“What do you think I should I do?” she asked, desperation clear in her voice. And I realized here is a hard-working single mom trying to raise two young kids and a teenager with a broken heart. Not easy.
“I don't really know, Mrs. McCabe,” I said helplessly. “I'm kind of at a loss with her myself.”
She sighed. “Well, maybe she'll snap out of it. But if you think of anything, will you let me know? Call me at work if you need to.” Then she gave me the number and hung up.
But when I sat down at my computer, I began to think about it. Why didn't I have any good advice? What would Jamie say? That's when I decided to Just Ask.
Dear Jamie,
My best friend recently got her heart broken after having sex (which really compromised her values) with her boyfriend who later broke up with her. She's so bummed that she won't talk to anyone, and she can't seem to get over it. She just walks around with a cloud hanging over her, not interested in anything. What should I do?
KP
Dear KP
It sounds like your friend is depressed. Maybe it would help her to talk to a counselor or pastor. As her best friend you should recommend this. If she refuses, try talking to her parent(s) about getting some kind of professional counseling.
lust Jamie
Okay, I don't plan on actually running this letter, but it did seem an obvious answer when I actually sat down and wrote it all out. I'm starting to wonder if Jamie is my alter ego or something—like she pops in when I sit down to write and just takes over for me. Anyway, it seemed like good advice (if I do say so myself), and I thought it was worth a try. So I called Nat, and in the nicest way possible I attempted to tell her that I thought she needed help.
“Help for what?” she said in that dead-sounding flat voice.
“To get over this thing with Ben.”
“I'm over it.”
“No, you're not, Nat. Everyone around you can see that you're not. You're hurting, and I think you've actually become depressed. You need help.”
“Like my mom can afford that.”
“What about a counselor at your church, wouldn't that be—?”
“No way.”
“But you need help, Nat. I'm worried about you. Your mom's even worried.”
“I'm fine,” she said with a note of finality.
“But, Nat—”
“I gotta go.”
So later on I called her mom at work and told her my idea about counseling. “I suggested this to Nat, but she wasn't interested.”
“Counseling?”
“Yeah, without telling you too much—for Nat's sake—I will say that I know some details of her breakup with Ben that I think could be really disturbing to her. She talked to me about it, but she needs to talk to a real professional, you know? Are there counselors at your church?”
“Sure. My friend Marge is a really good counselor. In fact, she's suggested that Natalie come in sometime. She was worried that the divorce might be hard on her.”
“Why don't you encourage Nat to go then?”
“Maybe I will. I guess I just didn't realize that whatever she's going through would derail her like this. I mean, she's been such a trooper through everything.”
“I guess we all have our limits.”
“I guess so.”
And I feel like I'm getting close to my limit too. Besides Nat, it seems as if my mom is getting worse. And while I keep praying and trying to have faith, I am really scared that she's not going to make it. I can't imagine life without my mom. It's like I don't even want to think about it. And I don't really want to talk about it either. And I'm pretty sure that my dad doesn't want to talk about it. So we just keep tiptoeing around, acting like she's got a bad case of the flu that will go away soon.
And it's times like these when I think it might help if my boyfriend were a Christian—someone who could encourage me through this darkness. Not only does Matthew not have any answers, all he brings up are more questions. And I know he doesn't get faith at all. I guess I miss Nat's encouragement not to give up. I doubt that she's even praying at all these days, much less for my mom. Its like we've all fallen into a dark hole.
But then there's my mom. Considering the pain that I know she's in, she's amazingly cheerful. I guess that's one reason Dad and I keep deceiving ourselves that she's going to get better. And maybe she is. Maybe God is just testing our faith right now. Does He do that? Oh, maybe I'm the one who needs counseling. I don't know. Maybe I should ask the expert.
Dear Jamie,
My mother has stage four ovarian cancer. I've been believing that she's going to get better-that God is going to heal her-but ?? just not sure. My doubts seem to be growing with each day. Also I have a friend who may be clinically depressed, my boyfriend isn't a Christian, and I feel like I need some encouragement or insight Dr something. What should I do?
