A year ago yesterday, Tuesday, Nov. 10, 2015, I awoke around
7:35 AM CST to my wife, Tessa, standing over me beside the bed.
“Did you see the text your mom sent?” Though I couldn’t see
much detail at all without my contacts in, I could tell she had just gotten out
of the shower.
“Huh, what? No,” I responded, frustrated I’d just been
jolted out of sleep only a few minutes before my alarm was set to go off. “What
did she say?”
“Amanda collapsed,” she said. “She’s unconscious but still
breathing.”
“What?” I said incredulously, but suddenly alert. I sat up
in bed, put my glasses on, and unlocked the screen on my phone to confirm what
my wife just told me. Tessa hurriedly left my side, taking her usual spot in
front of the full-length mirror to start on her hair and make-up. She was
visibly shaken.
“Please pray right now – Amanda has collapsed and is
unconscious on the floor but breathing,” read the text from my mom.
“Whoa, what could’ve happened,” I wondered to myself. I was taken off guard to say the least.
My brother, Davey, and his wife, Amanda, have been the pictures of physical
health and fitness, so whatever happened, it’s so unusual that it must be
serious. Did she hit her head? Severe blood sugar or blood pressure drop?
“Praying! Keep us updated!” was Tessa’s reply. Just then I realized I was letting my
thoughts and speculation and growing anxiety sweep me away from the moment. As I was about to respond in agreement
with Tessa, Mom sent another text: “She is pregnant – pray also for the baby.”
My heart dropped.
I didn’t know how long it was before I drew another breath,
but when I finally did it was like I had been underwater and finally resurfaced
for air. We had no idea. Davey and Amanda must have been waiting to tell us
over Thanksgiving when we’d all be together.
“Oh, God,” I prayed silently, “Please have mercy on Amanda
and the little one she’s carrying! Preserve life today.”
Tears welled up in my eyes.
I knew the horrible illnesses that could accompany a
pregnancy gone wrong, and now my mind was racing. At length, though I don’t know how long, my panic-stricken
thoughts were interrupted by Tessa turning off her hair dryer. But I still didn’t
know how to respond to this new revelation.
Just then, “Praying” came the text from Tessa. Why didn’t I
think of that?
I needed to start getting ready for work. I got up and raced
to the bathroom, adrenaline now pumping. Standing in the warm shower for the
first few minutes, I cried out to God, appealing to his merciful omnipotence to
intervene and protect my sister-in-law and my brother’s second child, still not
knowing at all what happened, or how severe the injury.
After getting out of the shower and throwing on some
clothes, I checked the texts again.
Mom: “He’s called 911 – they are taking them to Methodist
hospital.”
Tessa: “My small group wives are praying too”
Mom: “Thanks so much!!”
Tessa: “Are you with them? Or in NC?”
Mom: “In NC – it is so hard being so far away from all of
our kids!”
Tessa: “Yeah :(
I’m sorry! Is Amanda still unconscious or did she wake up? How many weeks
pregnant is she?”
Mom: “I don’t know if she has woken up. We only know that
she was taken to the hospital because [Grandpa] told us that. Haven’t heard
anymore from Davey. She just
finished her first trimester. So I think she is 13 weeks.”
Tessa: “Okay thanks.”
“Should we go up to Indy?” Tessa asked me, apparently seeing
I had caught up on the news.
“I don’t know. We don’t need to make that decision yet. We
don’t even know what’s going on or how bad it is,” I replied.
We hastily finished getting ready for work, saying a few
words back and forth, praying together a couple times, but mostly I was just caught
up in the tsunami of thoughts about possible scenarios of what might have
occurred in Amanda’s and/or the baby’s body to cause this emergency.
Just as we were headed out the front door, another text
update:
Mom: “She is in critical condition – she has a head wound.
Davey doesn’t know what happened. He had come home from a workout this morning
and found her on the living room floor, and things had fallen – the ladder in
the living room and the lamp. Don’t know if there was a break in or if
something else happened. We are leaving to go up there. Please keep praying.
They are doing a CAT scan right now. Baby still has a heartbeat. Davey is a
mess.”
