Still, the western grid and the states around Washington D.C. remained in blackness.
Mom and I were allowed to go back into our home. Emily stayed with us. It was the beginning of endless days. With no heat in the house, we dressed in layers, Emily wearing my clothes. She was on meds for her pain. Amazing, how fast she recovered. I think pure rage knit her cells back together.
I chose not to go to work the first few days. I was too busy taking care of Mom and Emily. And after that, Dr. Nicholson closed his office until electricity was restored.
Our world narrowed. We fell into survival mode.
One week passed.
I drove to store after store, seeking extra candles and flashlights, but all were sold out. Many of the stores weren’t even open. On my drive, I passed storefronts with broken windows, bent doors. People were running the streets at night, wild in the shroud of darkness, behaving as they never would in the light of day. Shots rang out at night, people killing, looting. Police tried to keep up with the arrests. It was hard for them to know which criminals were part of FreeNow and which were mere opportunists.
Was this what FreeNow had wanted?
Before long my car’s gas tank was near Empty. We had no way of filling it. Stations couldn’t pump gas without electricity.
In our town, strict curfews were set in place. The National Guard was called in. They and police worked overtime to crack down on the rising tide of violence.
A second week staggered by.
Mom, Emily, and I stayed in the house, not even answering the door unless it was for law enforcement. Reporters came, begging to talk to us. We ignored them.
I wondered about Aunt Margie. Was she safe? Staying with neighbors?
During that third week, Emily flicked on every light switch in the house, as well as the TV. Whenever the power did come back on, she wanted to know it.
Mom wandered a lot, confused and fearful. She couldn’t watch TV or dance to Lady Gaga. And no amount of explanation as to why would satisfy her. She’d wake up at night, crying. Emily made a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows on Mom’s floor. She wanted to sleep near her Grand’s side.
The fourth week ground by.
We were rationing our food. Grocery shopping became almost impossible, even if I walked to a store. Businesses couldn’t get their supplies. And credit cards were useless. We ran out of cash. Stores didn’t want to take checks. No way to turn them into cash when computers were down.
In most urgent situations, the Red Cross would be there within days. But the power outage was so widespread, they’d have to move large trucks of supplies through numerous states just to get to California—on one tank of gas. And there were so many other people to help before they ever got to us.
Would they show up at all?
I prayed a lot, trying to deal with the questions. Why this? Why us? One minute I would thank God I’d been able to defend my daughter and mother. The next I’d be begging forgiveness for killing not one, but two people. Even though they were bad men, maybe I could have done something.
Was the world ending? Was this what the book of Revelation talked about? If so, was I ready?
Lord, You know I’m not. Please make me ready.
In the afternoons the three of us took to reading the Bible out loud. Something to comfort us. To remind us of a God who is permanent in this ever-changing, frightening world. One day in a moment of clarity Mom spoke up. “There’s a book we should read.” She gazed at her lap, struggling to remember. “I think it’s Matthew. No, Malachi. No—Micah.”
Micah?
Mom was sure.
At first it seemed a depressing choice, filled with prophecies of death and destruction. Until we came to chapter seven, verses seven and eight.
But I will look to the Lord;
I will wait for the God of my salvation.
My God will hear me.
Do not rejoice over me, my enemy!
Though I have fallen, I will stand up;
though I sit in darkness,
the Lord will be my light.
At the last phrase, Mom gave a sage nod. Emily and I looked up, startled, and locked eyes. Both of us started to cry.
We clung to those two verses in the coming days. Memorized them. In the fifth and sixth weeks Emily and I repeated them to each other. “Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light.”
And I began to sense, as I never had before, God’s arms around me. Yes, what we’d been through—and what we were going through now—was horrible. Awful. But the three of us were alive, by His mercy.
No matter what happened, our God was greater than tragedy.
The Red Cross finally came, bringing their own gas. I walked downtown to fight the lines for food and came home triumphant, lugging two bags of groceries. It felt like Christmas.
The days dragged on. All three of us were losing weight. My mother couldn’t afford to lose any, frail as she was.