Page 49 of Part of Forever
“Could I use the bathroom before we get started?” I ask as Doctor Simpson starts putting people in pairs.
“Of course, but hurry back.”
I nod, feeling better almost as soon as I’m out of the room. I don’t like talking about feelings, especially not with someone I only see every few weeks.
I stand by the bathroom sink for as long as I risk it before heading back; the giant clock at the edge of the room says that I was gone for less than five minutes.
“Great,” I mutter under my breath. I’m still going to have to partner up with someone.
“Rosie, you’ll be with Lucy today,” Doctor Simpson waves me over to where she’s sitting with Lucy. The tightness in my chest lessens slightly. I can talk to Lucy.
“Sorry I ran off there,” I say lightly. “I don’t like things like this.”
“It’s okay,” Lucy says. “There's always a few who run out whenever Doctor Simpson changes things up. I told her I didn’t mind waiting for you. I thought you’d be more comfortable since you know me and all. I hope that’s okay.”
I relax at her words. “Yes, totally okay. Thank you so much.”
“I can start if you want,” Lucy volunteers.
“That’d be great.”
“Okay.” She clasps her hands together in her lap, but I know they won’t last there—she talks with her hands, and it’s one of the things I love about her. There’s a lump in my throat at the thought. I’m two weeks post-op, which means she is, too. I can tell she’s tired and she came here in a wheelchair, but she’s still here. I’m glad she’s still here. It’s hard to swallow the lump.
“I feel like talking about God today,” Lucy says.
I blink at her. “Um, okay.” I move my hands so I’m sitting on my fingers. I didn’t grow up in a religious home. I know my dad prays sometimes, but it’s not something we ever really talk about. Iknow a lot of people believe in God, but I’ve never really thought about it.
“I was so mad at Him when I first got cancer,” she says, and I nod, because I understand that. I was mad, too, when my new tumor grew. “I didn’t understand why this was happening to me, you know? I still have so much of my life ahead of me, why was this happening? Why now?
“I’ve spent a lot of time yelling at God the past few years. Literally yelling. Maybe He doesn’t appreciate that, but sometimes you just gotta yell.” She smiles a little, as if she finds this humorous.
I close my eyes, trying to picture Lucy yelling, and I cannot do it. She doesn’t seem like a person that would ever yell.
“But then, as more time passed, the yelling stopped, and something changed.”
“What changed?” I find myself asking.
“I wasn’t so angry anymore.”
I meet Lucy’s eyes at this—how is she not still angry? If I were her, I think I’d still be angry.
“I woke up one day and I thought, ‘Wow, I’m so grateful to be alive. I’m so grateful that I have amazing nurses and doctors. I finally see God’s hand in this.’ And after that, the anger was just gone.”
Now I’m skeptical. “Just like that?” That seems too easy. Like some magical thinking can make everything better.
“Just like that.” Lucy smiles. “I mean, I don’t think it actually happened just like that. Most things that happen don’t just happen, it’s usually a long build-up of smaller moments that lead up to that big moment, the one people say changes everything.”
I’m still not sure I believe her.
“I realized that even though cancer sucks, and it’s really, really hard to have a brain tumor, God is still here. He’s still in the details and he’s still with me.”
“Even though He won’t take the cancer away?” From what Iunderstood, isn’t God supposed to perform lots of miracles, including healing the sick?
“Sometimes He doesn’t take the hard things away.” Lucy says it like it’s no big deal, like she’s gonna keep trusting God anyway, even though He’s essentially letting her suffer.
“But why not?” I ask, suddenly desperate for the answer, when Doctor Simpson calls us back together. How can she believe in something that doesn’t make her better?
“I’ll tell you later,” Lucy says, as we move back into our semicircle and do a shorter version of our usual therapy session.
