Restoration

By Helga Burkhart

When Anne Richards wakes up in a hospital with her parents nervously standing above her, she’s confused. Why is she there? How did she end up in a coma? Terrible memories begin to resurface: a snowy drive on Thanksgiving Day, the sound of scraping metal, and blinking taillights.

Anne lost her husband and two children in a car crash and now must find a way to live with the unbearable pain. Her loss plunges her into despair that therapy can’t help. She sets off on an emotional and spiritual journey in the hopes of finding relief.

A cat and a little boy begin the healing process. After a rough start, the little boy’s father helps, as well. To fully restore her wounded soul, Anne must embrace God’s faithfulness and begin to accept that even bad things happen for His purpose and our good.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jul 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664213463

Helga Burkhart

Helga Burkhart is a retired R.N. and has a degree in psychology. She believes in the faithfulness of God and, in this era of bad news, hopes readers can escape into a story with a happy ending. She lives in upstate New York with her husband. Restoration is her first novel.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

A nne Richards pulled slowly onto I-486, but even so, the car fish-tailed several times before she was able to maneuver into the only open lane. The snow driven against the windshield by the increasing wind, made visibility extremely poor.

We should’ve left right after Eric got there, she whispered to herself, with a resigned sigh. Her thoughts returned to early morning when she’d tried to talk her husband out of going to the office. After all, it was Thanksgiving Day and the weather was going to be bad. She wished they were all in the same car now but, since Eric had gone to work for a few hours, he had the van and the children wanted to ride with him. That left her to drive the car. Her parents tried to talk them into staying till Friday, but Eric insisted that the roads would be all right since the snow only started a short time before. He was wrong—the road was slippery and she couldn’t see. Almost sliding into a ditch, she forced herself to concentrate on driving.

Concentrating wasn’t easy. Anne couldn’t see them, but she knew Eric and the children were following in the van. She also knew Amy and Danny were excited about the first snow of the season and would have trouble sitting still, especially Danny. She had watched Eric buckle them into their seat belts in the back seat, but knew how many times she would have to remind Danny to stay buckled in when they rode with her. He was an exuberant seven-year old and liked to talk. Somehow he never thought she could hear him unless he was right up close to her, and tended to undo his strap so he could lean through the opening between the front seats to say what he had to say. Anne hoped he would stay put today. She knew that Amy would. At nine, she was the more cautious of the two. Eric had less patience with them, and Anne hoped they wouldn’t cause him to become annoyed with them—not with it taking total absorption to stay on the road.

Anne never wanted to drive in snow and avoided it when she could. She admonished herself for that, because if she drove more often on the winter roads, she wouldn’t be so nervous now. She found herself becoming increasingly irritated at Eric because he had insisted on going to the office. If he hadn’t gone, they would all be in the van together now with him driving. Her neck and shoulders were already aching, and her fingers were stiff from her tense grip on the steering wheel to keep control of the car. She felt the car pull to the right and forced herself back to attention.

Progress was slow, and after what seemed like hours, but was really only twenty minutes, Anne saw a small panel truck going the opposite way start to slide. As she glanced into the rear-view mirror, she saw it careening out of control. She heard the discordant sound of blaring car horns, but because of the heavy swirling snow she didn’t see the truck as it slammed into the center guard-rail, did a half turn glancing off a sign post, got struck by a passing car, and headed back toward the rail. She didn’t see it fly into the air as if it were a bird, landing upside down on Eric’s blue minivan.

Anne heard the sound of metal striking metal from somewhere behind her. She saw the cars going the other way, their taillights blinking frantically. Her own car went into a skid she couldn’t control and she crashed into the mountain of rock that loomed in front of her. Before the darkness descended on her, she somehow knew in her heart that her family was gone.

1

CHAPTER

"W hat can you tell me, Anne? What do you know about what happened to you and your family? asked Dr. Graber, the very professional-looking female psychiatrist assigned to her case. Please talk to me."

