By Kay Holt.
“Dear God, thank you for all the blessings, and forgive me for all my sins. Please let John’s promotion come through, and help me make the dean’s list again this quarter. Bless the sick and needy. My children! Please, please.”
When it came to my children, I became less frivolous and shallow and very, very serious. Those words were typical of my daily prayers. They became passionate when I petitioned Him for my children’s welfare.
Joey and Judith were both healthy. Judith seemed the healthier of the two, although both were normal, bright children. We’d wanted another child for the past few years but assumed it not to be. I searched for reasons why things happened as they did, never considering God’s timetable.
When Judith became slightly ill with a bad cold just before the Christmas holidays, I was not too alarmed until her cold seemed to hang on. Soon I noticed a subtle change in her as she became pale, listless, not her usual high-energy self. My memory remains vivid of the uneasy feeling I felt, something didn’t seem right. In fact, it frightened me so much, I wouldn’t let my mind go there. Most parents know, the mere thought of something seriously wrong with one of our precious children takes us places we can’t allow our thoughts to go and still keep proper perspective.
Christmas came and went. The New Year brought tests and different drugs prescribed by the doctors, but nothing changed, except Judith became weaker. The greatest fear of my life came to fruition when Dr. Guilfoil called us into his office for Judith’s diagnosis: Acute Leukaemia! “”Judith will not live more than a year at most.” The doctor explained, “She can be given drugs to cause the disease to go into remission. Then she will appear normal until those drugs became ineffective.” He carefully warned us not to get our hopes up. She was going to die.
I felt too stunned to pray, or even think, when I heard his diagnosis. I simply looked at the pictures on the doctor’s wall as he explained the gravity of her condition. I nodded or shook my head, not actually responding to his words. The only rational thought I remember was my concern for him and the horrible duties doctors have to perform. How can he bear telling me my child is going to die, and soon? I looked from his wall paintings back to him. Poor man.
I sat composed for a time, hardly aware my husband dealt with the news in his own way, yet, he continually looked at me. So did the doctor. Let us help you, their eyes pleaded. I shook my head, motioning for them not to touch me. Who knew why? I learned later of the dreadful things going on in my husband’s mind. He worried about whether or not I could bear such a thing, in our – my strength, and go where this would take us.
A few minutes passed and Dr. Guilfoil asked, “Do you have any questions?” I shook my head again. He wants us to leave so he can forget about this part of his job. He knows this is too much for us to bear and remain sane. Is he going to ask me who the President of the United States is? “If it means anything,” he added, “I just lost my mother with cancer.” “YOUR MOTHER! YOUR MOTHER?” I almost rose from the chair. Then I slumped back, hardly aware of my obstinate tone as I shook my head and almost whispered, “I could lose everyone I’ve ever known in my entire life more easily than I can give up my child!” The words came from the innermost part of my psyche.
Desperation gripped me for days and I remember little of what went on. And that was all right. None of us spoke of anything beyond the moment. Tomorrow held its own horrors. People came to visit us. Of course they grieved for us and wanted to help. I envied them, and everyone else, because they weren’t all in the process of dying as we were.
Christians always talked about God and His power. He could give me peace. They pleaded but those were words. How can they suggest peace is possible for me without my daughter? Don’t other people love their children as I love mine? Maybe not. I was hardly rational about anything except my interaction with Joey. I worked hard to avoid telling him the gravity of Judith’s illness. Of course, he became sad and confused because of her terribly sickness but we didn’t talk about where it would take us. Not then, anyway.
Judith was admitted to the hospital and placed on steroids. She responded well. Immediately she began to eat and grow stronger. People came and went at our house, trying to encourage us. How presumptuous. Do they really think I can be helped by anyone? My husband was hospitable and I’m sure he made excuses for my lack of graciousness.
I remember an evening when our Pastor, along with other church friends came to visit and pray. We all stood in a circle as each person prayed aloud. I remained silent as I listened superficially to their hollow words. I wanted to scream. “My child is dying!” Doesn’t anyone understand there can be no peace for me? I didn’t even try to pray.
Today, I thank Him because these Christians were undaunted by me. They kept imploring God to give me peace. They never stopped what I considered “bothering” me.
Once during this time an idea occurred to me. If You’re really there, God, let this all be a mistake. Let me wake up from this nightmare. Please. I started thinking the doctors were not all knowing. Perhaps they’d made a mistake in their diagnosis and would eventually realize it. Even the smallest chance of such a blunder excited me. Later, when I approached Dr. Guilfoil with such a possibility, he looked at me with his familiar sadness. “I wish it were true, but it’s not the case.”
Every day I stayed in Judith’s hospital room, I sat constantly with my beautiful little blond haired girl. We talked and I allowed her to think everything was fine, until I could find a way to deal with it. She was so bright, so sensitive! Of course I never let her see me cry but when I left her room, I lost control. The combination of rage and grief took over again and I vacillated between those emotions for weeks.
At home we existed. We ate, slept, and we talked – rarely.