Ellen Rogers - Kasey to the Rescue: The Remarkable Story of a Monkey and a Miracle

Chapter 1
You Cant Get There from Here

T HEY SAY MOTHERHOOD AND SURVIVAL ARE THE ONLY PRIMAL instincts all animals share. It was a combination of the two that sent me careening down the Mass Turnpike that night. I was headed for the airport and didnt slow down as I groped to answer my cell.

Megan?

Mom, I got you on a flight to Dallas.

Theres nothing nonstop to Arizona?

You cant get there from here, Megan said. Dallas is your only option. Youve got about forty minutes to get to the gate, forty-five minutes to make the connecting flight to Tucson. Youll be there before midnight.

Yes, I breathed, steering into the parking garage. Thank God for my go-to girl. Youre a magician, Megan. Thank you.

I hit the concourse running full out, my wheeled bag clattering behind me, and charged down the jetway, pushing my fist against the searing stitch in my side. As I hoisted my bag into the overhead, I tried to remember what Id thrown into it before dashing out the door. Didnt matter. All that mattered was making the flight.

Getting to Arizona.

Getting to Ned.

I slumped into my seat, instructing myself to breathe.

Oh, God . How can this be happening?

I powered down my cell and tried to organize the flowchart in my head. I was used to being the one with all the answers. I liked being the one with all the answers. Id bounded through Bostons Logan International a thousand times beforeplaces to go, people to seeso many business trips, each one extremely important.

Its imperative that I be there, Id say. I absolutely have to make this flight.

I guess life has a way of rewriting our personal dictionaries.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain. Looks like theres some traffic control issues down in Dallas. Well pull back from the gate and wait for the go-ahead.

Oh... no...

We thank you for your patience. Shouldnt be delayed more than an hour or so.

No.

I shut my eyes and worked to maintain the same mask of composure Id tried to hold up for my daughter Maddie just ninety minutes earlier. She was with me when I got the call.

Are you Edward Sullivans mother?

There was something about the way she said it.

Yes, ImIm Ellen. Im Neds mother.

I could tell our world was about to fall apart.

Your sons been in an accident.

Critical condition. Extensive injuries. Significant blood loss. Emergency surgery. Come immediately. Hearing only my side of the conversation, Maddie had glanced up, her expression melting from curiosity to alarm. She covered her mouth with her hand, gasping strangled sobs, but I could only hold her in my arms for a moment, because then I was in motion, doing what had to be done.

Miss? Miss? I flagged the attention of a passing flight attendant.

Yes, maam. Her pleasant smile faded to concern. Are you all right?

No. No, Im not. I cant be here for an hour. I have forty-five minutes to connect in Dallas. I have to be in Tucson. Now. Tonight. My sonhes a student at the university in Tucson. Hes been in a terrible car accident. They said he... The words were unspeakable, unthinkable, but I forced them out. He might not make it through the night. Please. If I dont get there...

The flight attendant nodded and squeezed my arm. Ill be right back.

She left me strapped to my seat, fighting to swallow my panic.

I rested my head against the cool window, twisting the rings on my right hand: one for Megan, one for Ned, one their father gave me on our first anniversary. I sat up and scanned the aisle for the flight attendant, twisting the rings on my left hand: a signet ring my father gave me on my fifteenth birthday, a warm gold band from my grandparents wedding in 1896. Its a nervous habit I have, twisting those rings, turning them around and around. It makes me feel connected to my life and the people I love. But now I looked down at those rings and realized my hands were shaking.

Maam? The flight attendant was back. The captain asked me to give you this.

She handed me a sheet of paper torn from the flight log.

Air traffic control will give us special clearance into Dallas/Fort Worth and hold your connecting flight to Tucson. I am a man of great faith and want you to know the entire crew is praying for your son. The Lord will make a way.

That note has never left me.

When we landed in Dallas, the pilot was waiting at the door to personally escort me to the connecting flight. I still get a lump in my throat every time I think of his kindness and the solid arm he offered as I matched his long stride through the airport.

Thank God for the good guys.

I made the second leg of the flight and hurried to my seat so Id have a moment to check in with Megan.

I just have a second, I told her. Is everybody okay?

Maddie and I got Anna from her track meet, she said. There were like a million people there, but we found her.

Thank God for big sisters.

Did you tell her? I asked. Is she all right?

Shes... Were all upset. But weve got things covered here. You have to hurry, Mom. You have to get there and make him be okay. Please, Mom, make him be okay.

Her voice was choked with fear and sorrow, but Im the type whos not easily undone. I stuck to the stoic Presbyterian script: Well get through this, Megan. Itll be okay. I called Paula, and shes driving down from Phoenix so hes...

So hes not alone, Id started to say. But I knew better. Ned was utterly alone right now. This man who would forever be my little boy was adrift in the dark, separated from me by mountains, deserts, and two insanely tight flights. Thank God for Paula, the kind of friend who jumps in the car and drives 120 miles on a moments notice. Shes the type whos good in a crisis. So am I.

I CONSIDER MYSELF something of a tragedy snob.

Having lived through some pretty terrible losses, Im not easily undone. When I was twenty-four, I got married in a hospital sunroom down the hall from the surgical ward where my father fought for a few last months of life. My husband, Ted Sullivan, was diagnosed with cancer when our daughter Megan was just two and a half and I was eight-and-a-half months pregnant with Ned. Ted spent the next two years in radiation bays and infusion wards, our little family soldiering side-by-side through his experimental chemo, a grueling operation, and the long, sad hospice days before his death. When Megan was four and Ned eighteen months old, their father, my husband, was gone.

A second marriage brought two beautiful stepdaughters, Kerry and Mindy, plus my three youngest: Jake, Maddie, and Anna Kokos. But our blended family unraveled after Mindy died of melanoma at age twenty-three. That world-rocking loss was followed by a bitter divorce. My kids and I had only recently regained our footing.

Whenever I am away from home, my last waking thoughts are always a quiet inventory of my children. As the flight was cleared for takeoff, I closed my eyes and purposefully gathered them into my heart one by one:

Megan, whip-smart and beautiful at twenty-five, had recently married a true blue cop named Ron Holsinger.

Ned, twenty-two, had the boundless energy and blue-eyed charm of his father.

Jake, my gentle giant, was eighteen and about to graduate from high school.

Thirteen-year-old Maddie blossomed with creativity and unfurling fashion savvy.

And last, but not in any way least, was ferociously loyal Anna, twelve years old and completely able to hold her own in the high-velocity environment that was our home.

Id managed to get myself and the kids (plus two puppies with myriad issues of their own) re-situated in a new house, juggling everyones activities with the travels and daily operation of my own marketing consulting firm, a new endeavor Id started after nearly thirty years in corporate high tech. A miracle of modern love and high-flying trapeze act of daily logistics, the Rogers-Sullivan-Kokos-Holsinger family was doing all right. Wed seen tough times before and gotten through them.