Meant to Be (18 page)

I nod without saying anything.

“Want to talk about how you're feeling about your mom now?”

I nod again then clear my throat. “I think my mom is going to die,” I confess for probably the first time ever.

He nods. “We're all going to die, Kim.”

“I know. But I had been trying to believe that my mom was going to beat the cancer, that God was going to heal her, and now I don't think I believe it anymore.”

“How does that make you feel toward God?”

Now I really consider this. And regardless of whether or not I'm talking to a pastor, I want to be honest. “I guess it makes me kind of mad.”

“I can understand that.”

“I mean, my mom is one of the sweetest, kindest,
most humble—” I start crying again.

“And you wonder why God would allow such a saintly woman to die so young?”

I sniff. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“You're not alone, Kim. I think most of us question God's choices at some time in life.”

“Even you?”

“I'm sure you've heard about my brother.”

I blink. “Oh, yeah. I mean, I've heard about Clay and the school shooting. I guess I almost forgot that he was your brother. That must've been painful.”

“It was. Clay was such a cool kid. He'd gone through some hard stuff and then really turned his life around. I don't know if I've ever known anyone with such a heart for God.”

“Yeah, I've heard that.”

“And even though I was a pastor, I had moments when I questioned God, and I got angry too.”

“How did you get over it?”

“Well, I guess it helped when I allowed myself to question God. I mean, at least it kept the communication doors open. But that's when I first began to realize that there's so much that I'll never really understand about God and life and death—and that I'll just have to trust Him for a lot of things until I get to heaven. And I've learned there's great freedom and release in accepting that.”

“Instead of asking why, why, why all the time?”

“It's not that God is intimidated by our why
questions, but I think He wants us to grow up and go to the next step, and that's to say, ‘God, I don't know why, I may never know why, but I still love You, I still trust You.’ You know what I mean?”

“Kind of. But I don't think I'm there yet.”

He sort of laughs. “I don't think any of us really are. I got a flat tire this morning, which made me late to an important meeting, and I felt myself asking why God? in a very impatient way to be perfectly honest.”

“Did you ever figure out why?”

He laughs louder now. “Not really. Oh, I'm sure I could use some more lessons in patience, and I think it was good for that. But sometimes things happen where it's hard to see the reasoning. Like last year's tsunami in Asia. I'm sure all of us were asking why. But it didn't really change anything. And although we heard some miraculous stories, there were still lots and lots of unexplainable tragedies.”

“And I was one of the ones who kept wondering why.”

“You're in good company. But here's what I think, Kim. I think that God can use these tragedies to remind us that our lives here on earth are limited. We can't live in our physical bodies forever. And yet our American culture gets consumed with the here and now sometimes; people spend big bucks trying to stay young and healthy, like they think they're going to be walking around in these earth suits forever. But that's not the case—not for anyone. I think God just wants us to
realize that physical death isn't really the end—it's just the beginning of the second part, the exciting part that will go on for eternity. Do you get that?”

“I guess I do. Or sort of. Maybe the problem is how much I think I'm going to miss her.”

“Of course you will. But that's only because you love her so much, and because she loves you. What if you didn't miss her?”

“That'd be pretty sad.”

“Now, I don't want to make light of this, Kim, because accepting the death of a loved one is probably the hardest thing we ever do. But God can and will get you through it—if you bring it to Him. And if you can't bring it yourself, ask your Christian family to help you. Can you do that?”

“I think so.”

Then we talk about the stages of grief, and he gives me a little book to read and tells me that my dad may need to talk to someone too. “I'm available,” he says.

“He might want someone from where my parents go to church.”

“So they are believers then?”

I nod.

“Well, that answers my last question.”

“My mom's faith is a lot stronger than my dad's, but I know he's a Christian, deep down. Just a quiet one, you know.”

He smiles. “Nothing wrong with that.”

Then I thank him, and he makes me promise to
come back and see him anytime I need to talk, and I promise that I will. And I'm pretty sure that I will. I think Pastor Tony is a very wise pastor, and it makes me feel better knowing that he's lost a close loved one too.

I call Nat after I get home and tell her that I just got done with my first counseling session.

“Did you tell my mom I need counseling?” she demands.

“Sort of. But she asked my opinion, Nat, and I think you do.”

“Thanks a lot.” Long silence. “What else did you tell her?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “I just said I thought you needed to talk to someone.”

“Well, now I'm supposed to go see Marge tomorrow.”

“Hey, if I can do it, you should be able to do it too.”

“Maybe I will. Maybe I won't.” Then she hangs up.

I stand there holding the receiver in disbelief. I don't think Nat's ever hung up on me before.

Then I go to my computer and check to see if I've gotten any e-mail. I've sent out a few posts trying to track down the mysterious Shannon Busche, but so far no leads. To my surprise there is an answer now. And as far as I can tell, it seems to be from Shannon herself. But I should probably check this out a little more before I tell Mom and get her hopes up. It could be someone just pulling my leg or looking for free handouts.

Okay, so far this is only the same information that I sent out in my own e-mail. I need more confirmation than this.

My mom had to go into the hospital last night. She was having trouble breathing, and the ambulance came for her. I've never been so scared in my life. Dad and I followed in his car, and by the time we got to ER, Mom had been stabilized with oxygen. Even so, they wanted to keep her overnight. So Dad and I both stayed overnight as well. We took turns sleeping on the couch in Moms room and the couch out in the “family room,” which is a waiting room with furniture, a TV, a microwave, and stuff to-make the families of patients feel more at home. Yeah, right. But at least the couch wasn't too lumpy.

