Page 55 of From Rivals to I Do

“Darla?” I hear Doreen call out, but I am balled up on the floor at this point, sobbing uncontrollably.

“He’s gone,” I say. “Eli is gone.”

“Quit gawking at her and help me get her off the floor, you morons!” Doreen yells at what I assume is the other nurses, and with their help, I’m eventually taken off the cold tile floor, and seated in a chair.

“Darla,” Doreen says quietly. “I think we should call Sparrow and let you go home.”

“No. . . I can’t. . . I have bills,” I say.

“Paid,” Doreen says. “One way or another. But you need to go home. I can’t have you here like this. It’s not good for you or our patients.”

“Okay,” I say shakily as I take out my phone and find it without word from the boys. Weeping inconsolably, I call Sparrow and attempt to explain what’s happening, all of it feeling like a nightmare that God could have ripped such a beautiful light out of this life so soon. A light that I needed, one that was now extinguished, along with any hope I had left that life wouldn’t always be so painful.

***

Eli

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

“Will you. . .” I start to say, wanting someone to shut the beeping up, every beep making me wince in pain as my eyes slowly opened. But my mouth feels like someone’s poured a gallon of sand in there and left it, my tongue like cracked, desert mud, and so I can’t seem to get the words out.

Everything hurts. Head to toe. And as I try to move, I realize that I can’t. Not easily at least. I hear snoring to my side and slowly look over to see someone sitting in the chair next to me. Who is that? I think to myself as I look at his curly hair. My son? Zack. . . asleep and loosely holding my hand.

What’s going on? I think to myself as I try to speak again, but my head pounds, and I feel nauseous. “Ugh,” I manage to get out as I move my hand up toward my head, only to see a blood pressure cuff attached to my arm. Am I in the hospital? I think to myself. What the heck happened?

“Z-Zack,” I croak out, and he stirs a little. So, I squeeze the hand in his grip as hard as I can and try again. “Zack!”

“Huh? Wha—?” Zack murmurs as he finally begins to wake up, In the dark of the room, I can see his eyes open wide as he looks at me.

“Oh my gosh, you’re awake!” Zack exclaims. “Don’t move, I’ll get the doctor!”

“Wait,” I whisper, but he doesn’t hear me, flying out the door and leaving me alone with my thoughts. I’m in the hospital. Got it. But why? What happened to me? I feel like I lived through an earthquake.

I sit there and think, but nothing comes to me, and I’m becoming increasingly frustrated. What do I know? I know my name is. . . Eli. Yeah. That sounds right. And I have. . . four kids, boys. Jeffrey, Robert, Zack, and Noah.

Where do I live? I ask myself and pause to think, even though it’s making my head hurt worse. Up on the ranch. . . in a white house that Mel and I bought together.

Mel! I think to myself, but then, like a bad movie, my brain shows me the accident. The car had been torn to bits. She’s gone. She’s been gone. I don’t know how long, but she’s left us. Other than that, I don’t remember anything.

“Mr. Garcia!” a man in a white coat says cheerfully as he strolls into the room, the words “Doctor Jacob Trachner, MD” embroidered above his breast pocket. “Nice to see that you’re awake.”

“Garcia? Is that my last name?” I ask, things still feeling fuzzy and out of place in my head. It’s as if my mind was a bookshelf and someone has toppled it over, and now I am struggling to get everything back in order.

“Yes, that’s our last name, Dad,” Zack says, and I nod. I figure Zack would know best.

“You’ve been through a pretty serious accident, Eli,” the doctor says. “So, I need you to make sure you stay still, at least for now.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“You fell off your horse, and got kicked in the head,” Doctor Trachner replies. “It’s caused some bleeding in your brain and a part of your skull has been damaged.”

“Is that why everything is so hard to remember?” I ask. “Is this normal?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Doctor Trachner replies. “It will take some time to know how extensive the damage is to your brain. But the fact that you’re awake and alert is a great sign.”

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