His Presence
I sat by the hospital bed with my mother’s hand clutched in mine. I was afraid to let go as she slipped in and out of consciousness. She was too young to be lying here, terminally ill and trapped inside a small private room. My mother was strong, this I knew. She was always doing the things she loved to do, working hard but loving it all the while. Why was this happening to her? Why was it happening to me? Her frail and sickly figure did not match the Mom I’d known for all my life. Where had her will gone? She was a fighter, but recently she had given up. I stared at her face, waiting for the next time she woke up so I could see what remained of the light that sparkled in her honey brown eyes. The flare was gone in them, but an ember still remained, glowing dimly.
My dad was late. He always was. Was work more important than seeing mom? I only went to school because I had to. He wouldn’t let me skip it, not even to be with her. I felt bitter tears coming to my eyes. Forcefully I pushed them back. I couldn’t cry now; what if mom woke up? She didn’t need any more concerns than she had already.
I looked up as the head doctor pushed open the door gently and nodded at me. His words were soft but they stung, “Visiting hours are over in 5 minutes, Monica.”
His warning made me angry. I felt like screaming at him to go away so I could sit here for as long as I wanted with my mother; remembering all the times when she was well. I didn’t trust myself to speak so I gave one terse nod. He left with a swish of his white coat and the quiet click of the door closing. I looked longingly at my sick mom. Why her?
“I have to go now… But I’ll be back tomorrow, mommy. Please get better… I love you.” I whispered, rubbing her hand very carefully. I was afraid she might break if I wasn’t gentle.
Standing I moved the plush chair I sat in everyday back to its corner and slipped out of the room. The threat of tears nearly overwhelmed me as I left the hospital building. My mom was dieing of cancer and there was nothing the doctors could do about it. Her days were numbered; she’d already outlived the days that were estimated to be left of her lifespan. I woke up every morning and dragged myself through my high school courses with a sense of dread. One day I’d walk into the hospital after school and she’d be gone. I knew this was true, but I never gave up believing she’d suddenly get better.
With my head bent and my long black hair around my face I boarded the bus that would take me home. Every evening the bus driver eyed me worriedly as I took my seat, sliding my book bag to fill the space next to me so no one would try and sit with me. Staring out the window I watched as buildings, signs, trees, and people zoomed by. Nothing registered in my mind at this time. The ride home from the hospital was always a blur. No thought penetrated my few precious moments of solitude. I became a shell during these rides home. I never had to pay attention; the driver dropped me right in front of my house on his way to the next stop.
“Monica.” His voice disturbed my serene place, somewhere far from this world, and I looked up. He smiled weakly in the mirror at me. I didn’t smile back as I gathered my book bag and made my way down the aisle.
“Thanks.” I mumbled sincerely but in a hollow and distant way. He never expected anything more than a simple thanks. The driver didn’t even expect that much.
By the time my dad was home I had fixed a bleak meal of spaghetti. I tried to always have some sort of dinner ready for him when he came home. Someone had to establish a sense of normality around here. But I wasn’t mom, I couldn’t cook like her. It was too bitter a time to put my love into the dinner I made, like she would have. Tonight’s pasta hardly escaped my salty tears as I prepared it.
Even though I forgot to put the brown sugar in the meat sauce, my dad’s favorite ingredient in spaghetti sauce, he still complimented on it. I poked idly at the food but for sanity’s sake I managed to eat most of it. Together we cleared the dishes and saved the leftovers.
After I said goodnight to my dad I hurried upstairs to be alone. Putting on my headphones I let music blare as I did my homework. I put a lot of time and effort into my school work. I focused on it entirely, blocking out everything except for the beats in my head and the task at hand. It had never been like this before. I would have sped through my homework so fast so I could watch TV downstairs, go out to eat somewhere with my parents, or meet up with my friends. It was different now… if I wasn’t at the hospital I was doing homework. And if I wasn’t doing homework I was sleeping.
My friends still tried to talk to me at school. They stopped dropping by my house weeks ago, though. For awhile I’d put effort into acting happy, pretending nothing was wrong. I couldn’t do it anymore. I was slowly pushing my friends away and locking them out of my pitiful life.
With a sigh I closed my notebook and got ready for bed. I took a shower, as I did every night in my unwavering routine. When I set my alarm I knew getting up the next morning would be just another challenge for me.
———————–
I wanted disorder, I wanted change, and I wanted to do something on edge. Today I sat at the very back of the bus instead of the front on my way home from the hospital. I always sat in the same seat, it had become habit. But I walked briskly past my normal seat and went straight to the back. The bus driver even seemed surprised. Like always though I sat my book bag next to me and turned to gaze unseeingly out the window. As the bus lurched forward I let myself get lost.