It was Anne’s third therapy session with Dr. Graber. The first two had accomplished nothing—she just sat there, wringing her hands and crying. She didn’t want to remember, let alone talk about it. But try as she would, she couldn’t keep the horror away. Dr. Graber asked again, Can you tell me what you know, why you’re here?

Anne closed her eyes and let herself think about what she knew.

At the same time that a tragic car crash claimed her family, she was injured in a separate accident. She lay in a coma for several days in an intensive care unit. When she regained consciousness, her parents were with her—her father staring out the window, her mother weeping softly at her bedside. She wondered what was wrong, why she was in a hospital.

Her mother looked up and saw that she was awake. Oh, Anne, she sobbed, what a relief … Will, get the nurse, Anne’s awake.

The nurse and doctor came in. Anne looked at them and remembered the day her world ended. She felt, rather than heard, a soul-wrenching wail come up from deep inside her. She put her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, but the scene from that fateful day replayed in her mind. She saw the panel truck going in the opposite direction skid out of control. She glanced in the rear-view mirror but couldn’t see anything because of the heavily falling snow. A few minutes later she heard the loud crash of steel on steel with the ensuing momentary silence, and then the dull thud of a hubcap as it hit the rocks nearby. She saw the red of taillights, but saw it as blood—the blood of Eric, Amy, and Danny as their lives flowed away. She heard another loud, closer crash, and felt a stab of pain in her head. Then a black shroud covered her mind as it had at the time of the accident.

When she opened her eyes, Anne was aware that her mother held her in her arms, rocking back and forth as she had done so many times when Anne was a child and needed comforting. Her father still stood by the window, his shoulders shaking, tears falling unnoticed onto his jacket. The doctor and nurse stood near the foot of the bed—the doctor looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but there and the nurse crying with the rest of them.

The doctor, facial muscles fighting tears, told her as gently as he could what she already knew in her soul; that Eric and her two little children were dead.

Suddenly the enormity and finality of her loss penetrated her reason. Anguished sobs again filled the room, sobs that came from the very depths of Anne’s being. She began shaking uncontrollably and screaming that she wanted to die too.

Anne was transferred to the medical psychiatric unit shortly thereafter and was kept heavily sedated until she could be awake and more in touch with reality, without screaming that she didn’t want to live. That took a while—straight through Christmas, the season that was always so hectic and joyous with Amy’s and Danny’s exuberance. Christmas came and went without her.

Concussion and reactive depression were her diagnoses. The concussion healed, but the depression persisted. Perfectly normal under the circumstances they said. Since her depression was so profound and she continued to actively talk about suicide, she was transferred to Sunnydale Institute, a private mental hospital better equipped to care for her, in late February.

Dr. Graber gently broke into Anne’s thoughts. Anne, we can’t begin to put the pieces of your life back together if you don’t tell me what you’re feeling, so I can know where to start.

It doesn’t matter … I have no life anymore, I don’t want to live. My life, the reason for my life, is gone. Nothing you, or I, or anyone else says is going to change that, Anne said softly, as though talking to herself. I can’t—no I won’t—talk about it anymore!

Anne stood up and walked to the door. Dr. Graber followed her and put her hand against the door. I hope you change your mind, Anne. When you do, I’ll make time to see you. Just let your nurse know and she’ll tell me, she said, opening the door.

Anne left the doctor’s office and went to her room. She was angry because Dr. Graber wanted her to dredge up the terrible memories of that day, the memories of Eric, Amy, and Danny. They were gone—dead—forever. Couldn’t they be left that way? Couldn’t she go to them? Why the torture? She lay down on her bed and closed her eyes hoping to hide in sleep, at least from the outside world. Her inner world was something else to contend with. Her thoughts were a constant torment every time she closed her eyes. If it wasn’t Eric beckoning to her, then the children were. She kept telling them that she would come to them as soon as she could—as soon as an opportunity presented itself. Talking to Dr. Graber was not going to change her determination.