What? A break-in? The realization of the nature of Amanda’s
injury and the events that could have transpired hit me with such force I had to
catch my breath again.
Tessa: “I can’t imagine! Praying! Where is Weston? Is he
okay?”
(My nephew was 15 months old at the time).
Mom: “He is at the hospital with Davey.”
Relief swept over me. At this point we had made it to the
car and were coasting down the alley that runs beside our carriage house toward
the main road. I had a sickening feeling we wouldn’t be at work very long
today.
Me: “Let us
know if we should come up too. Please.”
Tessa: “Yes. Let us know and we’ll come up.”
Mom: “Okay – we will – thanks! Love you!”
Tessa: “Love you!”
On the six-minute drive to UAB campus, we
wondered out loud to each other what could have possibly happened. Mom’s text
mentioned a break in. A break-in?
Things were on the floor – the wooden decorative ladder they kept propped up
against the wall-length bookshelf, and a lamp. Could she have been on the
ladder hanging Christmas decorations and fallen? Maybe a drop in blood pressure
due to something with the baby and she blacked out and hit her head, bringing
the ladder and lamp toppling with her? It didn’t necessarily have to be a malicious,
intrusive act like a break-in, right? Whatever it was, if she was still
unconscious that’s definitely not good. She would have come to almost
immediately if she had only blacked out. Even if she had hit her head, she
wouldn’t be out this long if it wasn’t serious.
I dropped Tessa off at her building on campus before parking
in the remote lot about 9 blocks away from my lab, and waited for the bus. It
didn’t take long to arrive. I climbed on the bus and found my seat among
maybe a dozen other passengers, and the bus started toward the next stop.
Shortly after leaving the bus terminal, I received another update
from Mom. When I read this message, my heart sank, my head reeled, I felt the
blood leave my cheeks, and for a split second I thought I would vomit all over
the shuttle bus floor.
Mom: “Just talked to Davey – there was a break-in / there
were bullet wounds to the head and arm – they don’t know if she is going to
make it. Need a miracle right now!”
Me: “We’re
coming.”
I was shell-shocked. Bullet wounds? Amanda, my sister for
the last 7 years, was shot in the head and arm? In her own home? I bolted out
of the bus at the very next stop and rushed back toward the car only a block
and a half away. I needed to call my
boss to let him know that I wasn’t coming in. Before I could, Tessa called.
“Are you on your way to get me?” came the broken voice from
the other end.
“Yeah, I just got off the bus at the second remote lot.
I’m walking back to our lot now,” I replied.
“Who would do something like this, Jono? Who would want to
hurt Amanda?” Tessa questioned me through tears and fits of sobs.
“I don’t know, babe. Just pray. Hard.”
So we did. We prayed aloud in the car on the way home, we
prayed aloud with wails of sorrow and petition at home while packing and
waiting on a rental car, we prayed on the way to Enterprise, we prayed at Enterprise, we prayed on the way back home from Enterprise. November 10, 2015,
I spent more consecutive hours than ever before boldly approaching the throne
of the Most High, by the merits of Christ alone as intercessor, with tears of
desperation, faith, and raw emotion, pleading for that which only He could give.
A miracle. Healing. Life.
It was around noon (CST) before we finally got on the road headed toward Indianapolis. About an hour
after we left our house for Indianapolis, we got another update from Mom.
Mom: “They are still trying to stabilize her before they do
any surgery. She is in a coma. Gunshot to the back of the head, bounced off the
skull and is lodged behind the forehead. Need her vital signs to get better.”
Tessa: “Okay praying praying praying.”
Less than an hour later, more bad news:
Mom: “We need everyone to pray right now. Amanda’s vital
signs have turned for the worse. Her blood pressure has spiked, which means the
swelling in the brain has increased and is putting pressure on the brain stem.
If this does not stop, her heart will stop. They are asking Davey if he wants
her to be resuscitated if this happens.”
We pled with God even more, pouring out praise, worship, and
adoration for His name, His unlimited power, His sovereignty, His faithfulness,
His steadfast love, His mercy… His sufficiency… His beauty…His goodness.
