ON ANY GIVEN DAY, Adelynn or Abigail might or might not have shoes on. Not Anna. She was like her daddy. I almost didn't go out with him when I met him in college, because he was almost always barefoot, and I thought that was just so odd. The barefoot quarterback. Kevin was a straight arrow who loved to play football and made it sound n.o.ble when he talked about it. He had a scientist's brain and a caregiver's soul and was all about commitment to G.o.d and family. He was also great to look at. Still is. I don't hate that a bit.

Falling in love, getting married, having Abigail-it was all so easy. We were just doing what came naturally. Be fruitful and multiply, right? That's such a beautiful, bountiful way to express it. Sadly, it's not always as easy as it sounds. After Abbie was born, I got pregnant almost right away, but I lost the baby just short of the second trimester. I got pregnant again and lost the baby at eight weeks. Testing revealed an abnormality in my uterus. We were told we'd have no trouble getting pregnant, but our chances of carrying the baby to full term were about 50/50.

Trusting in G.o.d's good will for our little family, we tried again and had Annabel. Her entrance into the world was dynamic and unique. She was delivered by her daddy, who had delivered countless babies of just about every other species and was thrilled by the idea of bringing Annabel into the world. Things got intense when the baby presented with the cord around her neck, but it was nothing Kevin couldn't handle. I felt safe and completely loved, and our blue-eyed baby girl was born. We named her after Anna, the elderly prophetess who saw baby Jesus in the temple and recognized him as the Messiah, plus bel for beautiful.

Two years later, when Adelynn was born, Kevin opted to let the OB deliver her. With the complications of Annabel's birth, he'd had to shift into doctor mode; this time around, he wanted to enjoy it as an undiluted daddy moment.

We had our three precious girls-the family we'd hoped and prayed for-but in five years, I was pregnant five times. Each miscarriage was like an emotional and hormonal body slam. Each baby brought pure joy, but along with them came all the work and wonder of motherhood-sleep deprivation, diapers, laundry, chow-slinging, and pediatrician appointments. Powering through the care and wrangling of three rambunctious tots year after year, Robo Mom came out to take care of business, and a small, struggling part of me got pushed into a dark corner.

I genuinely thought I'd processed it all at the time, and I am by nature a happy person, but while Adelynn was a toddler and preschooler, I began to experience spells of depression and anxiety. Both Kevin and I were stunned and alarmed when a major bout of depression came out of nowhere, or so it seemed, and dragged me out to sea like a riptide. We were on our way to visit Nonny in Corpus Christi, but as we traveled, I became physically sick and emotionally immobilized, which was baffling to me and scary for the girls. I'd always been the dynamo supermommy; suddenly I couldn't stop shaking, couldn't think through the ingredients of the day.

Thank G.o.d for Nonny, who flipped into mega-Nonny mode and took care of me and wrangled the girls during that trip. Loved me. Never judged me. Just helped me get through it. She did far more than a woman in her eighties should be expected to do; I felt wretchedly guilty and grateful. It was one of the many moments in life when I was grateful for the powerful women who surround my girls, including the matriarchs of Kevin's family: Gran Jan, Nonny, and Mimi.

Things got worse before they got better; at one point I descended into this very deep hole in my soul. I didn't want to die, but the pain and anxiety were just too much to live with-which is how I so keenly understood Annabel's desire to leave it all behind and be with Jesus. When I look back on it, trying to find some meaning in the whole experience, trying to trace its thread in the greater tapestry, all I can come up with is the idea that perhaps G.o.d was preparing me, too-hollowing me out like the tree, lending me the open insides and homing instinct of Jonah's big fish-so that I would have the capacity to hold Anna and take her where she needed to go.

This is a very long-story-short version of it, but you probably know the rest: counseling, pharmaceuticals, and the fact that life goes on force a person to march through that shadowed valley. And there are a lot of people on that march. I wasn't alone. And if you're in that place, I just want you to know: You're not alone either.

Ultimately, while I prayed that G.o.d would give me Nonny's unstoppable energy and Mimi's unfailing love and Gran Jan's unshakable faith, I had to find my own way of mothering, my own path in life. I muddled through and went forward, hoping that my girls would see that a woman can still be energized and loving and faithful, even if she stumbles and falls once in a while. It seems that a fully lived life is going to be a bit of a roller coaster, not a flat go-cart track that just takes you around and around in a safe little circle. I want my girls to know that.