“Kim,” my mom said early this morning when I went in to check on her. “Isn't it Monday? You should go to school, sweetheart.”

“It's okay, Mom. I'd rather be here with you. Besides,
you know that my grades are up, and it won't hurt to miss a day.”

She smiled. “I know that. But I want you to keep them up. Besides, I'm going to be released later this morning. Why don't you have Dad take you home so you can go to school?”

“Why don't you just take my car.” Dad held out his keys. “I'll call a taxi when your mom gets released.”

There seemed to be no point in arguing, and relieved that Mom was doing better and about to be released, I decided it might be less stressful for them if I just went to school. After a quick shower and change of clothes, I even got there in time for second period. And although I tried to focus on my classes, I felt like I was just going through the paces, like my brain wasn't really engaged.

“You okay?” Matthew asked when he met me, as usual, at my locker before lunch.

So I told him about Mom and the hospital, and despite my resolve to be strong, I started to cry. Matthew put his arms around me and just held me for a couple of minutes. And even though he's not a Christian and unable to pray, it was a comfort.

But later on I saw Natalie, and she must've observed our embrace. “Must be nice to have a guy to hug you,” she said in a bitter tone.

I didn't bother to explain, but I did ask her about the counseling session.

“I didn't go. I'm fine.”

Well, I just didn't have the emotional strength to go
there with her, so I just shrugged and said, “Whatever. It's your life, Nat.”

“That's right. It is.” Then she walked away.

Okay, I don't know why Nat's treating me like this. Its not as if I had anything to do with her and Ben. And the truth is, I don't really care right now. I mean, I love her, but I don't think I can help her. I can barely help myself.

By the time I get home, I'm exhausted but relieved to see both my parents are home. Mom is taking a nap in her bedroom, and Dad is working on his computer.

“Eveiything okay?” I ask him.

He looks up and nods. “Yeah. We have an oxygen tank now. In case she needs it.”

“Oh…” I start to leave.

“Something else, Kim.”

“Yeah?”

“The hospital has signed us up for hospice.”

“Hospice?”

“It's a social service.”

“Huh? What for?”

“For your mom.”

“But what is it?”

“Hospice is for terminal patients.”

I swallow now and just look at my dad. “Meaning?”

Dad's face kind of crumbles now, and he puts his head in his hands and leans forward on his desk. His pain is so obvious, so heavy, so hopeless that it's breaking my heart. I go over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

We both cry for a while, then Dad hands me his big white handkerchief, and I dry my face and hand it back. He manages to find some dry spots on it to wipe his face then sighs. “I think we're going to lose her, Kim.”

“I know, Dad.”

“The doctor doesn't know how much time is left.

I don't say anything.

“That's why they want us to have hospice.”

“But what exactly is it, Dad? What does it mean?”

He hands me a pamphlet. “Trained nurses will come in and help care for your mom. She's been doing real well on her own, but she's so weak now… Even simple things like bathing are difficult for her.”

“I could stay home and help her.”

“I know, honey, but this is better. Your mom would feel terrible if you missed school to—”

“But it's okay—”

“I know you're willing, Kim. But this is better. They'll also provide counselors and whatever it takes to get through this. Your mom wants it too.”

“Well, okay. I mean, I'm fine with that.”

“I know this is hard for you.”

“It's hard for you too, Dad.” Then I remember last week's counseling session and tell him briefly about it.

“That was a smart thing to do, honey.”

“Well, I had to write to Jamie first, to get some advice.”

This makes him smile, then he reaches out and takes my hand and squeezes it. “I thank God for you.”

“Same back at you, Dad.”

“I have to finish up this paperwork now,” he says apologetically.

“No problem. I'm going to take a nap anyway”

But instead of taking a nap I go online to check my e-mail. To my pleased surprise, I have a response from Shannon again, and she answers all my questions perfectly then asks what's wrong with my mom.

The hospice nurses are really nice, and I can see why my parents agreed to sign up for this service. And in some ways, things are feeling more hopeful at our house. Mom even seems to have more energy, but I suspect this is because she has a lot more help getting. things done.

I probably didn't realize how much she still did to keep our household going. I mean, I know that I'm helping out a lot, but because of hospice we will also have a housekeeper coming in once a week now. Even so, I don't feel good about being gone from the house for long, and even when I'm in class, I keep my cell phone on, just to vibration mode and in my pocket, but I want to make sure that Dad can reach me if anything changes.

“Don't worry, honey,” he assured me last night. “I think things are settling down. Having this help is making a difference in your mom's health. You don't need to be on needles and pins all the time.”

“Maybe not. But I want to stick around. I was even thinking about canceling out on the prom—”

“No, Kim. Don't even think about that. It would hurt your mom so much to have you miss the prom. She's so excited about it and the dress and everything. You can't even consider canceling.”

And so I promised I wouldn't and also that I wouldn't mention the idea to Mom since Dad was convinced it would trouble her. Even so, I will be taking my cell, and I'll ask Matthew to keep it in his pocket for me.

Then tonight when I'm checking e-mail, I see that Shannon has responded to my last post, and I can hardly read it fast enough. First she apologizes for not writing sooner, and then says she wants to talk to Mom and gives me her phone number. So I decide to call her.