When her best friend Debbie loses her granddaughter to a sudden illness, author Cindy attempts to travel from Texas to North Carolina for the funeral, experiencing humorous roadblocks along the way. Stranded in Atlanta, she reminisces about their many experiences that have made them the women they are today. In this true story of growing up in Texas, Cindy reflects on how the strong women in their lives influenced both of them with their wisdom and character. She is reminded how often they have relied on their faith and friendship to get them through both the good and bad times. But Joey’s death may be too much for her friend to overcome. Now, three years later Cindy has her own medical crisis and calls upon Deb to help her through it all. Can Deb put aside her own grief and be there for her best friend? Or will the possibility of another death push her over the edge?

I'll Be There ...

A Story of Family, Friends, and FaithBy Cynthia Eckhart

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Cynthia Eckhart
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-7655-3

Chapter One

A Long Time Ago

I can't remember not knowing Deb. She was the sister I never had. We were always together, even though we lived several blocks and one major road away from each other. I have known her longer than I've known my baby brother, and now that I was approaching sixty, I realized just how long that was.

We have argued for decades over how old we were when we met. Being a year older, I have decided that my memory is better on the subject, since she was so much younger than me. I was two and Deb was only one when her grandmother and my neighbor's grandmother, who were friends from way back, enrolled the neighborhood toddlers into swimming lessons at the downtown YWCA. Our life-long friendship started in that pool.

We didn't go to the same school; that major road was the dividing line between our two districts. Which, in retrospect, was probably a good thing, considering how school friendships change weekly! We did, however, go to the same church, and we both learned to ride bikes, so we were able to spend quite a bit of time at each other's houses. We became extensions of each family. We played pick-up sticks and jacks together. We even played Cowboys and Indians and Combat with my baby brother and the toy guns Daddy carved for us.

I think Debbie sometimes enjoyed being around my brother. She had one of her own, but he was much older, so Pete kind of helped fill a void. She not only was my "sister," but also my escape from my pest of a brother. I guess it doesn't really matter the how and whys of our friendship; we both have just accepted that it simply exists.

Don't get me wrong; we have always fought, as sisters often do. We have fought over stupid little things when we were young, once over one of her boyfriends, and even in later years, over politics. But there has not been one other single person with whom I have poured out my heart, cried with, hugged, and laughed with more than Debbie.

We don't even have that much in common in our lives, except our total acceptance of our friendship. We're often so much in synch that every time a popular greeting card company ran an ad on television, one of us would pick up the phone and call the other. We'd have a good laugh because the other had done the same thing but got a busy signal. We have been together in person or in spirit for every family celebration and tragedy.

I wondered how this latest tragedy of Joey's untimely death would affect her. Can she survive it? Can I help her, even though I would never, ever, have this kind of hurt in my own heart? I did not know, but I was certain that I needed to get to North Carolina.

Chapter Two

December 2006 Joey

I hung up the phone and just sat there, too stunned to think. I had called so soon after Joey's death, that I didn't even have the details to help me make sense of it all. But since when does a child's death make sense?

I never got to meet Joey. I wish I had. But I knew her through the pictures that were regularly sent to me by her mother, Les. She was so darn cute, and had the biggest, most humongous brown eyes that I have ever seen. Deb said she had an "old" soul, and that her eyes were windows to the world. My favorite picture of her captured that spirit. It was one where she was caught wistfully looking out the window, and that photo had often made me wonder if she knew she was destined to have a short life.

Les had a lot of difficulty getting pregnant, so much so that it was thought that she may never have any babies. Since she was young, she had said she wanted to get married and have lots of kids. It hurt a lot to watch her struggle with disappointment after disappointment, trying so hard to become a mom. So, when we found out that she was pregnant, I think we all decided that Joey would be her miracle child, and we all knew that Les had been blessed with the perfect gift.

Right after Joey turned one year old Les found out that she was pregnant again — with triplets. Wow! Another huge miracle! Joey wasn't put on the back burner, but everyone was so excited over the thought of triplets.

As with Joey, Les had a difficult time with her second pregnancy. She was bedridden for much of it, and seeing a ton of specialists to help her get through it all. The entire family really encouraged Joey to be a part of the process, and when the triplets were finally born that summer, Joey was as excited as the rest of us.

Things progressed in their oddly normal chaotic way until right before Thanksgiving. Joey had just turned two, and the "trips" were thriving. As with the way of kids, a stomach virus hit them all right around the time they were getting ready for the holiday. The kids passed it on to parents and grandparents, and probably would have passed it on to the turkey if it already didn't have bigger problems!