About an hour later:
Mom: “The swelling is happening rapidly and pressing on her
spinal cord, increasing her blood pressure, which will cause her heart to stop.
The doctor says she won’t come back from this. Davey has made the decision,
along with her parents, not to resuscitate her if it gets to that point.”
The anger had to be suppressed. I was attempting to drive on
an interstate at 80 mph trying to see through tears that wouldn’t stop coming;
anger wouldn’t help this situation. At this point I was in a battle with
anxiety, hopelessness, and despair, and I was losing ground. That is, until my
wife, in a soft, tender voice, weakened by the hours of sobbing vocal petitions
to heaven, spoke another prayer of praise and worship to Almighty God, and then
another, and another. Each softly spoken sentence lifted my spirit, encouraged
my heart, and refreshed my faith in the Lord who giveth and who taketh away by
His own authority, according to His own counsel and pleasure.
Half an hour went by. We sang worship songs and hymns
together in the car.
Another half an hour, another update from Mom:
Mom: “Just got word that her blood pressure is dropping – we
need to keep praying.”
Tessa: “Praying hard.”
When we arrived at the Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis
(after turning an 8-hour drive into a 7-hour one), we took the elevator up to
the Neurocritical Care unit. My dad was the first person I saw when I stepped
out of the elevator into the lobby. I caught his eyes as I began walking to him
and we embraced, tears once again breaking the barrier of my eyelids and
flowing freely down my face.
“Where’s Davey?” I asked my dad, after he and Tessa greeted
each other with hugs.
“He’s around here somewhere. He needed some fresh air after
being in the room by Amanda’s side all day. Oh, here he comes.”
I looked down the hallway and saw my big brother
approaching, his eyes red and glassy, his hair disheveled. That was the longest
hug we’d ever shared. A memory from over 7 years before came bursting to the
surface of my consciousness of embracing my brother at his wedding, when he had
pledged to love, honor and cherish Amanda Grace Byars until death do them part.
More tears ran freely. I didn’t even know what to say as we stood in the lobby
embracing. “I’m so sorry,” was all I could manage before uncontrolled sobbing
threatened to arise from deep within my diaphragm.
We pulled away from each other and he and Tessa also shared a hug.
“Thank you both for coming,” he said to us wiping tears
from his face and sniffling. “Do you want to come see her?”
“If we’re allowed, yes,” I replied, and Tessa voiced her
agreement with a soft, “Yeah.”
“Yeah, you’re allowed. Um, just to give you an update,” he
said as he, Tessa and I started walking down the corridor to the room, “I don’t know how much you know already,
but the prognosis is not good at all. Without God performing a miracle,” he seemed to
ever so subtly swallowed a sob, “the doctors say she’s likely not going
to make it.” Reality check; I was tempted to pinch myself. I wanted to wake up
from this nightmare. “I know God is able, but at present the reality is grim.”
He said this with such confidence and grief. His eyes were watering a little,
but he was holding himself together remarkably well.
“Yeah, we’ve been getting updates from Mom all day,” I said.
We passed through some double doors to enter the Neurocritical Care unit.
“Okay, that’s good,” he replied.
“How’s the baby?”
“The baby still has a heartbeat, incredibly. We don’t know
if it’s a girl or boy yet. We were supposed to find out in about 3 weeks.” He
slowed his pace a little. “Hey, look, just to give you a heads up, she took
quite a beating. Don’t be startled when you see her.”
“A beating? She was beat up, too? How bad?” I asked, the
horror of this event growing more and more evident as gaps in my understanding
continued to be filled in.
“Bad,” came his simple reply as we approached her room. I
could see her through the sliding glass doors, lying there on the hospital bed,
intubated, face and neck swollen. I wouldn’t have known it was her had I not
been led by my brother and seen my mom, my Aunt Diane, and Aunt Esther in the
room with her.
