Bryson City Secrets: Even More Tales of a Small-Town Doctor in the Smoky Mountains (29 page)

I was quiet for a moment, remembering back to my pediatric rotation at Charity Hospital in New Orleans during medical school. I had cared for two children who both claimed to be visited by angels. And another had told me about his conversations with God. None of my medical professors had given these stories any credence, but when I did a rotation in Baton Rouge with pediatrician James Upp, M.D., he had told me that these were not rare occurrences among his severely ill pediatric patients.

“Walt,” he had told me, “kids just seem to be so much more spiritual than most adults. They seem more comfortable talking about God. They seem to be able to hear his voice much easier than adults. And I've had dozens of young cancer patients tell me that the angels visit them, talk to them, and comfort them.”

“What do they tell the kids?” I had asked Dr. Upp.

“Lots of things,” he had replied. “But most of all the kids say the angels tell them about God and about Jesus and about heaven.”

“Do you think these are visions or hallucinations?” I had responded.

The question had caused Dr. Upp to pause to think for a moment. “Nope, Walt,” he had said. “I believe they really see and talk to angels. You see, I believe in angels. And for some reason, I think kids are just better at seeing and hearing them than we are. I like the words of Jesus when he said, ‘I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children.' And remember, it was Jesus who told us, ‘I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.' So instead of ignoring what these kids say, or just blowing them off, I really listen to them.”

I remembered asking Dr. Upp if the children with these experiences were children raised in religious homes. He had told me that wasn't necessarily the case at all.

“How often does the angel come?” I asked Danny.

“He's here most of the time now. His name is Azar.”

“What does that mean?”

“He says his name means ‘to hold close.' That's what he does for me.”

“What's he like?” I asked.

Danny's eyes widened. “Oh, he's really, really nice. He's tall and strong and has a bright, flowing robe he wears. He's a warrior, and he carries a big ole sword. He even lets me touch his sword.”

“Really! What's it feel like?”

“I thought it would be cold, but it was warm, just like his touch.”

“He touches you?” I asked.

“Yep. Sometimes when we talk, I'll cry a bit. He cries with me and wipes away my tears. He makes me feel happy.”

“He does?”

“Yep,” Danny responded matter-of-factly. “He tells me that there's a place waiting for me in heaven. That there's a home there for me with lots of other kids, and they're all waiting for me.”

“Will he be with you in heaven?” I asked.

“Oh no!” Danny answered. “He told me his job is to stay here and help care for Momma, Daddy, and my sisters — until he's told to bring them home to heaven. That makes me feel happy —knowing that God himself has assigned a mighty warrior to watch out for my mom and dad and sisters, and that we'll all be together again some day.”

I felt my eyes filling with tears. This little boy's faith dwarfed mine, and I felt honored to be in his presence.

He looked at me with understanding eyes. “Don't be sad, Dr. Larimore. Azar says that there's a place in heaven for you and your family. So our families are going to be together forever. That's not bad. That's good!”

I smiled at him. “So Azar knows the Larimores?”

“Oh yes!” Danny emphatically explained. “He has several children he protects. But he protects their parents too.”

“Is Azar
my
guardian?” I wondered out loud.

Danny looked at me incredulously. “Didn't you know?”

“I had no idea, Danny.”

Danny laughed — as if he knew we adults were far more clueless than he. Then he became serious. “We all need our guardian angels, Dr. Larimore. And Azar's watching
you
especially close.”

I sensed he was concerned. “Why, Danny?”

Danny shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know. Azar says there's some danger ahead for you. He's told me he thinks there's something — or someone — that wants to hurt your family.”

I felt a chill go down my spine. Danny's voice lowered, as if telling a secret. “He also told me about your baby.”

“My
baby?”

Danny's eyes widened. “Oh yes! The one in heaven.”

The pain of the loss of our baby filled my soul, and I felt tears trickle down my cheek. Yet for some reason I didn't feel any embarrassment around this special child.

Danny smiled at me, slowly sat up, and reached out toward me with his little hand. I leaned forward, and he wiped the tear off my cheek. “Azar's done that before with you, hasn't he?”

“Done what?”

Danny smiled. I wondered if he thought me daft. “Cried with you,” he explained.

“What are you talking about, Danny?”

He smiled at me. “Azar told me about it. He said that one day you were very sad, Dr. Larimore. Azar told me he was with you. And he said that after you had wrestled with him all afternoon, you finally crawled up in his lap, and he held you close while you cried. He told me he cried with you. He told me all about it, Dr. Larimore. I was happy for you.”

“When? How do you know? Danny — ” I was reeling.

He continued to smile. “When your baby went to heaven, Dr. Larimore. Azar took your baby to heaven, and then he came back and was with you that day. He comforted you. And he would do that for you if he were here right now.”

