I told the Crab about the drunk woman.
“Disappointing,” the Crab said as she drove. She has such little faith sometimes.
“Maybe I’ve not heard the last of this drunken woman. There was something about her that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But something.”
“Well, then, you should have exchanged information with her,” the Crab said in a condescending manner, because she is a haughty woman, albeit a sister in Jesus Christ.
“Oh, I did,” I said. “She knows where to find me.”
“Well, then,” the Crab said.
“And the pain has begun.”
“Is it bad?”
“It is getting worse,” I said. “If only you hadn’t sent me to that foolish young doctor!”
“You think our actions—what we do or do not do—are any match for God’s plans, Sister Maeve?”
“I think you’ll be glad to be rid of me when I go,” I said, staring out the window.
“I’ll be jealous.”
“Jealous? Why?”
“You’ll be with my husband, and I’ll be with so many sisters who see no visions. Who have no eyes to see, nor ears to hear—”
“Ah, you’ll be in your own little heaven once I’m gone, and don’t you pretend otherwise,” I said. A few minutes later I sighed and added, “I’m never going to see my son again, am I?”
“I cannot answer for God, but I can see you through until you go to heaven,” the Crab said, and for the first time I felt as though she was being truly sympathetic toward me. “I will help you through your transition, regardless of whether your son comes or not. I will be there for you.”
I was caught so off guard that I didn’t thank the Crab for her kindness, but I will before I die—I have vowed it to myself.
I had no visions last night, and I wonder if I will ever have another vision again. I feel the power draining from me rapidly, and can tell that the young doctor was right, that my work here in this world is done.
And yet I have the strangest feeling about that drunk woman I met on the plane.
She was rude, obnoxious, and quite pathetic, but she was also something else too—something familiar that I just cannot name right now. Maybe because the cancer is eating away my brain. Who knows?
Maybe it was in her eyes—something familiar?
I cannot say.
So now I will have the Crab overnight this letter just as soon as I stick it in the envelope. (And I will ask for a receipt as proof that she paid the higher price, because we are running out of time!)
Will I hear from you, my son?
I hope so.
I’ve lived a good life and can die happy, and I know where I will go when I leave this world, I have my husband’s assurance—but hearing from you would finish things, and allow me to die completely content.
This is my dying wish—to communicate with you just once more.
Please, Nathan.
Write or call.
Love and blessings,
Your mother
CHAPTER 19
February 27, 2012
To My Sweet and Good Son, Nathan,
The young doctor’s science and machines were not far off with their predictions, because I am now in bed mostly, groggy from their medicines, weight falling off me daily, and many other things that I do not wish to share with you—and yet the worst pain of all is that you remain a silent mystery.
With almost every waking breath I pray to my husband and ask why He is refusing to answer my prayers. I even ask the Crab, and she recites scripture and makes many logical and calming assurances, but behind her mask, I see that she too is frustrated with our shared husband, because her answers are hollow as my innards will be when this awful cancer eats me all up from the inside out.
That is all I will say about the bad I must endure, because it is a sin to dwell on our misfortunes. We must count our blessings always, and God has sent me one more that you may find particularly interesting.
Remember the drunken woman on the plane I described in my last letter?
Well, she wrote to me!
I received her letter just shy of a week after she and I had our chance meeting.
She started off with many apologies for her intoxicated state and also for describing her ex-husband’s anatomy in great detail—apparently he was not very well endowed, ha!—all of which amused me and was a welcome alternative to thinking about my sickness and the lack of communication I have received from my only son. A wonderful surprise, receiving this unexpected correspondence.
But then her letter took an interesting turn, because my young friend started to ask questions about what she called “destiny,” which, of course, is just an unbeliever’s word for God.
“Do you believe in destiny, Sister Maeve?” she wrote. “That maybe we are each called to do something in our lives and will find no peace until we do?”
What she was describing of course is a calling, and asking a nun if she believes in a calling is like asking a hungry robin if it believes in pecking worms out of the grass.
I laughed and smiled at her childlike naiveté.
Matthew 18:3—“Truly I say to you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.”
But then she went on to tell me that she knew a man long ago who had made a huge impact on her life, a teacher by the name of Nathan Vernon. Perhaps I had heard of him, because he became infamous after one of his students attacked him with a baseball bat, shattering all of the bones in his arms and legs.
I had to put the letter down and pray the rosary seven times.
Then I prayed to my husband first and Mother Mary second, asking them to forgive my doubts, for they had led me right to this naive young woman who was talking about destiny and my very own son, with no idea whatsoever that she was writing to her hero’s own mother.