There's a wooden sign posted in the powder room at our house, right above one that says "LOVE YOU MORE": "Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and screaming, WOO HOO, what a ride!' "

Mimi's pa.s.sing was the end of an era, but no tragedy. When we told the girls she was gone, we knew they'd be heartbroken. We would all miss her terribly, but Mimi was such a gift to the people she loved and who loved her, she left us overwhelmed with grat.i.tude.

"It's cause for rejoicing," I told the girls. "She lived a long, wonderful life, full of fun and love and laughter. Now she's with her Savior in Heaven, singing with the angels forever and ever, and we'll meet up with her there someday."

I rather liked the idea that she was there waiting for us, preparing a great big Sunday dinner for the whole family and keeping an eye on us in the meantime.

AS THE LIGHTS OF the CareFlite helicopter disappeared into the night, Kevin stood in the field with Abbie and Adelynn. All around them, the rescuers were breaking down their equipment, high-fiving and talking about going to get some food. Mike sat on the tail end of the truck with a water bottle, utterly exhausted, but he stood up and shook Kevin's hand as Kevin and the girls headed back to the house. My friend Debbie was there moments later, washing dishes with nervous energy, making sure the girls were fed and cleaned up for bed.

"I need to go check on Anna and Mommy," Kevin told them. "Y'all stay here with Debbie, and Mommy will be home when you wake up."

"I'm waiting up," Abbie said. "Tell Anna I'm waiting up."

"Me too," said Adelynn, even though she was already yawning.

Kevin didn't see a need to argue with them, even if he'd had the energy. Before he headed over to the hospital, he made sure they were calmed down and tucked in for the long wait, camped out on the couch with Debbie, and he arrived just in time to be with Anna while she went in for a CT scan. For the first time since this whole thing began, she was crying, not wanting to go into the small, enclosed s.p.a.ce inside the CT scanner.

"Can we stay with her?" I asked. "Maybe if we could be in the room."

With Kevin talking his low, comforting talk and me stroking her leg, she lay still as they rolled her into the tube. When she came out, they transferred her to a gurney bed and unstrapped her head, but one of the ER nurses stayed there, gently holding Anna's head perfectly still until all the radiology reports came back confirming that there was no spinal injury.

It was well after midnight when the ER doc called us back into the little room with the white-on-white wallpaper. The bad-news room. We had our armadillo skins on. We'd just sprung her from the hospital in Boston and were afraid to have her go back to that dark emotional state that gripped her while we were there.

The ER doc told us the one thing we weren't prepared to hear.

"Basically, she's okay," he said. "We did a complete a.s.sessment. Everything's come back normal so far. No fractures, no need for st.i.tches. Sonogram and X-rays showed the spleen and other organs intact and unharmed. Other than a possible concussion and some superficial b.u.mps and bruises, she doesn't appear to have been injured at all."

"But... how is that even possible?" I asked.

"I wish I knew. I've never seen a kid fall from a third-floor height and not sustain at least a couple of broken bones. It wouldn't be surprising to see paralysis, catastrophic brain injury, even death." He opened his hands in a broad gesture. "I guess somebody up there was looking out for her."

Kevin and I exchanged a look of pure astonishment. We might have even laughed a little, I don't exactly recall.

"I hated to put her back in the CT scanner," the doctor told us. "That can feel claustrophobic even if you haven't been trapped inside a tree for three and a half hours. But she did exceptionally well with everything. Seemed very calm and friendly. I would say she even seemed happy. Bright. Alert. And I notice the distention in her abdomen has almost disappeared."

This I already knew. Anna's belly had been severely distended and rigid to the touch when she was brought in. She was still suffering from the acute issues that had landed her in the hospital in Boston a matter of days before, and we were now well past time for her medication, but while the nurses and I gave her a gentle bed bath, washing the mud from her neck and combing the dirt and debris from her hair, her little tummy seemed to be deflating right before our eyes.

They wanted to keep her for observation overnight, particularly because of the concussion. "But I feel cautiously optimistic," the doctor said. "She should be ready to go home in a few days."

