression; losing interest in all the activities he used to enjoy so much. On one occasion she’d found him huddled in his armchair, his arms wrapped around a cushion, using it to muffle his sobs. Emily had felt a lump rise in her throat as she tried to comfort him. He often repeated himself or mixed up his words; but they were both getting older so Emily pushed her concerns away. But then he began having problems recalling what someone had said in conversation only a few minutes earlier, and the forgetfulness increased.
“That’s when I really started to worry about you my darling,” said Emily gently running her fingers across the photograph she was still holding on to. And then early one morning a neighbour had found Tom wandering the streets clad only in his pyjamas. The neighbour had told Emily not to worry. No harm had come of it. He was just a bit cold and he’d be fine once he’d warmed up. But to be on the safe side she’d been in touch with the doctor. Tom was hospitalized for two weeks. Various tests had shown that he was suffering from a condition called Alzheimer’s; a debilitating disease that would all but steal his memory over the coming months and years. And Emily had sensed the beginning of the end. But the ending had come much quicker than anyone expected and in a few short weeks Tom was gone.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud tap on the door, and Nora one of the resident helpers popped her head in. “Hello Emily. I’ve come to collect your tray,” she said cheerfully as she bustled into the room. “Oh dear, you’ve hardly eaten a thing again today,” she muttered staring at the food that remained untouched. “Now we wouldn’t want to upset the cook would we now? There must be something nice I could tempt you with for tomorrow,” she asked. “I really haven’t much of an appetite at the moment,” replied Emily. But then catching the disapproving look on Nora’s face she continued. “Well maybe an egg, yes; I might be able to manage a nice boiled egg.” Nora smiled and promised to see what she could do. And then the door closed softly and once again Emily was alone.
Emily climbed upon her bed and stared at the walls, the same dull walls of the ground floor room that seemed to be staring back at her. If only walls could talk she thought what tales they’d have to tell. But the walls remained silent; guarding their secrets like precious jewels, and the room was cold once more.
Soon the light began to fade. From the confines of her bed Emily could feel the pull of the papery white moon as she rose against an ink-dark sky. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift. In the dark she began to hear the call. She was tired and her journey had been long. But there was nothing left to fear anymore. She had lived, laughed and she had loved. And finally she could hear the voice that she had been waiting for. She was going home. God was calling.
A few days ago the Birchwood staff had made the decision to move her into one of the single units, a small room tucked away discreetly at the far end of the west wing. Martha Adams another long term resident had smiled sympathetically. “They’ll be able to keep a closer eye on you,” she whispered. And then in a louder voice, “I’ll come and sit with you, once you’re settled in of course.” Emily had returned Martha’s smile but somewhere deep inside she knew what nobody else seemed prepared to voice. It was only a matter of time.
From some way off in the distance she could hear the chorus of children’s voices as they drifted across the landscape. She smiled to herself, listening intently until the sounds gradually faded away. Suddenly she was ten-years old again, charging across the school playing field, the wind catching her hair, her cheeks flushed with fear and excitement as Danny Evans the oldest boy in the class came bearing down on her. She could still recall his victorious whoop as he wrestled her to the ground. And upon the grass they had fallen, exhausted and panting for a time, each trying to regain their breath. When she finally turned her head to look at him he grinned widely and suddenly poked his tongue out. Emily rolled her eyes and then they both burst into helpless fits of laughter.
It seemed that the bond between the two of them would never be broken. Every morning she would arrive at school to find her best friend waiting at the gates for her. Until one Monday morning he wasn’t in his usual place. And later that day her teacher had taken her to one side and gently explained that Danny wouldn’t be coming back, some sort of boating accident over the weekend. Danny was dead? No, it couldn’t be possible. He was just a kid and had so much to live for. For a moment the whole world came to a standstill and she never even heard the sound of her own scream. “Nooo!”