Feeling someone sit next to me got my attention rather quickly. I looked up and stared in surprise at a young man that had moved my book bag to the floor and taken seat next to me. Swiftly my eyes scanned the bus. There were various seats open, so what was his problem? I gave him a venomous look that nearly screamed I didn’t want him there and then I promptly turned back to the flashing scene outside my window.
“I see you get on the bus everyday looking like the world is going to end tomorrow.” He said in a chillingly soft tone, looking down the aisle nonchalantly.
I ignored him. What did he care? We both rode the bus, what was his point? I didn’t even so much as look at him. If I ignored him, he might go away or sit silently. My theory died within seconds of thinking it.
“But so far the world hasn’t ended. So what’s wrong?” The stranger asked, glancing at me with deep brown eyes that were serene pools of understanding and caring. I was too distracted to really notice his gaze.
I slowly turned my head to look in his general direction. “Nothing is wrong.” I practically wanted to yell just exactly what was wrong. My mom was dieing, my dad was working unfair shifts at work, and I could hardly feel anything but my own sorrow anymore. But I didn’t want to wind up in a loony bin so I carefully picked those three words.
“Be anxious for nothing.” The young man said coolly, seemingly unconvinced by my pathetic reassurance.
For the first time I really looked at him. I was puzzled by his pointlessly cryptic way of making me feel better. At least I thought he was trying to make me feel better. He was doing a lousy job of it. Looking at him closely though, I noticed his face had a healthy glow to it, his complexion a tone of olive, and his thick brown hair framed his face delicately. It was apparent he was older than I by at least a few years; perhaps in his early twenties? No matter, I shrugged at his comment and bit back a sharp request for him to go away.
“It’ll be okay, Monica.” The words were so gentle, so carefully spoken, and yet they provoked a rage inside of me.
“Yeah, well, what do you know?” I hardly registered he’d used my name but by the time I realized it he was already talking in that same tone.
“I know that you are not alone.” With that said he stood up and picked my book bag up off the floor. He handed it to me right as the bus came to a smooth stop.
The bus driver looked in his mirror at me, “Monica, your stop.”
I took my book bag and slung it over my shoulder, edging past the stranger and leaving with a slight nod towards the driver. He smiled at me.
That night I made dinner with a lot more on my mind than usual. My mom had been awake when I had come in after school. For the first time in a long while we had an extended conversation before she drifted off. The entire time we spoke she didn’t sound at all worried. I wanted to ask how she seemed so calm. She knew she was dieing.
“Be happy, honey. You’ll get through this.” She had told me that night. Why did she have to be so brave all the time? Why couldn’t I be more like her? I felt like I didn’t have enough time with her anymore.
The next day when I got off the bus at the hospital I went up to her room. The doctor and his nurse were scurrying about quickly. I rushed to the door but a nurse just directed me to a seat outside the room while they stabilized her. Days like these made me want to break down. My heart was in my throat and my stomach twisted as I waited for the doctor to get everything under control. I knew Calvin was a great doctor, even if he couldn’t cure my mother… and even if he kicked me out when visiting hours were over. But every time I showed up for a visit when my mother wasn’t doing well I felt she might die before I could see her again.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of agony Dr. Calvin came down the hall as the nurses left with cleaning supplies in hand. He stopped at my chair.
“Okay, Moni… you can visit her for awhile but she’s not feeling very well.” There was a strain in his voice. I wondered in that moment what it was like for a good doctor to lose a patient. My eyes stung. “If she gets sick buzz for a nurse.” He told me, for the millionth time since my mom was admitted to the hospital.
I nodded, taking note that he only used my nickname when the situation was serious.
My mom was asleep when I walked into the room so I pulled up my chair and sat by her bed. I waited with more patience than a teenager should have. When she finally opened her eyes and saw me my smile was broad.
“Hello honey. I’m sorry…” She trailed off, her voice weak.
I nodded and swallowed hard. She had no reason to be apologetic. “S’okay.” I mumbled and patted her hand.
We talked for awhile and occasionally I got a meek laugh out of her. Sometimes it was silent between us, but it was a welcomed silence that made the hospital room feel peaceful. Only the sounds of the machines disturbed the quiet.
Finally I brought up the question I had kept turning over in my mind. “Mom, why are you giving up fighting?” My voice trembled, “How can you be so calm about this?”