He left us to our familiar hospital routine. With Anna conked out sleeping, Kevin and I talked quietly for a little while.

"I feel like we dodged a bullet," he said. "Christy, this could have been a lot worse, and I mean a lot worse. The EMTs were saying how you could see the dirt packed to the top of her head. She hit the ground skull-first. And a hollow tree like that-it's a whole ecosystem. What are the odds that that tree is just sitting there empty? You would expect there to be a racc.o.o.n or skunks or something in the bottom, a beehive halfway up, bats in the crevices, and down at the bottom you'd expect roaches, fire ants, scorpions, at the very least. And I know I've seen snakes out there, poisonous spiders, scorpions-"

"Yes. I get the picture."

"Imagine what would have happened if she'd fallen in there when she was out climbing around by herself. If Abbie and Adelynn hadn't been there. You know, if a kid disappears, people make all the calls and the Amber Alert goes out. The search goes on for a while, and then..." He made a gesture with his hands like something disappearing into thin air. "The very last place anyone would think to look for a kid would be inside a tree. You'd never see that kid again. No one would ever know what happened to her."

"Please." I covered my face with my hands. "Kevin, just-please. Okay? I can't even think about that right now. Everybody keeps saying Jesus was with her, and that's the image I'd rather have in my head right now."

I couldn't bear to think about all the ways this could have been torturous-or fatal-for Anna. I wasn't ready to go there at that moment. Thinking about it later, I comforted myself with the idea that Cypress and the Welcoming Committee would have been with her in the woods. They would have known. They would have communicated it to us like La.s.sie in La.s.sie Come Home. But I've never really been able to follow all those "could have been worse if..." thoughts any more than I could allow myself to follow all the "might have been better if..." thoughts when I looked back on all the pivotal moments and decisions of Anna's treatment. I had to let go of all those roads untaken-the good and the bad possibilities-and trust that G.o.d's hand was on her through all of it.

As I prepared to leave, Kevin settled in for the next shift, sitting on a plastic chair while they waited through the wee hours for a room to be a.s.signed.

I got home at about three in the morning and crept in to check on Abbie and Adelynn before allowing Debbie to hug the stuffing out of me for a few minutes.

"They tried so hard to wait up for you," she told me, blinking sleep from her eyes. "So did I. You must be exhausted, girl."

After she left, I stood in a hot shower, weak with fatigue and from feeling overwhelmed, a litany of thank you thank you thank you bouncing back and forth inside my brain with a giant, inflatable ball of what on Earth just happened?

It felt so strange to see the neat stacks of laundry still on my bed, because it seemed like a hundred years ago that I was standing there sorting everything into the appropriate piles. I shuffled it all aside and lay down, but I didn't sleep. My mind was already chugging through the list of things I would need to do when I got up in two hours. Get clean clothes for Kevin. a.s.semble a bag for Anna with books, music, her favorite hospital activities and IV-accommodating comfort-wear. Start making calls to find host homes for Abbie and Adelynn.

It was New Year's Eve, I realized. People would have plans. That might be a problem on top of how disappointed the girls would be that our own plans were off now and we wouldn't be joining the rest of the family at Nonny's. Even so, I was just as glad to be trading in the calendar and saying good-bye to 2011. Hopefully we'd be trading up.

Chapter Eight.

You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.

Isaiah 55:12 THE ALARM CLOCK JOLTED me from a brief doze. I don't know what I was dreaming about, but there was no time for pondering right then. Poor Kevin was still in the surgical scrubs he'd been wearing when he climbed the tree the night before. He needed to come home so he could get some sleep, and I had his truck because my ride over to the hospital was parked on the rooftop.

Feeling stiff and hungry, I pulled on clothes and padded barefoot down the hall to Adelynn's room. She was completely zonked, oblivious when I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. I went to Abbie's room and sat on the edge of her bed.

"Abbie?" I whispered, stroking her corn-silk hair. "Abigail, wake up and talk to me for a sec."

Her eyes fluttered a little, then opened wide. "Is she okay?"

"She is," I said. "She's okay. Are you okay?"

Abbie nodded.

"The Lord was watching out for her. Watching out for all of us."

"Mommy..."

"I know, sweet girl. I know. But it's all good now, right?"

She nodded again.