When Emily had recovered enough from the shock to return to school she could feel her classmates staring at her as they leaned over to each other and whispered. As she glanced across to Danny’s empty desk she felt an unfamiliar pain, one that would never be entirely quelled. Nobody ever mentioned his name again, at least not to her. Funny that she should be thinking of him right now.
Suddenly clouds moved in and it began to rain again, much harder than before. Emily shivered and pulled the cardigan closer around her shoulders. Slowly she got up from the chair and made her way over to a small cabinet that sat in the corner of the room. And almost as if she felt guilty of thinking about Danny she opened a drawer and took out a small faded photograph of a young man in a uniform. “Tom,” she said softly, “oh how I miss you.
And Emily remembered that her childhood days had all too soon disappeared. Soon the shy young girl had flowered into a young woman, full of hopes and dreams. When she had shown some serious potential as an artist the young painter dreamed of placing her name amongst the greats. But she hadn’t counted on the unexpected arrival of Tom Phillips. And the first time that Tom had taken her into his arms she had known instantly that this was where she wanted to stay. Oh he hadn’t made her feel alive in quite the same way that Danny had, but he made her laugh and she knew that she loved him.
The next half a century had passed with frightening speed. Looking back, it was hard to pinpoint an exact time when things began to change. It more than likely started a long time before she really noticed, but the early signs were gradual and very subtle. Tom’s memory hadn’t been quite so sharp for a number of years and he would frequently lose or misplace all sorts of things. One time he searched for over an hour for his spectacles, not realizing he was still wearing them. “I’m just a forgetful old man,” he would say with great humour. “Why, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on properly.” He would laugh at his own little joke and Emily would laugh along with him.
But then Tom began to experience bouts of depression; losing interest in all the activities he used to enjoy so much. On one occasion she’d found him huddled in his armchair, his arms wrapped around a cushion, using it to muffle his sobs. Emily had felt a lump rise in her throat as she tried to comfort him. He often repeated himself or mixed up his words; but they were both getting older so Emily pushed her concerns away. But then he began having problems recalling what someone had said in conversation only a few minutes earlier, and the forgetfulness increased.
“That’s when I really started to worry about you my darling,” said Emily gently running her fingers across the photograph she was still holding on to. And then early one morning a neighbour had found Tom wandering the streets clad only in his pyjamas. The neighbour had told Emily not to worry. No harm had come of it. He was just a bit cold and he’d be fine once he’d warmed up. But to be on the safe side she’d been in touch with the doctor. Tom was hospitalized for two weeks. Various tests had shown that he was suffering from a condition called Alzheimer’s; a debilitating disease that would all but steal his memory over the coming months and years. And Emily had sensed the beginning of the end. But the ending had come much quicker than anyone expected and in a few short weeks Tom was gone.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud tap on the door, and Nora one of the resident helpers popped her head in. “Hello Emily. I’ve come to collect your tray,” she said cheerfully as she bustled into the room. “Oh dear, you’ve hardly eaten a thing again today,” she muttered staring at the food that remained untouched. “Now we wouldn’t want to upset the cook would we now? There must be something nice I could tempt you with for tomorrow,” she asked. “I really haven’t much of an appetite at the moment,” replied Emily. But then catching the disapproving look on Nora’s face she continued. “Well maybe an egg, yes; I might be able to manage a nice boiled egg.” Nora smiled and promised to see what she could do. And then the door closed softly and once again Emily was alone.
Emily climbed upon her bed and stared at the walls, the same dull walls of the ground floor room that seemed to be staring back at her. If only walls could talk she thought what tales they’d have to tell. But the walls remained silent; guarding their secrets like precious jewels, and the room was cold once more.
Soon the light began to fade. From the confines of her bed Emily could feel the pull of the papery white moon as she rose against an ink-dark sky. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift. In the dark she began to hear the call. She was tired and her journey had been long. But there was nothing left to fear anymore. She had lived, laughed and she had loved. And finally she could hear the voice that she had been waiting for. She was going home. God was calling.
