Page 54 of To the Moon and Back
Even if sometimes Jenna didn’t see it.
She kept the radio off as she drove. Her friendship with Allison Wessel was one good thing that had come from her parents’ death. The woman hadn’t believed in God before the bombing.
Now she talked about Jesus like He was her personal friend.
The connection between Jenna and Allison had returned the moment Jenna walked through the woman’s door. Allison had hugged her and looked long at her face. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.” Jenna embraced her again.
Allison’s kindness had made it possible for Jenna to come to Oklahoma at all. She wouldn’t have had enough money to stay in a hotel for more than a few days. But now she had all the time in the world.
The whole summer.
Which gave Jenna this day to see the memorial and then return to the hospital. She’d been there every day since getting into town. Brady was still in a coma. Because he had no next of kin, the doctor deemed it necessary to share Brady’s progress with her.
His doctor had said Jenna was the only person other than his fellow firefighters and a sweet older couple who had been by. The only ones who had seemed to care.
Brady had two broken legs and a fractured spine. His right calf and thigh were seriously burned and he’d been fighting pneumonia since he was admitted. His lungs seemed to be healing, so that was good. Apparently, his helmet had protected his face, but not necessarily his head.
“Brain damage is possible,” the doctor had told her yesterday. “He may never wake up. These things are hard to diagnose until he’s conscious.”
Jenna had decided to stop asking questions. Instead she spent most of her time at the hospital praying. Because only God knew what the future held for Brady Bradshaw.
She reached the memorial and parked several rows from the front. The anniversary had happened nearly a month ago, but still the place was busy. Jenna had read about the fascination. Oklahomans came because they wanted to pay their respects. Make a statement that something like the bombing would never be ignored.
The victims would never be forgotten.
But it wasn’t just Oklahomans who made their way to the memorial. Some were like the woman Jenna had met at school, Ashley Blake. A visit here was part of a road trip or a spring break. Jenna sat in her car and stared at the gates. The towering walls that stood adjacent to each other at one end of the memorial.
She wore her key today. The one with 9:03 engraved in it. Yes, healing had begun then. But healing could take a while, that was the thing.
The past pressed in around her, pulling her from the car. She took a bag from her backseat, the one with her parents’ pictures and personal items. These were the reason she’d planned the trip, after all. She stepped out of the car.
A cool breeze drifted over the parking lot. Jenna wore a long-sleeve lightweight sweater and dark jeans. A wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses would keep the moment private.
Which was how she wanted it.
Her first stop was her parents’ chairs and then she walked over to the Survivor Tree. Every step of the way she caught herself thinking not so much about her parents, but about the boy who had made her part of the club. At the bench next to the tree, Jenna sat and closed her eyes.
Without her faith, she wouldn’t be here. It had been the biggest part of her healing.
Run to Jesus, she had told herself over the years. Stop trying to live life without Him. And along the way, she had become a new person.
Free. Whole. Ready to live again.
Yes, she would always miss her parents. She would wonder why they had been called to heaven so soon. But she wasn’t angry with God. She loved Him.
He was with her, every day of her life—even when she was mad at Him. And one day she would see her parents again.
Jenna drew a quick breath. Had Brady ever returned to God? Was he still determined to keep his distance?
She held a map of the memorial grounds, and she stared at it. There she saw something she’d missed the day she’d met Brady. On the east end of the memorial were several slabs of concrete from the original structure. Etched into them were the names of more than six hundred people who had been in the building and survived.
Brady’s name. She had to find it. She walked closer, right near the gate that read 9:01. And there, in alphabetical order, were the names of those who—like the slabs of concrete—had withstood the blast.
It took seconds to find his name.
Lord, would you heal Brady, please? Breathe Your strength through him by the power of Your Holy Spirit. I can’t believe this is it for him. He needs You, Lord.