"We'll talk later," I said. "Right now, I need to go back to the hospital so Daddy can come home and get some sleep. I just didn't want you to wake up and find me gone. Adelynn's still asleep. Daddy'll be home in two shakes. Will you be all right for an hour or so?"

"Of course," Abbie said, a little indignant. She was going on twelve and had completed Red Cross certification for babysitting that summer. People at church were already asking me when she'd be available to start sitting for them, but I wasn't quite ready to accept that she was growing up so quickly.

"Mom." She heaved a sigh of tweenage long-suffering. "We'll be fine."

"Call me when you wake up. I'll tell Daddy to make pancakes for breakfast."

Abbie rolled her eyes and grumbled, "When you're not here, we don't eat, and he doesn't care."

"Oh, c'mon. That's not true." I bit my lip, realizing that someday we would have to buy this girl a semi-decent car to make up for all this. "Cereal with a banana is healthier for you anyway."

Abbie mumbled something affirmative and snuggled back into her blankets.

"I love you." I kissed her temple and blew a big raspberry against her cheek.

It took me about ten minutes to hastily put together bags with Kevin's change of clothes and everything Anna would need for another hospital stay. In less than an hour, I was striding down the familiar hallway at Cook Children's. When I got to the a.s.signed room, I paused in the hallway outside the door, eavesdropping on Anna telling Kevin with great animation about her helicopter ride.

"... and what made me so mad was that the lady wouldn't let me look at the lights. She kept saying, Don't move your neck, because it might be broken,' and I thought, if I can move my neck, it's not broken, so I was trying to move my eyes to see the lights of the city. It was so pretty! I was so mad I couldn't see! And then we got on the roof, and they cut my shirt. The one that zipped up like a little jacket? With a sparkly b.u.t.terfly on it? And I was like, noooooo! I wear that thing every day."

"They said you were very calm and cooperative," Kevin said. "That's what the firemen said too. They said you were very brave. I'm really proud of you, monkey."

"Well, I figured getting upset would just make the situation worse," Anna said like Kid Cool. Her eyes lit up when she saw me at the door. "Mommy!"

"Hey, you two." I stepped in and hugged them both, bags still in my hands.

"Did you bring her clothes?" Kevin asked. "We're ready to get out of here."

"What?" I said blankly.

"We can be on the road in an hour and make it to Corpus for dinner."

"Kevin... you can't be serious."

I set the bags on the end of the bed where Anna was already bouncing with excitement. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her so bright and full of energy.

"Did they say she was okay to be released?" I asked.

"Not exactly," he said, "but they can't find anything wrong with her. They're keeping her as a precaution. Christy, there's nothing they can do for her here that we can't do for her at home. Or at Nonny's."

I just looked at him, nonplussed. "I don't know what to say."

"Say Happy New Year." He grinned. "She's okay. We're okay. Going to Nonny's like we planned-that's going to be the best thing for her. And for Abbie and Adelynn. I'll get changed and give them a call while you get Anna ready to go. They said they'd be back with the paperwork." Kevin scooped up his duffel bag and gave me a quick kiss. "Trust me. This is best for everyone."

Based on everything I'd seen in Boston and ever since, I had to agree with him. Anna's spirits had plunged when she was admitted to the hospital in Boston, and I could think of nothing more dangerous than letting her slide into that emotional swamp again-especially since she appeared to be perfectly healthy at the moment. (Another b.u.mper sticker jubilation for parents of a chronically ill child: "My kid appears perfectly healthy at the moment!") It was hard to argue with the idea that what our family needed at that moment was a good armful of all-encompa.s.sing Nonny love.

The attending physician had to agree as well and reluctantly signed off on her release. There was simply no apparent reason to keep her, other than the textbook theory that no child could possibly walk away from this with superficial bruises and sc.r.a.pes.

Anna got dressed-refusing any help from me-and she and Kevin goofed around, pretending he was springing her from prison, until the nurse came with the discharge papers.

"We don't really have any care instructions," she said. "You'll want to watch her for any neurological signs. Maybe take it fairly easy today. No tree climbing," she added wryly, tapping Anna on the nose. "Basically, she's the talk of the whole hospital. We're just amazed she's walking away from it like this. That's one Hoss of a guardian angel you got there, kiddo."