Her smile caught me off guard. I watched as she thought of the best way to put her words together so that she used as little energy as possible. “Because I know everything will be alright. I’m not afraid of it anymore.”
I was shocked. My mom had been afraid of dieing? Of cancer? She had hidden it so well, I’d never known. And yet… why wouldn’t she be? I’d be terrified if I were dieing. I was horrified that she was dieing. What had changed that made her so calm? I frowned slightly and she brushed her delicate hand against my face.
“It will be okay Monica.” She told me with a soft expression that made me want to break down crying. I couldn’t cry in front of her. I just wished she would keep fighting to stay alive. I wished she wouldn’t accept that she was dieing. But most of all I wished that I wasn’t accepting the truth either.
“You don’t need to be afraid.” My mom continued and lowered her hand back to the bed.
I didn’t know what to say. I was afraid. I was angry and sad. How could it be okay? But I didn’t get a chance to say anything, the door opened and Calvin poked his head in.
“Visiting hours are over.” He informed us lightly. I had an overwhelming desire to shove an operating knife down his throat at that moment. Instead I stood and kissed my mom goodnight, told her that I loved her. Calvin led me out.
Climbing the steps onto the bus I paid my fair and sat in my usual seat. My throat was too tight to reply to the driver’s polite greeting. I felt my rebellion to sit in the back of the bus was gone as I slid my book bag into its proper place.
It wasn’t until a few minutes into the routinely ride that I noticed he was sitting next to me again. I glanced over at him in annoyance and he took the acknowledgement of his presence as a good time to start a conversation. It went much like this:
“How was your day?”
“Horrible.” I snapped.
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Something happen?”
I drew in a deep breath and stared at the seat in front of me. “Nothing new. Now go away, please” I told him curtly.
“If you never tell anyone you’ll never feel better. We all need help.” His voice was calm. It annoyed me.
“Even if I told the whole damn world my problems wouldn’t get any better.” My tone was contrastingly angry.
His comeback was swift, “So you admit something is wrong?”
“Everything is wrong!” I said loudly, getting a few unnecessary looks from other passengers.
He smiled and I wanted to slap the expression right off his face.
“Not everything.” The way he spoke so softly made my irritation ebb.
Tentatively, wondering why he felt he knew everything, I asked: “What is right, than?”
“You’re alive.” It was simple, it was true.
“I soon be dieing than losing what I love most.” I replied spitefully, the familiar anger flaring again.
The stranger did not seem surprised by this twist in the conversation. He only appeared thoughtful. It annoyed me how calm he was; it was as bad as my mother.
Slowly and sympathetically, “There is a reason for everything.” The man told me, examining my face with those unbearably intense eyes.
I ignored the depth of his statement, “Don’t give me that bullshit. There’s no reason my mom should be dieing!” I was on the verge of screaming at him when the bus came to an abrupt stop and the driver opened the doors.
“Mon–” The driver started, but I was already standing.
The irritating stranger next to me scrambled to get out of my way. As I passed he grabbed my wrist. It sent a light fluttering sensation through my veins. “Hey… there’s light even in the darkness.” He whispered to me in an attempt to be comforting.
With a scowl I departed, the bus driver did not smile at me as I left. He looked sad, pulling away from the house to continue his route.
——————- – - – —–
“I pray everyday, Lord, that You won’t let her go.” He said quietly as he knelt by the bed. His wife slept on the opposite side, oblivious to his personal prayer. “She is losing a battle inside; I can see it every time she gets on my bus. Help her Lord, I know only You can. She cannot make it alone. Why are You testing her so? This trial might only break her…” He bowed his head lower, his tired eyes shut.
———————-
The morning was bright and cheerful. I had true hope for the first time in a long time. Maybe it was because the sky was a splendid blue with no clouds to mottle its perfect surface. Riding the bus to the hospital I gazed at the sky and managed to pay attention to what was happening around me. I was vaguely aware of a mother and her son in the seat behind mine, playing little games to pass the time. The bus driver seemed to be in an exceptionally happy mood. A gray haired man on his way to work read the weekly newspaper. It was Saturday, I didn’t have to face school and I could spend more time with my mother. I was looking forward to it. As my attention returned to the window I smiled, two birds flew freely against the pale blue sky. It looked as if they were playing tag. I wanted to be free like that.
Tapping my foot impatiently I waited in the corridor. I’d already paced the entire length of the hall a million times and I’d seen the same nurses rush back and forth from room to room, wheeling patients around, and going about their tasks. Dr. Calvin had instructed I wait out here. That was hours ago and I still hadn’t been let in to see my mother. Every so often a nurse would come out and explain to me that she wasn’t doing well. My mom was still alive though. She was a fighter, whether she accepted death or not, she would fight. But sitting there doing nothing but tapping out a frantic beat was fraying my nerves raw.