KP
Bear ISP,
Stage four ovarian cancer is vary serious. If you've done any research, you probably know that it's almost always terminal. It sounds like you need to talk to someone about this and the other things that are troubling you. Why not make an appointment with a professional who can give you a handle on all the stuff you're going through?
lust lamie
Sure, lets just send everyone to the shrink, Jamie. You got any other great answers? Okay, maybe its true; maybe I do need help. But I haven't the slightest idea of where to go. I mean, Faith Fellowship is a pretty small church, and besides the pastors we don't have any professional counselors there. I suppose I could talk to a pastor, but what would I say? And what would he say to me? ‘Trust God, Kim, He knows what's best.” Or would he tell me to “Just pray harder,” like Nat has done in the past.
Finally, I decide to quit second-guessing everyone, and I call up the church. I'm pretty sure there's nothing they can do to help, but I end up with Pastor Tony on the phone, and he makes an appointment with me for after school tomorrow. Now I'm feeling kind of freaked. Like what am I going to say to him? I think I've actually talked to him about three times so far. But here's one good thought: At least I can tell Nat that I'm going in for counseling. Maybe that will make her see her own need.
Friday, April 21
As I go into the church and inform the secretary that I'm here for my appointment with Pastor Tony, I tell myself it's no big deal. People do this every day. Just relax, Kim, Tony's a really nice guy and an intelligent pastor. What can go wrong?
But my palms are cold and sweaty, and my voice comes out in a scratchy croak when I merely attempt to say, “Hello.”
“Have a seat, Kim,” he says in a kind voice. “I'm so glad you came in to talk. I've actually been meaning to give you a call.”
“Me?” I sit in the chair across from him and study his desk. There are a few papers here and there, but all in all its fairly neat. And there are photos of his wife and little boys, and not for the first time I think what an attractive family they are.
“Yes.” Pastor Tony leans forward, elbows on his desk, and looks evenly at me. “How's your mom doing?”
That's when I totally lose it. I start just sobbing and crying, and Pastor Tony moves his chair around to the other side of the desk, and the secretary, just outside the door, comes in with a box of tissues and starts patting my back. And without me saying a word, the two of them each put a hand on my shoulder, and they start to pray. At first I am a little alarmed. I mean, no one has ever done this for me before. But then I begin to relax, and although it's hard to focus completely, I pick up bits and pieces of what they are praying.
“Give her strength, dear Lord.
“And give her the peace that passes understanding…”
“Hold her in Your arms, Father God.
“Please, bind their family together in Your never-ending love…”
“Let Kim bring all her questions and doubts to You…”
After a few minutes they are both saying, “Amen.” And feeling self-conscious although somewhat better, I thank
them and wonder if that was it? Is my session over now?
But Tony sits back down in his chair. “You've got a heavy load to carry, Kim. But God doesn't expect you to carry it alone. He wants you to bring all your worries and fears to Him, and if you get too tired to carry them to God, He wants you to trust your Christian brothers and sisters to carry them to God for you. That's how we bear one another's burdens. It's like we carry them to God and place them at His feet. Sometimes we do it on our own, and sometimes we ask others for help. Does that make sense?”
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.
Dear Kim,
My maiden name was Shannon Busche, and I had a sister named Patricia, who was five years older than me. Who are you, and why are you looking for me?
Shannon
Okay, so far this is only the same information that I sent out in my own e-mail. I need more confirmation than this.
Dear Shannon,
I really hope that you're the right person. I am Patricia's daughter, and she recently asked me to search for you. Can you tell me a little bit more about yourself to confirm that it's really you? 1) What are your parents’ first names? 2) What is my mom's middle name? 3) Where and when were you born? I hope you don't mind. I only want tD confirm that you are really my mom's sister. She has some health problems, and I don't want to get her hopes up unless it's the real thing. I'm sure you'll understand.
Sincerely, Kim
Nineteen
Monday, April 24
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.
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