Audley Writes

It was October 4, 1960. It was the morning when Norma would give birth, by Cesarean Section, to our first child. It was a typical Jamaican autumn morning for most of the people around me, but for me it was more than that. It was special beyond words.

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I sat on the long, narrow veranda of the maternity ward of the Natal Hospital in Cross Roads, St. Andrew, just north of Kingston, Jamaica. In front of me, facing north, were the hospital gardens. The June rose bushes (crepe myrtles) stood high and flowerless, as though remembering the better days of spring and summer. A sprawling Poinciana tree kept vigil over the overgrown lawn along with weeds that seemed to have taken over. The clear, blue sky was dotted with soft, floating clouds.

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All was so serene, so peaceful, so full of innocent anticipation. Behind me was the open door to room number five. I looked in and saw all of Norma’s belongings, just as they were the night before, when I left Norma 12 hours earlier. There was her Bible and our ever-present Scrabble set, on which we played before I left for that long, lonely night at home.

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For a few brief moments, I reflected on the events of the night before. I remembered how, as I was leaving to go home, she beckoned for me to come back and kiss her one more time. She reminded me that she had thoroughly beaten me in the Scrabble game we played that night. Then, with tears in my eyes, and hers, I said goodnight and promised to be there bright and early the next morning to see our newborn baby.

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It was now just a few minutes past 9 am and Norma had been gone from Room Number 5 for the Cesarean Section surgery for about one hour. I remembered how she assured me that the surgery would take about twenty minutes and I began to wonder. I looked again into the room, as if to reassure myself that everything was alright.

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In those days, there were no sonar pictures to tell the gender of the baby, so we would have to wait for our surprise. The time had come. I was there, awaiting the good news, but the anticipated time for the surgery to have been completed had passed. Norma had not returned to Room Number 5.

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A sullen, anxious feeling swept over me. A frightening thought came into my mind…what if, I thought. What if Norma never comes back to Room Number 5? Ever so quickly, I dismissed the frightening thought that anything may have gone wrong or may go wrong. Everything is alright, I tried to tell myself. Norma will soon be back with our little bundle of life. But time was ticking away. The time Norma had estimated for the whole procedure to transpire had come and passed.

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I began thinking of Norma’s reassuring words to me that it would take about 20 minutes plus prep and post-op, to have been completed. She should know, I thought. She was an operating room nurse and had witnessed and taken part in these types of operations. The frightening thought of her not coming back to Room Number 5 began to haunt me. I just could not shake it. I sprang to my feet. I had to know something right then, I thought.

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I walked nervously and quickly to the office of the hospital’s head nurse, Sister Sarah. I did my best to appear calm and controlled, but I was rattling on the inside as I approached her. “

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Aren’t things taking a rather long time, Sister?” I asked. “Well,” she responded, “news has come that the baby is born, Mr. McLean, but sometimes it does take a little while to complete the suturing. I’ll go see how things are coming. You just wait here.” I waited. It seemed like hours had passed, although I knew it could have been only several minutes. Then Sister Sarah returned.

“I think things aren’t going too well, Mr. McLean, and Dr. Parbosingh wants to talk with you.”

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I instantly left and headed toward the operating room. I walked anxiously and quickly out the door and began across the yard of the property, toward the operating room. There, from that building, my eyes fell on Dr. Parbosingh, in full surgical dress, blood spattered on his white apron, and my heart sank. As we met outside the building, I saw immediately the countenance of a frightened man. He began to speak. “The operation was successful, then when we were sewing her up, your wife stopped breathing, but we are still trying.” Somehow, by the grace of God, I managed to remain on my feet, and then I asked him, “How long has it been since she stopped breathing?” He replied, “About a half an hour.”

“Then you mean she is dead, don’t you?”

“Well, we are still trying,” he replied.