I sighed when Calvin finally came out, looking tired and older than usual. “You can go in. But your mom needs rest, so don’t stay long.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. These waits to see my mother were becoming more and more frequent.
Sitting by her bed I watched as she slept. She was gaunt. I’d gotten used to her thin frame and sickly skin. Exercise and sunlight were all she needed, but she rarely got them. Contended I sat by her bedside, sometimes talking idly about my day. I always talked to her while she slept. It was much like having a family member in a coma. You hoped they would hear you talking and be able to process it. The family members of the patient never gave up hope that their voice would wake them up. Even though my mom was just sleeping I still had a brief conversation.
After running out of topics I sat quietly, examining the room that had become my mother’s second home. I remembered all the good times… The day’s when I was younger when I’d come home from school and smell something baking for dessert. Now the house smelt of cigarette smoke when I came home. My dad had started smoking when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. At least he hadn’t started drinking. But now that mom was in the hospital no one made him smoke outside or by a window. I didn’t mind the smoky smell. I just wanted to come home and see my mom sitting at the table again, working at a puzzle, minding the cooking, and kidding around with my dad.
I wondered how much longer I had today before Calvin would kick me out. The thought was cast aside as I heard a long drawn out beeeeeeeep. It hurt my ears. I looked up and watched a flat red line scroll across the hospital monitor on the other side of my mother’s bed. Its quiet blips had turned into a horrific sound within the blink of the eye. I hit the button on my mom’s bed, hammering on it multiple times in a state of panic. “Nurse!” I called out as the door flung open to the room and a nurse brushed me aside to work with my mother. He was a good doctor’s aid, always making her comfortable and feeling at home.
My emotions were fighting for domination. There was anger, panic, sorrow, the want to cry, and despair. It was only a few seconds later that Dr. Calvin came in and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me out of the room. “What’s happening?!” Someone screamed hoarsely. It had been me. I didn’t realize that I was kicking and clawing at Calvin to get back to my mom until we were out of the room. It was swarming with nurses and doctors trying to bring her back to life.
The realization stunned me. I knew what was happening; it just refused to fully register. That flat line and hideous beep meant my mother’s heart had stopped. A heart stopped meant death. I felt empty inside. There was still hope though. Professionals were in that room doing everything they could to resuscitate my mom. Many of them had saved lives before. Dr. Calvin was renowned for bringing back the dead.
“Jenna! Take her somewhere else. Send an aid to call her father.” Calvin ordered, transferring me to the nurse Jenna. She led me quickly to an empty room. It was crisp and clean, but desolate.
Jenna brought me to the neatly made bed that once belonged to a patient. “Please stay here, hun. Someone will be right in to watch you. We’re going to call your father.” She said gently, but I could tell she was in a rush. This was a cancer expert that might be able to help my mom. So I nodded solemnly and she briskly left.
An onslaught of tears hit me the second I was alone. I slipped off the bed and curled up in the far corner, burying my face in my knees as I hugged them close to my chest. Black hair cascaded around my shoulders as I trembled from the sobs. I don’t know how long I sat there, but I would have cried forever if no one had come to console me.
I didn’t hear the door open, but when I looked up out of instinct I saw the last person on Earth I wanted to. It was that annoying boy from the bus. His face was soft but somber. I was ready to tell him to go away through my bursts of tears when he came over and sat by me. His arms came around me in a warm and protective veil. Why was he here? It didn’t matter at the moment. I cried into his shoulder like a little kid and I could feel his empathy without him having to say a single word.
“Why is she being taken away from me?” I asked in anguish. I knew he couldn’t answer that, but I had to ask. She didn’t deserve to die.
“Shh.” He cooed, “No one is taking her away from you, Monica.” His voice calmed me but I didn’t understand. Her heart had just stopped. I knew no one willed her death to happen, but she was leaving me nonetheless.
“This is a part of life. Everyone lives and everyone dies when their time has come.” The young man continued, putting his hand under my chin to lift my face. His eyes were an abyss of understanding and caring. But there was no pain or sorrow there. “Everyday that she fought her cancer she endured another 24 hours of pain and the inability to do anything she loved. Her hurt… it has ended on this day.”
I shook my head. He was wrong; I knew she hadn’t given up. My mom wouldn’t just give in and die. She’d have fought until she couldn’t anymore. I shut my eyes and wondered if she just couldn’t fight any longer.