Around that Thursday, Les noticed that Joey's skin had begun to change, turning more sallow. A few hours later her skin had a definite yellow tint. Although they had all been checked by their pediatrician a few days earlier, as a precaution the doctor asked to see her the next day. But Joey got so much worse so fast, that she was immediately placed in the hospital. When the doctors couldn't figure out what was going on, Joey was transferred to North Carolina Children's Hospital at Chapel Hill. By that time they were all scared, and all they knew was that her liver was failing at a fairly rapid pace. Within a few days, Joey became number one on the nationwide liver transplant list, but none could be found. It was determined that her dad, Andre, would give part of his liver to his precious Joey, which hopefully would sustain her until a full transplant could be performed. But it was not to be, for as he was being prepped for the surgery, Joey had a seizure, and it was decided that she would not survive the operation. Only two weeks had passed since Joey got sick, and now her mom and dad had to make the difficult decision to allow Joey's short life to end.

It was right after Joey's passing that I happen to call Deb. Of course, she was too overcome to talk, and arrangements had to be made; people had to be called. I understood, and while I was "family," Deb had to take care of her own kids, husband, and the other grandkids. I would have to wait a while before I could talk to her.

How can anybody survive this? Why? Why, God, did this happen? Joey's just a baby.

Chapter Three

Deb

Deb was born in Kingsville, Texas, surrounded by one of the largest ranches in the world. Her mom worked at the King Ranch, and her dad was the area's fish and wildlife predator control supervisor for the Department of Interior. Shortly after her birth, the family moved to San Antonio where her dad became the division's supervisor for all of South Texas.

At some point in time, Deb's grandmother came to live with them in their small two bedroom house. Her brother was older and by that time pretty much on his own. Like many of us growing up in the 50's, another bedroom was added on to the back of the house. The one-car garage was turned into a den. Typical stuff in and around our neighborhood during those times.

Not long after they settled in San Antonio, Deb's mom took a job with the county agricultural extension office, something that my dad was really happy about. She became Dad's go-to person when he needed info on the latest bug eating his garden tomatoes.

A few years later, Deb's dad began to show signs of depression. In the early years that I knew him, he participated in family activities. But as time went on, he went deeper and deeper into depression, to the point that eventually it was just easier for him to remain in what had become his safe place, the den, occasionally coming out to interact with the family. I never realized he was ill until much later in life; it wasn't something that Deb and I talked about until I guess we were old enough to comprehend it. But, her dad always came out to say hi to me, and he didn't seem to mind the few times I stuck my head in the den to say hello. He had a quiet voice, and almost always had a smile for me.

Deb's mom eventually became the decision maker of the family. She loved her job, and if she was ever stressed about having to do it all, I never saw it. I loved when she would cook a pork roast that would smell so good when we got home from church. I always found a way to get invited to Sunday dinner on those days that my own dad was working and Mom would not be cooking a big meal.

Deb's grandmother became very hard of hearing. This added not only a lot of frustration, but also humor to the household. Deb and I decided she had "selective" hearing, and you never knew when you would be selected. She loved to sew, so she spent a lot of time in her room doing just that. She passed the skill on to her daughter, who tried to pass it on to Deb.

Deb didn't always have the easiest life emotionally as she was growing up. Her parents rarely raised their voices, and I think I was the loudest person around. As the years passed, her parents grew farther apart, and money became tighter. But she thrived, and even flourished, despite it all. She and her mom became close, something that my mom and I didn't do until I was old enough to appreciate it.

Deb and I continued to stay in contact during high school, although we attended different schools and had each made different friends. We managed to find ways to have sleepovers at each other's homes on a regular basis. I have to admit that I was jealous that she seemed to have a lot more boyfriends than me, but what the heck, I did learn a lot about what not to do in my pursuit of a boy. Somehow hers always worked out. Hers would give her flowers and candy, while mine would toilet paper my house and stick potatoes up my car's muffler. Guess I could pick 'em!

Deb married at a fairly young age. I was tremendously jealous. We had always promised that we would be each other's maid of honor at our weddings. But she would be getting married and moving out of state, and I wondered if she would come back to Texas for my wedding. She would just have to. After all, she was still had to be my matron of honor.

I have to say that I approved of her choice of husbands; they have been married for almost forty years, and produced two beautiful kids. He is still as handsome as the first time I saw him, and his personality always makes him the life of any party. They have had many adventures together, but most importantly, Gregg loves my friend. He still gets sappy-eyed when he looks at her, even after all these years.

I had heard that the death of a child is one of the hardest things for a marriage to overcome. I prayed Les and Andre would find solace, and I hoped that Deb and Gregg would be able to grieve together, and that it would bring them all even closer. I wondered if I would say the right things to them once I arrived for the funeral.

