Disturbances: Surreal Thoughts on Real Events #2
The Four Horsemen of the Parking Lot
by Kurt Newton
© 2007 by Kurt Newton
All Rights Reserved
The four young men standing in the parking lot didn’t look cold. In fact, none of the four wore winter coats even though it was eleven o’clock at night and below freezing outside.
The four stood in a clot in front of a parked car. At the center stood a young man with blond hair. His eyes were closed, his head tilted up toward the night sky. The three other young men surrounded him, one on each side and one standing in front. The young man on the left had his hands placed firmly on the blond man’s shoulder and forehead. The young man on the right had his hands holding the back of the blond man’s neck and cupping his chin. The third, who crouched slightly in front, his head turned toward the pavement, had both hands placed against the blond man’s chest. He appeared to be listening for a heartbeat.
My first thought was the blond man had been skateboarding in the parking lot and had fallen. I don’t know why I thought this because the young men, though young, were too old and too well dressed to be skaters. Besides, the small parking lot was gated and private. Only guests of the House were allowed inside.
I kept expecting the blond man to open his eyes, but then I realized all four of the men had their eyes shut. Their lips were also moving, subtly, repetitively. It was then that it occurred to me that the four were in the midst of some kind of prayer. So I turned away.
Maybe they were friends or relatives praying for someone inside the House. After all, the house I was staying in was the Ronald McDonald House in New Haven, Connecticut. No, I wasn’t there to get a bite to eat. I was there because my newly born granddaughter was at the hospital nearby, close to death.
* * *
Two days earlier, the birth of my daughter’s baby filled me with pride, dread, and relief. Pride that my daughter hadn’t chosen the path of least resistance and opted instead to accept a responsibility that for most teenagers would be a horror. Dread that now there would be a baby in our house, the first in fifteen years, and the normal course of our lives would be disrupted. Relief that the baby was at last here and I would not have that daily reminder of a pregnant, unmarried, teenage daughter walking around the house, and the parental guilt that goes along with that. Maybe my wife and I were somehow bad parents for allowing something like this to happen. Maybe we were too strict. Maybe we weren’t strict enough. Maybe we didn’t tell our daughter the things she needed to know. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But all that ceased to matter when the baby was born and it was discovered that something wasn’t quite right.
Neveah Alicia Ann Newton weighed in at seven pounds three ounces. She looked exactly like my daughter when she was a newborn. Family and friends gathered and we took turns holding her. She wouldn’t open her eyes. She was shy, we thought. She also refused to nurse. She preferred instead to be wrapped up tight and to sleep. Instead of crying she cooed like a bird. As we held her, we thought the sounds she made were cute. We joked that because our daughter was so close to her cat, that perhaps Neveah was part feline.
I went home that night believing nothing could possibly be wrong. The hard part was over. My daughter had made it through and a new chapter in her life had begun. My wife stayed at the hospital for our daughter’s sake. Just before bedtime, the phone rang. It was my wife. She was in tears. Neveah was having seizures. A CAT scan revealed signs of bleeding on the brain. She might have spinal meningitis. She had been placed on oxygen. She might have brain damage. They were rushing her to Yale-New Haven Children’s Hospital as we spoke. She might not survive the night.
Take a breath. Think positive. Helpless, helpless, helpless. For the first time in my life I actually asked God for a little favor. It was a simple request. “God,” I said, “please help Neveah. She deserves a shot.”
* * *
Next came the long drive. Bigger hospital, bigger waiting room. One by one we went in to see Neveah. Tubes, tape, monitors, so many machines for such a small person. There was a piece of gauze placed over her eyes. Apparently, the infection in her brain made her sensitive to light—even the light that bleeds through the eyelids. She was stable now. She had stopped seizing. They were able to determine from the spinal fluid that she had contracted strep-B, a common bacteria to us, but life-threatening to infant immune systems. They were treating her with penicillin. An MRI was scheduled for the morning to determine the extent of damage, if any.
That night my wife and I and our daughter went to the Ronald McDonald House to stay for the night, the first of many to come. That night, while getting a late night snack, I saw the four young men outside the kitchen window.