“Monica, she wasn’t afraid to die. She held on for you and tried to wait until you were ready to let go.” His explanation hurt.
My eyes flickered open and I stared at him, searching his eyes. I wanted to push him away but couldn’t move. “How do you know?” I asked contemptuously.
“I know all. I know that Cecilia will not suffer any longer. I know that you can be free now. There is light, even in the darkness, Moni. Her death will allow her to live once more, without the burden of cancer she had been carrying. You will see her again, new and full of life, when the time is right.” I got lost in his voice.
The melody of his words was almost tangible as I tried to imagine what he told me. I tried to picture my mother healthy again and doing the things she loved in a place made of clouds. I knew Heaven wasn’t really made of clouds, at least I thought it wasn’t, but it added to the mental picture. It surprised me, how hard it was to even fully remember her as a woman of great health, free of the disease that twisted her beauty. I frowned.
His eyes… I stared into His eyes and felt the compassion, the infinite love I had been so blind to before. I couldn’t decide who He was. An angel perhaps, with a pretty face? He knew more than I could have imagined. He knew my mom’s name, and that her heart had just stopped, that cancer had killed her, and He spoke so knowingly of her fate. He was young but the wisdom I saw in His face was as old as time itself. The way He held me in a protective embrace made me feel safer than I had ever felt.
“You are afraid she’ll be gone forever, that you will be alone. But she will always be here,” He put his hand to my heart, “And she will always watch after you.”
I shuddered from a second wave of tears and sobs. “Why… why couldn’t she have been healed?” I managed to ask, feeling a rush of sadness wash over me.
“She has been, in a way no doctor could.” He told me gently, patiently. “There is reason for everything. Cancer was a battle she sought to win. And even though she has died, she came out triumphant, for she now sits with the Lord. Cancer showed her a new strength she was never aware of. It opened her eyes and it has made you strong.” His words were powerful, but they did not drag away my sorrow.
Tears streamed down my face and I cried silently, sitting with Him. I hadn’t cried for so long, pretending for my mother, pretending for my father. I couldn’t cry when they tried so hard to keep on fighting. But now all the pent up tears rained down and as they left they were replaced with relief. The sting in the back of my eyes was fading.
“Do not be afraid to ask for help. I will always listen, I am always here. I act in My own time, and your time and My time are very different.” He kissed my forehead in such a tender manner it felt like a butterfly landing. He stood as I felt a peace inside of me that had never been there before. It filled most of the hole in my heart but my tears did not stop. As He turned to leave I called after Him.
“Wait… who are you?” My voice was clear, it did not tremble. My quakes had subsided.
He looked to me with a radiant smile, “I Am.” His response was simple. I did not understand it at the time. Watching Him leave I tried to make sense of it. He gave no name, and yet I felt I knew Him.
The moment the door shut it opened again and my father rushed in. His eyes were wet with tears and he knelt by my side, pulling me to him. We sat there crying together, “I’m so sorry, honey.” He apologized. The depth in his voice was sincere.
I loved him so much; I just wished we could have spent more time together by my mother’s side. But I knew he worked to keep a roof over our head, to keep food in our fridge.
Sniffling, “Did you see that man on your way in?” I asked, looking at his rugged face. His puzzlement was clear.
“What?”
“The man who left just before you came in… did you see him leaving?” I elaborated. Had he been so concerned he missed seeing someone leave?
“There was no one else; it was just me and Calvin.” He frowned, looking at me with more concern than was necessary.
I didn’t push it. I still didn’t want to end up in a loony bin. But how could anyone have missed seeing Him? Surely they just about ran into each other at the door.
At the time I didn’t understand. But I know now. Sitting on the back porch I watch my two kids play with their daddy. I have a book in my hand, a great mystery novel. But I paused to look up at the family I love. My father is supposed to be over soon for dinner. He still smokes and sometimes I still cry for the mother I lost when I was sixteen. Sometimes they are tears of sorrow, sometimes tears of joy. I understand now. She was never taken from me. She was brought Home. The doctors numbered her days, but she went only when she thought I was ready for her to go.
I smiled as Mike came around the house to the back with his wife. For months he had driven me back and forth to the hospital and home whether or not I had the fare. I felt like I owed him a lot. And through some act of fate he became a great family friend and Sherri, his lovely wife, watches my children when my husband and I have a night out. Mike and my dad watch the football game every weekend together.
I’ll never forget that boy on the bus, how His presence had saved me. I didn’t understand then… But I know now.