Chapter Four

December 2006 Getting There

I was a little strapped for money at that time, but I just knew I had to get to North Carolina. I became almost frantic in my attempt to find a way there. It was two weeks before Christmas, and flights were getting sparse and expensive. I had already told the school that my "God niece" had lost her first born. My colleagues had followed the story of the triplets and always smiled when I proudly brandished pictures. So they were pretty sympathetic to Joey's death, and covered for me while I left for a few days during one of the busier times at school. But actually getting there proved to be almost a challenge that I wasn't sure I was up to.

I called my friend, Jill, and told her what was happening.

"I don't know if I am doing the right thing going." I was crying and trying to blow my nose as I spoke. Jill had become my local "sounding board" for some of my zanier ideas. She usually kept me from doing too many foolish things.

She paused before she spoke. Uh oh, she is going to convince me not to go. Maybe I should think this through. Jill finally spoke in that calm, rational voice that would send me on my journey. "I think you know what you want to do. What is your heart saying? If it is saying go, then go and don't worry about it. I think it would be a good thing for you to be there for her."

"You don't think I would be intruding?"

"Not at all. You two are so close that I would think she would want you there. Just go. Quit worrying; we'll watch out for things here."

I don't know if I ever told Jill how much she lifted the burden off my shoulders. I remembered parts of a scripture about giving God your troubles. I found it in 1 Peter 5:7, where we are reminded to cast all your anxieties on him, for he cares about you. I think that was what Jill was saying to me. Stop worrying and just do what you need to do. I was not an overly religious person, but both Debbie and I had our faith foundations laid early in life, so I knew that God sooner or later would show me the way. Little did I know the strange path He was about to send me on.

I finally found a way to get to Wilmington, North Carolina. The airport there was primarily a commuter airport, as was the one in Corpus Christi. That meant that I had to change flights in Atlanta. Of course, that was my LAST flight change. I had several layovers and airline changes just to get to Atlanta. And, after 9/11, that raised all sorts of flags. Here I was, a loner, flying before Christmas, changing flights more than once, with tickets bought the day before. Needless to say, my ticket was "flagged" for all sorts of security alerts.

I was nervous and anxious, so I arrived early that morning at the local airport, and after explaining not for the last time, the circumstances under which I was traveling, my ticket got processed. The attendant was kind enough to check my bags straight through to Wilmington, and I proceeded to the security check.

I presented my ticket and driver's license to the officer. Even at six o'clock in the morning, the line was long. I tried to remain calm as he began to question me.

"Well, what did YOU do? Get caught selling drugs or something? Boy, your ticket is a four star one!"

Not being sure what that meant, I just smiled wanly and sniffed.

"I am afraid we are going to have to ask you to go through this security line over here." By then, I was realizing that four stars in the airport line wasn't exactly the same as a four star hotel.

Some twenty minutes later, I was finally given my shoes back. That was the day that I learned to never wear bend- over-to-tie shoes on a plane trip! By the time I got myself back together, I had only about twenty minutes before my flight was due to leave. Being late is one of my pet peeves, so I always made sure I arrived early. Deb, on the other hand, didn't mind at all being late. In fact, I used to tell her we had to be somewhere a whole hour before we actually had to be there. Then we would only be "fashionably" late.

I should have known what kind of trip it was going to be at the security line, but being somewhat of an optimist, I thought that maybe the worst was over. Nope! Silly me, that was the easy part. The flight was delayed because of weather in Houston. I thought it was kind of ironic that I had to fly from Corpus to Dallas, and then to Houston before I could catch my flight to Atlanta. Anybody familiar with Texas could easily figure out that going 300 miles north then 250 miles south to get to a town 200 miles east of you, was a little overkill. It's a price you pay for living in a big state with lots of territory between cities.

My hopper to Wilmington was due to be the last one that night, and I was relieved that I got to Atlanta with enough time to stop by the restroom and get a soda to tide me over. I didn't pay attention to all the grumbling going on around me, and I was so busy looking for directions that I didn't look out the windows.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are sorry for the inconvenience we are about to cause, but we are experiencing heavy fog throughout the entire East Coast. Many airports are closing, which means many of your flights will be cancelled or delayed. Please check with your ticket agent to see when your flight may be departing." The pleasant airport voice would probably not have to experience the wrath of some ten thousand people now stranded in the airport in Atlanta all night!

I made it over to my gate, and was relieved to see that my flight had only been delayed by an hour. Thank You, God! I silently prayed as I grabbed one of the few available seats. There, I waited, and waited....

(Continues...)

Excerpted from I'll Be There ...by Cynthia Eckhart Copyright © 2010 by Cynthia Eckhart. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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