I smiled as I felt my lip quivering, and more tears tumbled down my cheeks. I could not remember telling anyone the story of my afternoon after the loss of our unborn child — not even Barb. It was just too painful — too raw. How could he know this secret of secrets? Did his parents say something? Did he hear something in the office. Or —

Danny grimaced in pain and settled back on his pillow. “Dr. Larimore — ” he began as he closed his eyes. “Dr. Larimore, before you go, will you give me a kiss good-night — and a good-bye kiss?”

At first I was taken aback by his request, but then I smiled and leaned over and kissed his forehead. When I straightened up, his eyes were closed, and he looked relaxed — almost angelic.

“I'm gonna miss you, Danny,” I whispered through quivering lips. “You've been a real example to me of faith, my little friend. You've blessed me in ways you can't even begin to imagine.”

Without opening his eyes, Danny reached out, took my hand, and gave it a squeeze. I held his hand, silent in my own thoughts for a few moments. When I focused back on him, he had fallen asleep.

chapter twenty-eight

THE ULTIMATE
HEALING

I
was suddenly transported back to the office. I could feel tears filling my eyes — which happened every time I thought back on that remarkable day with my young friend.

Rick continued his report on Danny. “The ER called over this afternoon. Louise said the EMTs had brought Danny in. Apparently he's in a coma and very close to death. His grandmother didn't want him dying at home. So she made the family send him to the hospital to die. I had Louise admit Danny to your service. OK?”

I nodded. “Thanks, partner.”

Rick reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. “I can see you're upset. I know you're close to the little guy. Anything I can do?”

I smiled at him, despite the tears. “No, I'll be glad to take it from here. You have a good evening with Katherine.”

“I will. But if you need me, will you call?”

I nodded. Rick turned and went down the hall to his office. I left my charts and my office to walk over to the hospital.

I went immediately to the nurses' station. Maxine stood when I walked in. As uncomfortable as I was with this old custom, it was one that would continue long after I left Bryson City.

“Evenin', Dr. Larimore. Here to see Danny?”

“I am. How's he doing?”

“I don't think he'll last the night. The parents have asked for no feeding tube and no code should his heart stop.”

“Is he off his morphine drip or IV fluids?”

“Nope. He's still gettin' IV fluids and his drip.”

“Why'd they bring him here, Maxine?”

“Doc, it's just the way of the mountain folk. For generations, people died at home. And after they died, the family would call the community healer or herbalist or midwife to be sure the loved one was dead — as there weren't many doctors out in the hills. Sometimes the pastor would serve the role. Anyways, the local church bell would ring. Three quick rings told the community that someone had died. Then there'd be one slow ring for each year of the dead person's life. Since most everyone knew who was deathly sick, this would be the way the news would spread.”

“They don't do that anymore, do they?”

“Nope. Not around here anyways. But back then it was common for the family to dress the dearly departed and put him or her in a coffin that would be brought to the house by the buryin' men. These were volunteers who always provided their services and a coffin without charge. Given the number of rings on the church bell, they would know whether to make a coffin for a child or an adult. Once the body was placed in the coffin, it would be sprinkled with sweet bubby powder.”

“I had a friend tell me about sweet bubby. Isn't that the plant that, when dried and powdered, has a pleasant smell?”

“That's right!” Maxine confirmed. “You
are
learnin' local ways, Dr. Larimore! Anyways, the old-timers said sweet bubby powder kept the smell of death down, and they needed it because they'd put the open coffin on the kitchen table and leave it there for a one- or two-day wake. If the body didn't show signs of life, then the burial would follow — usually in the family plot.”

“Maxine, that still doesn't tell me why they brought Danny in tonight.”

“I'm gettin' to that, Dr. Larimore. Just hold on to your britches!”

I sat down. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Well, as I was about to say, that's how they used to do it. But when the hospital was built it all changed. Now most of the dyin' takes place here. Unless you die in an accident or at the nursing home, you die here. And some of the locals now have a superstition that if someone dies in the house, the dearly departed will stay and haunt the house.”

“Danny's parents don't believe that, do they? They seem like folks who have a biblical worldview.”

“Oh, they do believe in the Bible, that's for sure! But Myrtle's momma is very superstitious.” Maxine looked up to see whether anyone else was around, and then she leaned toward me and whispered, “Some say she's involved in the Wicca community over in Graham County. Anyway, she came over to see Danny and tried to cast a healing spell or two. She got in a big fight about that with Danny's parents. During the argument, this woman apparently claimed to have a premonition that Danny was gonna die today. So she implored the family to have him brought here. They finally gave in.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Don and Billy found the lady at the house when they got there to pick Danny up. They say there were candles all around the bed and incense burnin' in the room. And the room was really cold, which gave them the creeps. Anyways, we're just plannin' to keep the boy comfortable. Sound OK?”

“I think so, but let me talk to the family. Did the grandmother come?”

“Apparently she don't think too highly of you. Said something to Don about your religion and hers
being different. She said you had been meddlin' with some of the members of her flock and that you had a thing or two comin'. So Don told me to be sure to tell you to watch who you let in.” Maxine smiled, indicating to me that she didn't have a very high view of this threat.