For months, Anne’s deep depression continued with its attendant apathy, sleeplessness, and loss of appetite. She was like a robot, pre-programmed for daily life. Every day was the same: get out of bed, wash the face, brush the teeth and hair, eat breakfast. Spend the rest of the morning sitting in the community room with other patients, staring into space. Pick at lunch. Spend more time staring into space until time for therapy session with Dr. Graber, if she went at all. Pick at dinner, stare into space, go to bed.

She had trouble sleeping and needed sedation. She lost so much weight that she looked anorexic. Her once lustrous blonde hair hung limply down her back, unless neatly plaited by caring attendants. When in sessions with Dr. Graber, she continued to express her wish to die and insisted that she would kill herself if she got the chance. The medication she received did not help.

One day, after a particularly grueling session with Dr. Graber, Anne sat in her room and thought about what had been discussed. One of the things that had finally sunk in was that she needed to have a plan of action.

You’re apparently determined to kill yourself. How are you going to do it? Are you going to hang yourself … drown yourself … shoot yourself … take pills? People who want to kill themselves usually have a plan. Do you? the doctor had asked again.

No, I never thought about it. I’ll do what has to be done, she’d answered.

Later on, after picking at her supper, Anne spent some time in the community room. She pretended to watch the drama that was on television but couldn’t concentrate. Her mind kept going back to what Dr. Graber said about having a plan. Finally, she told the nurse that she had a headache and would go to bed early.

Once in bed, she spent hours in fitful sleep. She again dreamed of her family, but this time they were calling to her and she was running toward them, in her hand a large piece of paper with The Plan written on it.

2

CHAPTER

A nne woke up the following morning convinced that if she was going to kill herself, she had to get out of the hospital. So she decided to play the game, to do everything right, starting with making an effort to look more presentable. She washed up, combed her hair, and then dressed in her own clothes, which her parents had brought when she was admitted. She couldn’t believe that she looked as well as she did in them, except that they hung rather loosely on her thin frame.

Why Anne, you look positively wonderful, cried Lisa, her nurse for the day, with a puzzled look on her face. Does this mean you’re feeling better?

My headache’s gone, replied Anne, knowing that it was not what Lisa was asking about.

That’s good, Lisa said, returning to the desk. I’ll talk with you later.

While Anne slowly ate her breakfast—she really wasn’t hungry—she saw Dr. Graber enter the unit and walk to the desk. She saw Lisa take her aside and tell her something, each of them glancing her way. Dr. Graber left Lisa and headed for Anne’s table.

Good morning, Anne. How are you? You look marvelous, said the smiling doctor, all in one breath. It looks like a good day.

Anne just smiled at her. She knew the doctor and Lisa thought this was a sudden break-through, that the pills they were giving her were finally working, or something. Yes, she would play the game well and be discharged for her efforts.

The unit that Anne was in at Sunnydale was a locked one. It had everything that was needed for a patient’s protection and comfort without leaving its confines. All of the patient rooms were private, so no need to share one’s problems. There was a dining room, community room, art room, and exercise room—the last to keep the body in shape while the mind healed. It was to the community room that Anne wandered later in the morning. She stopped at a bookcase, intending to pick a book at random and pretend to read it. She didn’t have time to actually read. She had to devise a plan for when she got out. She reached for a book, saw it was a Bible, and pulled it out. She began thumbing through it and paused when she reached the New Testament. The red letters denoting what Jesus said leaped out at her. She couldn’t make out the words because tears blurred her vision. I’m just as lost as my family is, but I’m still alive. Why didn’t You take me, too? I can’t find You any more than I can find them. Why did You go away from me? she silently cried. Feeling a prick of unexpected anger, she put the Bible back where she found it and went to her room with an even deeper sadness than before.

Anne stood staring out the window but saw nothing. Her thoughts galloped around in her head. How could she make them think she was getting better? If they asked her if she wanted to kill herself, she would deny it and that would be lying. Could she lie, knowing that one lie would lead to more? She could—it was the only way to get out of there.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. May I come in, Anne?

After a few moments, Anne answered, Yes, Dr. Graber. She had been dreading this visit, because now the lies would start. She forced her lips into a smile as the door opened.