An hour later, we were on our way down I-35, heading south toward Temple and Austin. The first hour of the drive is not very picturesque in the winter. Central Texas has its own rough brand of beauty, but you have to look for it. Mostly you're seeing vast stretches of brown gra.s.s and low hills with the occasional tiny town. Abandoned farmhouses and gas stations tell you about better days gone by. Billboards tell you how many miles it is to the next Buc-ee's travel plaza, where they sell Buc-ee's Beaver Nuggets, Loco Cheese and Meat Dip, and desperately needed coffee.

We've made the six-hour drive to Nonny's so many times since she moved to Corpus Christi, the girls have their favorite stops they look forward to. I'm all about the cleanest bathrooms. They're all about the best ice-cream selection. Kevin keeps an eye open for the lowest gas prices. There's usually a pretty festive atmosphere in the truck. We play games and sing along with the radio. This day was different.

Abbie and Adelynn were thrilled that our plan to celebrate the New Year at Nonny's was back on after all, but they were still wiped out from being up so late. Once we were on the road, they huddled into pillows and blankets and crashed out sleeping. I sat in the middle up front, because that's how we roll, Kevin and I, ever since our college days: We sit on the same side of the booth at Denny's, and we cruise down the road like the two-headed driver in the front seat of the pickup truck.

I kept Anna up front with us. She sat by the window, quietly observing the eighteen-wheelers, telephone poles, and occasional tiny towns whizzing by. I rested my hand on her knee and my head on Kevin's shoulder. I didn't want to doze off, knowing how little sleep he had gotten; I just wanted to sit there and listen to the rumbling diesel motor.

"Mommy?" Anna turned her head away from the window and looked up at me.

"Yes, sweet girl?"

"You know... I went to Heaven when I was in that tree."

"Oh?" I lifted my head, not sure how to respond. "Really?"

"Yes." She nodded, her small face very serious. "I sat in Jesus's lap."

Kevin tipped his chin in our direction, but he didn't say anything. I saw in Anna's eyes the conscious decision to confide in us. There was no drama, but she wasn't playing either. She chose her words like crayons from a box, describing some of what she had experienced while inside the tree. How the gates of Heaven are made of gold, how Jesus told her it wasn't time, that she would have to go back and couldn't see "the creatures."

When Jesus told her He would send His guardian angel, Annabel explained, "Then I started to kind of wake up in the tree, and I could hear the firemen's voices from way, way up there, yelling for me to raise my hand. And I saw an angel that looked very small-like a fairy-and it got more and more clear. And then G.o.d winked at me through the body of the angel. And what He was saying to me was, I'm going to leave you now, and everything is going to be okay.' And then the angel became solid again and stayed with me the entire time, shining a light so I could see. We didn't talk. We just sat together like... peacefully."

Anna's tone was relaxed and matter-of-fact. The flat earth of Texas rolled by over her shoulder.

"Oh, and I saw Mimi!" she said happily, as if she'd seen her in church on Sunday. "I almost didn't recognize her, but it was Mimi's face. That caught my attention. The same beautiful face from old pictures but also in my memory. And I saw a little girl in Heaven who looked exactly like you and Abbie mixed together, and I just stared at the girl thinking, I've seen that face before, and finally I asked G.o.d who that little girl was, and He said it was my sister."

Kevin's hand found mine. I meshed my fingers with his and squeezed, but I didn't break away from Anna's frank gaze.

She smiled up at me. I smiled at her. She returned to her quiet observation of the pa.s.sing scenery beyond the pa.s.senger window. Kevin and I looked at each other, and then returned our eyes to the road ahead. Neither of us had word one to say, but Anna didn't seem to be waiting for any kind of response from us. I didn't feel tension in the cab of the pickup truck; I felt the odd combination of peace at the center of me while an electric tingle poured down my spine.

Naturally, there was the urge to feel her forehead for a fever, press her for details, pepper her with questions-or just pull her into my arms and hug her. All of that seemed equally appropriate and inappropriate at the time. The first and foremost concern, of course, was that she was showing us some indication of a head injury, but she'd just been through a full battery of MRIs and CT scans that started with the a.s.sumption that she was hurt-"think zebras" turned upside down. She wasn't seriously hurt, they'd concluded. "Possibly a slight concussion," they said.