As we entered the room, I got a better look at my usually
warm, charming, jovial, sister-in-law who now lay unresponsive, all but
lifeless, in that hospital bed. To my shame, and only for a brief moment, what I saw made my blood boil with
rage. The top of Amanda’s head was completely wrapped in bandages, her face and
neck were badly bruised and swollen, other scrapes and abrasions could be seen
on her face neck and arms, one eyelid was bright purple, at least 3 or 4 top
front teeth were missing, and her left arm was swollen and lacerated from near
her elbow where the other bullet had entered to her shoulder where it was lodged. Who
would do something like this? Especially to this sweet, kind, joyful
blonde-haired 28-year-old girl who had been like a sister to me for the last 10
years?
I sensed some movement around me and my mind came back to
the present. It was my mom standing up from her seat next to Amanda’s bed and
walking over to me. She greeted Tessa and me with hugs and
thank-you-for-comings and I-love-yous. Davey sat down next to his bride and
held her hand. Tessa stood next to me and grasped mine. My rage melted away. Only sorrow remained.
And we waited.
And we prayed.
And we cried.
More family and close friends came in and out. Amanda’s
parents arrived, having had to catch a last minute flight from
California where they were on vacation. Each time someone else showed up, the
tears and prayers started back up.
And we waited some more, the ping of the vitals monitor and the airy compression and decompression of the ventilator sometimes being the only sounds filling the silence.
And we prayed even more.
We thanked God for the blessing of 28 years of Amanda Grace.
We begged for a miracle. We appealed to God as Moses did, to have mercy on
Amanda, on the baby, and on us, “For the sake of Your Name.” But we praised Him
regardless, as Job did, “Though You slay me, I will hope in You.”
The doctors needed Amanda’s vitals to stabilize before they
could run the brain functioning tests to determine if she was brain dead. That
could take a while. Some of us got food from the 1st floor cafeteria
around 1 AM. Around 3:00 AM, Davey gave into the urges of others to try to get
some sleep. The family waiting room was just outside the double doors that we
had walked through earlier, connected to the lobby where we had first met up
with Dad and Davey. He hit up a recliner and soon fell asleep, though I’m sure
it was a fitful sleep.
Tessa and my parents and I joined him around 4 AM. Using my
coat as a pillow, I settled into a loveseat with bare wooden arms and a wooden
divider down the middle. About 2 hours later I arose for some hot breakfast
down in the cafeteria.
The attending physician began the brain function tests shortly
after 7 AM. The tests were supposed to take about an hour and a half, the
longest hour and half of any of our lives. By this time, we were all prayed
out. Not in the sense that we were giving up on prayer in any way, but rather
there was literally nothing else we could pray for. It seemed we had already
exhausted all possible pertinent requests three times over already. God had
heard our cries. It was now time to simply trust Him in His sovereignty.
We all gathered just outside of Amanda’s hospital room while
the doctor and nurses were finishing up the tests. Some family had come back
after having left for homes or hotel rooms for a few hours sleep. We were all
so tired, emotionally and spiritually drained.
Finally the doctor came out and conveyed the news everyone
expected but had hoped and prayed against. Our Amanda Grace was gone. Her brain activity had
probably quickly deteriorated throughout the night and early morning. We cried,
we thanked the doctor and especially the nurses who had been so attentive to
Amanda and warm to us all throughout the night.
We all gave Davey time alone with her to say one last
goodbye. When he finished, all the family (both Byars and Blackburns) and a few
friends gathered around Amanda’s bed and participated in the most heavenly, solemn chorus of musical worship to our Triune God for His faithfulness and
mercy in His saving grace, His purpose in life, and the hope He provides in the
life to come. It was a powerful moment standing around the deathbed of one so
young, so loved, so cherished, and so faithful in life, worshiping the King of
Glory with extended family with songs like “It Is Well With My Soul,” “Holy,
Holy, Holy,” and “How Great is Our God.” And I like to believe that whole
hospital unit knew that day where the hope and joy of this family was resting,
and that the gospel met with the quickening activity of the Holy Spirit and
brought spiritual resurrection to someone dead in their sins. That would have
been a fitting way for a missionally-minded saint like Amanda
to leave this world.
November 11, 2015, Amanda Grace Blackburn finally beheld with unveiled face the glorious face of the risen, victorious, and reigning
Christ. And Evie Grace's first conscious experience was of that same beatific vision.
Soli Deo Gloria