Are you okay? Dr. Graber asked as she came toward her. Someone said you looked as though you were crying earlier.

I’m fine, Doctor, just dust in my eye from the bookcase, lied Anne. The deception had begun—no turning back.

Anne watched as Dr. Graber, dressed in a dark blue dress covered by a neatly pressed lab coat, stepped further into the room. Anne felt nervous as the doctor looked intently at her, but she willed herself to be calm.

It’s obvious that something has changed about you, Anne. It looks like a positive change. Can you tell me what’s different for you? Dr. Graber sat down on the end of the bed and crossed her legs.

Anne’s face felt stiff from the unaccustomed smile. I don’t know what happened, but I slept well last night … and I guess I just feel better. I really don’t know why.

What they say about a good night’s sleep putting a new perspective on things must be true, Dr. Graber said. Do you feel like coming to my office now, so we can really talk?

Anne thought about saying no, but she would have to face her doctor for a close scrutiny sooner or later. I have nothing else to do, she replied, and followed Dr. Graber to the door.

Once seated across from Dr. Graber’s desk, Anne forced herself to relax, which was difficult with the doctor staring at her. She would have to convince the woman that she was getting better, that she wanted to get better.

What has happened, Anne? Why the sudden change? asked Dr. Graber with an interested, but slightly suspicious tone of voice. What happened between yesterday and today?

I can’t explain it, Anne began, as she attempted to keep nervousness from showing. At least that part was true—she really couldn’t explain it. As I said before, I slept well last night.

I can’t believe that just a good night’s sleep could make such a difference. There must be more to it. Talk to me, Dr. Graber quietly demanded.

There’s nothing else, nothing at all. I feel stronger. I’m able to think more clearly. I know I have to put the past away—get on with life. I know it won’t be all at once, but I’ll try. Even though she was lying, deep down she knew what she was saying was actually true. She did have to put the past away and get on with living, but she didn’t intend to do it. She wanted to die. She felt a headache start but was determined to sit there and finish the session. She knew the pain in her head was due to the strain of being dishonest—it went against everything the believed in.

Then you no longer want to die. Is that what you’re saying, Anne, that you no longer want to kill yourself?

Anne looked away from the doctor’s gaze, took a deep breath, and turned back to her. Eric and my children are gone—I have to accept that. I wish I was with them, but I have to accept that I can’t be. Anne had the sleeves of her sweater pulled down over her hands, the fingers of which were crossed in her lap. It was a silly thing to do but it had seemed to lessen the strength of fibs when she was a child.

I’m glad you’re feeling better, Dr. Graber said hesitantly. I hope you’re being truthful to yourself as well as to me. I think we’d better wait and see how you feel tomorrow and the next day. You may change your mind. We’ll talk again.

Anne was grateful that Dr. Graber let her go. She didn’t know how long she could have kept up the pretense. Her headache was full-blown from the tension.

She doesn’t believe me, was all Anne could think on the way back to her room. Once inside, she closed the door, threw herself on the bed, and let the tears come. I’m so sorry, Eric. None of what I told her was true. I really do want to be with you and the children, and I will be, as soon as I get out of here. I’ll find a way. You’ll make me strong enough to find it, she sobbed into her pillow. She turned over on the bed, looked up at the ceiling and whispered, I’m sorry for telling those lies, Lord. I know it’s a sin. Please forgive me, if you’re listening.

Anne fell asleep, but as she was drifting off, she thought, I’ll have to prove to everyone here that I’m okay, not a risk anymore. It won’t be easy.

Anne set out to convince the staff, and most of all Dr. Graber, that she was really better. She spent her days in the community room socializing with other patients. She dressed well and wore make-up. She ate all the meals served to her and actually gained weight. They cut back on her medication and she didn’t feel groggy anymore.

Anne’s parents visited often. Keeping up the pretense with them was the hardest to do. She had never lied to them before and her already shattered heart broke a little more each time she saw them, each time she