The following morning I woke up early, grabbed my pad, went downstairs, and in the early morning quiet of the House’s large sunroom, I began writing this down. The original ending went something like this:
I want this to have a happy ending. I want this to just be a story my daughter will tell Neveah when she’s older.
Later that day, I asked the volunteer at the House about the four men in the parking lot. I hadn’t seen any of them inside the House. She looked at me and smiled and said, “A lot of strange and miraculous things happen around here. This is truly the house love built.”
I smiled back, but at the same time a chill ran up my spine.
Well, that’s a lie. It’s funny the things we cling to, the stories we tell ourselves when we don’t want to face the truth, when we want to avoid that feeling of helplessness. My granddaughter’s life was in the balance and here I was writing some kind of sappy spiritual ending to a story not yet finished.
Maybe I wanted the four men to be an apparition, four angels sent by God to help Neveah get the shot she deserves. The shot I petitioned for. It would be cool and kind of scary to believe the universe actually operated that way.
But I’m too much of a skeptic to believe that to be true.
The truth is I did ask the volunteer in the House about the four young men I had seen. I was told that sometimes Yale divinity students stay at the House. I guess that explained what I saw.
The truth is sometimes prayers are answered, sometimes not. The truth is helplessness comes with the territory. As do tears. As does death.
And now for the happy ending…
It’s been ten days since Neveah entered the children’s ICU. Every day she gets better. Subsequent tests have revealed no permanent damage. She must be a fighter. She must be lucky. She must have an angel looking over her shoulder. Pick whichever belief you’re most comfortable with.
As I write this she is still at Yale-New Haven. She has another week to go before they release her. She is now breathing and eating on her own. She opens her eyes often and even cries now and then.
Welcome to the world
Comment by leftoverjoe on 1 March 2007:
Great story, Kurt…and congratulations on the birth of your granddaughter.
Comment by SLIM on 1 March 2007:
Yes, Congrats. Grandchildren make you officially an old man.
Here’s to prayers being answered and life being born:)
I’m glad you asked God instead of making a WISH. I’m not quite sure how that would have turned out.
Comment by earthtotim on 1 March 2007:
Warm story Kurt, thanks. Best to you and yours.
Tim
Comment by jpokela on 1 March 2007:
I think one of the weaknesses of the American way is the lack of extended families and the support that comes from being surrounded by those who love and care for us and are working toward a common goal. Thank you Kurt for being strong enough not to drive your daughter away.
We all have our growing to do and now thanks to strong spirit and great medical care you have another bright-eyed little one to share experience with.
Comment by kurtnewton on 1 March 2007:
Thanks guys, it’s been an interesting past year, to say the least, and the future looks a lot noiser than anticipated. Note to self: buy earplugs.
Slim — I hear you. A missed opportunity, I know.
Comment by badmoon on 3 March 2007:
Kurt, awesome story. Prayer DOES work, I have seen it time and again. I also have a similar experience to share. My daughter gave birth unmarried at 18. Kira is a blessing. The Dad (or sperm donor as we call him) has never seen her. But, Kira is a gift from God. My daughter Heather and her live with us. Heather was anorexic at age 15 and we almost lost her. She is 5′8″ and got down to 88 pounds. I am so glad that my wife and I, with the help of the Lord, welcomed her and Kira. My prayers are with you. Praise God.
Roy
Comment by macker on 5 March 2007:
bloody hell kurt,
and hopefully, the inspiration for some special fiction..
you had me scared to read any further at one point in case you were going to tell me something i didn’t want to hear..
i was nervous man.
really happy for you all that things are getting better, and eventually, i’m sure, back to BETTER than normal..
that little girls gonna make you feel like a youngman again
cheers for sharing kurt
take care
Comment by macker on 5 March 2007:
BTW.
whats the inspiration behind the name Neveah
its beautiful…native american sounding!
Comment by kurtnewton on 5 March 2007:
Roy — thanks. Nothing like the horrors of real life to put things into perspective.
Macker — my daughter tells me this particular spelling means “butterfly”. And, yeah, the whole experience — the old Victorian home we stayed in, the cancer kids and their families, and the eerie bronze sculpture of two children sitting on a bench outside in the child garden — has already spawned the beginnings of a new novel.