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Chapter 2

Something Terrible

Sunday afternoon, January 12. My administrative assistant, Nancy, drove with me from North Georgia to a wooded retreat center east of Birmingham. As marketing director for a national mission agency, I was attending the conference of a sister agency primarily as a goodwill gesture. Nancy and I set up a small display about our agency and lured people to visit by announcing a drawing Monday afternoon.

After the first afternoon conference session on Monday, I slipped into the restroom to comb my hair before standing in front of several hundred ladies to do the drawing.

It was a women’s conference, so the ladies restroom was packed. My cell phone rang and I pulled the small Nokia from the clip on my belt. My mother-in-law’s name flashed across the screen.

All around me, women laughed, talked and primped. The buzz of my surroundings grew louder as an uneasy feeling gripped me. Iva Ray had never called my cell. She would have been concerned about interrupting me during a meeting. I knew the call had to be important, and I didn’t want to answer in front of this crowd of scurrying strangers.

I let the phone ring until it went to voicemail, then immediately retrieved the message. Uneasiness changed to panic when I heard Iva Ray’s voice. Her usually calm, controlled voice was quiet but urgent.

“Mary, call me back as soon as you get this message. Please, call me back.”

I knew something terrible had happened. I sensed it in every part of my being. I hurried out of the restroom, my mind racing wildly and irrationally. Had something happened to Jack? Or our children, Penny and Dave? Or our grandsons? I knew that it was unlikely that my mother-in-law would receive such news before me, but that didn’t ease the panic.

It was unusually cold for southern Alabama, ten degrees at best. I rushed outside in just khakis and a long-sleeved oxford shirt. Gripping my cell phone, I walked as far from the conference center as I could to hear the news alone.

I called Iva Ray, and she answered immediately. If you’ve ever been in a car accident and felt as though time went into slow motion as you waited for the impact, you’ll understand the seconds between making my phone call and hearing my mother-in-law’s words.

“Mary, it’s Ann. Someone broke into her house, and she’s gone.”

I felt an immediate relief that Jack, our children and our grandchildren were safe. Then the gravity of Iva Ray’s words hit me.

Gone? Was Ann kidnapped? Was she dead? I couldn’t tell, and I couldn’t ask. I could tell from the tone of her voice the words had been too agonizing for Iva Ray to say. I couldn’t press her for more.

Then I recalled that, years ago, when Jack’s dad had died in his sleep, Iva Ray had called early one morning and told Jack, “Your daddy’s gone.”

Sleepy and confused, Jack had asked, “Where is he?”

“In heaven” was his mother’s answer.

Ann was dead. There was no use forcing Iva Ray to say the words. Sobbing, I responded to the reality of her message. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Finally, the words of confirmation: “Earl found her lying at the bottom of her basement stairs. At first, he thought she’d had a stroke. Then … will you tell Jack … and Penny and Dave?”

I wanted to know more, but again, I knew she’d told me all she could. “I’ll tell them,” I promised her. “And we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

I closed my cell phone and sank to the ground. Putting my face in my hands I sobbed until I felt someone’s hand on my shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

I looked up to see one of the hundreds of strangers from the conference. In an almost trance-like voice, I began telling her what had happened. And through the numbness, I could think of only one way she could help me. She could get word to the conference leader that I couldn’t do the drawing.

She turned back toward the conference center, and I sat on a low rock wall. In the quiet chill of the afternoon, with tall pine trees shading the sun, I felt the most amazing presence of God. As surely as if I’d heard an audible voice, God assured me that Ann had simply walked down her basement stairs and into His presence. I tried to hold on to that vision in the awful months which followed.