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It was hopeless now. He knew that, I knew that. Norma would never return to Room Number 5. I tried to be brave. I asked if I might see her body. My heart was pounding, and my chest was about to burst. The nurses tried to stop me from entering the operating room, but there was no force strong enough to hinder me. I walked across the room into the operating room, to the still

frame of the great and beautiful woman I loved. Before I could get close enough to kiss those lovely lips which I had kissed the night before, and those lips which just over twelve hours earlier had formed the words, “Remember, Audley, whatever happens, I love you,” something within me gave out and my pent-up emotions exploded into a Niagara of tears and uncontrolled sobs. I did not make it to the operating table where the lifeless body of my darling Norma lay.

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The nurses led me back outside the room where, for several minutes, I just sat as I wept and thought. Thoughts rushed through my mind like a freight train racing through. Reality was sinking in. She was really gone. I must be honest. My first thoughts were not that Norma was now with her Lord, whom she loved and whom she faithfully served. I only knew my Norma was not here. She would not be going home with me. She would not be bringing home our baby. The bedroom suite we had designed that had the best custom furniture we could find would not be home to Norma and our baby.

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In those moments, all I knew was that the baby was alive. I had not even heard whether I had a girl or a boy. I learned later it was the darling girl whom Norma and I had decided would be named Ruth Constance, having the same middle name as her mother. If we had a boy, he would have been named Timothy Audley. I had not yet been able to see baby Ruth, who was in an incubator.

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My anxiety and pain with focusing on the loss of Norma bore in on my consciousness, but in the midst of that pain, I was introduced to Dr. Henry Shaw, whom I was told was the best surgeon for our four-hour-old baby’s now critical need, requiring life-saving surgery. Although she was over full term, Ruth weighed just over four pounds. That was the first of what turned out to be

several surgical procedures over the next several years. Ruth not only survived, but she is a healthy adult with a grown daughter of her own. Thanks be to God.

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Norma Constance Wilmot was born on March 8, 1933. At the age of thirteen, she trusted God for salvation in Jesus Christ and became a true disciple of Christ. She followed Him forever after. On July 6, 1957, a year after she graduated from the School of Nursing at the University of the West Indies, we were married.

 

On October 4, 1960, she brought our darling daughter, Ruth Constance, into the world, and she moved to the home she frequently spoke about, sang about, and wrote about. For 39 wonderful months, I lived with and loved this extraordinary human being. Norma had learned to live with eternity’s values in view. She taught me how to sense the reality of heaven. She had often prophesied that she would make the journey before I would. She has.

 

I later tried to focus on the first feeling I had, and I admit that in addition to grief, there was a sense of anger as well. Over 60 years later, I’m still not able to tell you exactly what it felt like. All I can tell you is that I had a deep, hollow, hurting feeling. I felt I had been robbed. But that was not the whole story, nor was it the true picture. The real story was that the Lord of heaven and earth had seen fit to take His Norma home to be with Him. That notwithstanding, I still asked the unanswerable question, “Why, Lord?”

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On reflection of my time with Norma, I want to share with you what I know she wanted most to do on earth. She wanted to be a mother. She had so much to offer. She was a registered nurse, but her passion was to write, and she did. But Norma didn’t want to write just anything. She wrote about things that would touch the lives of young people for Christ. In a very real sense, her life was a book, written in the hearts and minds of those who knew her.

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Norma turned our living room into the headquarters for printing the monthly magazine of the Galilee Young People’s Group. She corralled the young men of our church to come over to crank the handle of the old Gestetner copy machine and staple the pages together, punctuated by breaks to enjoy her homemade cookies and tea, until all 60 copies were done. That sometimes lasted into the wee hours of the morning.

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The inspiration she left behind must be passed on. That is why, on this 63rd anniversary of her home call, I am sharing this story. Perhaps just one person reading this will hear the Master’s call. You may be that one person. May God help you to surrender your life to Christ, receive His everlasting life, and begin to share the good news.

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“Now, unto broader fields of holy vision; unto loftier heights of faith and love. Onward, upward, apprehending wholly, all for which He calls you from above.” 

Audley F. McLean

October 4, 2023