by Hanley, Don;
“Rebecca, I’m sorry I didn’t call about Kathy. I was wrong. But I did not demand that you look after Angela and Julie.”
“Not in so many words, but you sure let it be known that if I didn’t I would be an inconsiderate and selfish person.” Rebecca had only begun to realize that she really was an inconsiderate and selfish person a few weeks ago, but she wasn’t about to reveal that to anyone, especially to this priest sitting in front of her.
“Rebecca, that wasn’t my intention at all. I wouldn’t think of you as a selfish person if you didn’t help them out. I appreciate it and, of course, you know that Angela did and that Julie does.”
“Yes, I know that. What I’m objecting to is your paternalism. You know, I’ve been reading about your Catholic Church, it’s so damn paternalistic and I think you’re infected by it, too. The priest always knows best, right? That’s why they call you ‘Father.’”
Jerry slumped lower on the couch and looked at the floor. His face was wrinkled into a deep grimace, as if he had just heard some horrible news. Or maybe he was trying to hold back tears. “I’m not sure what to say, Rebecca. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you or taken you for granted. I guess I have been inconsiderate and paternalistic.” He continued to look at the floor and, after a moment, added, “I’ll go now, if that will make you feel better.”
She had never known a man who so quickly admitted his faults. Was it a strength or a weakness? He isn’t defending himself at all. She had hit him where it hurts. She felt a little remorseful as she knew he worked hard not to tell people how to live their lives. “No, it wouldn’t make me feel better. Now it looks like I’ve hurt your feelings. I’m just upset with you, Jerry.”
He looked puzzled as he turned toward her. “Because I didn’t call you about Kathy? You’ve always been so generous and seemingly easy-going, I guess I didn’t think you’d mind. I’m sorry.”
“Quit saying you’re sorry, Jerry.” It was as good a time as any to tell him what was really bothering her. “I don’t think it’s about your bringing Kathy along with you to St. Louis. It’s my fear that Kathy means more to you than I do.” He definitely perked up with this remark. He raised that one eyebrow and continued to look puzzled. “Okay, here’s my problem: I felt hurt with the way you’ve talked to me on the phone since Christmas. And then you came in January and didn’t even ask if you could stay with me. I wanted you to, but you had made arrangements to stay in that rectory. Jerry, I’ve grown to really like you.” Rebecca bit her lower lip and hesitated a moment before adding, “No that’s not strong enough. Jerry, I really love you and want to spend as much time as possible with you. It really hurts when you act impersonal and stay away from me, especially when you could easily spend time with me, like in January.” She let out a deep breath as if to say, “There, I’ve said it.”
He looked at her for some moments, trying to figure out how to respond. “Thank you, Rebecca, for saying you love me. That means a lot to me.” He looked away a moment and then went on, “It also scares me. I’ve been thinking of you, too much. I thought if I put some distance, emotionally I mean, between us, then I wouldn’t be bothered so much. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I spend too much time alone out there in Paris. When I think of you, I feel I’m drifting away from the priesthood, in my thoughts and feelings anyway.”
“Do you have to push thoughts of Kathy away, too?”
“Uh, yes, in some way. It’s different.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure. I guess I think about her kind of like she was a daughter.” He chuckled a little. “I’m sure you’d say I’m, ah, I’m paternalistic toward her.”
Rebecca was sure he was not telling her all of his thoughts but decided to check that out later. “I’m sure she doesn’t think of you as her father. Jerry, she’s in love with you.”
“I believe you said that once before.”
“Yes, I did. Then it was a guess, but now I’m sure. Are you saying that you don’t feel the same way toward her?” You’re really pushing it, Rebecca told herself. Watch it.
“I don’t think so. I really don’t know. I kind of miss her now that she’s coming to Paris only once a month. But that also helps a bit because I don’t think about her as much.”
Rebecca was sure that he was lying. He was as confused about his feelings for Kathy as he was about his feelings for her. She decided to focus on how he felt toward her. “And you are afraid you might allow yourself to fall in love with me if you don’t keep it impersonal, is that right?”
He again looked away, then turned her way and reached out and touched her hand and softly said, “Yes.”
* * *
Rebecca returned home late after staying at the office to finish an article that was due the next day—March first. Julie was staying the night with Helene and her daughter. The condo felt empty without her. She reached down and picked up the letters, flyers, and all that had been pushed through the mail slot.
Quickly glancing through the little pile, she felt both excited and apprehensive when she saw Jerry’s scrawl on one envelope. Their telephone conversations had been more cordial, if not as personal as she would like, since his stay in St. Louis for Angela Kurtz’s funeral. Her apprehension, she knew, came from a constant nagging feeling that at any time Jerry would tell her that he had to distance himself from her to save his priesthood. She sometimes wondered if, even now, he was staying in touch with her because of Julie.
She kicked off her shoes, sat down on the couch, tore open the envelope, and began reading the typewritten letter:
Dear Rebecca:
It’s two in the morning and since I can’t sleep, I thought I’d write you a letter. One time you mentioned that you do like to receive letters, right? I’m quite sure you wouldn’t want me to call this time of night. I haven’t been sleeping all that well in recent weeks. Sometimes I read and other times I write to myself –kind of like keeping a journal
I really appreciate what you’re doing for Julie. I think the idea of a teen hospice group is great. And I’m glad that she’s not too much trouble (or are you just shining me on?). I think she’s a remarkable child to keep up the spirit she has with all that she’s been through. Of course being with you helps enormously. You’d pick up anyone’s spirit!
Things are going pretty well here. A friend from Aberdeen rounded up two used pool tables for our teen center. A bunch of kids helped paint inside and out and put down floor tile. Our one big setback was the second week after it opened—a kid from Whelan (forty miles west) was caught selling crystal-meth. Joe Gaffin and one of the deputies have volunteered to patrol the place in the evening. I’ve gotten the owners of the chicken and egg ranch to come up with $200,000 for housing for the farm workers. We’ll need to double that and I’ve got pledges for about $100,000. Should break ground on the first three this month (March).
I’ve been thinking a lot about you as usual. Suppose that’s the reason I’m having a hard time sleeping? Rebecca, I apologize for not saying anything that evening at your home when you said ‘I love you.’ It really meant a lot to me for you to say that. No one in my family ever said that to me, nor did I ever hear my mom or dad say it to one another. A few people have said it to me—like Alice Peterson but the closest anyone has come to saying it like you said it was Kathy Olson and that was on a card. I’m still trying to figure out how real, personal love, as you call it, can fit into my life. It worries me a bit (that’s an understatement—It worries me a lot).
The night I returned from St. Louis, I was dead tired but couldn’t sleep so I watched a movie: WILD STRAWBERRIES, directed by Ingmar Bergman. Maybe you’ve seen it. Anyway, it’s about an old physician who is on his way to Stockholm to receive some kind of humanitarian award. His daughter-in-law tells him he’s a phony (not in those words, of course) because, although he does a lot for people, he doesn’t allow himself to be close to anyone. I identify with the old doctor.
I’m getting sleepy, so will sign off.
L
ove, (or better - I love you!)
Jerry
Rebecca stared at the “I love you.” She murmured, “Yes, it was better but I’d still rather hear you say it out loud, Jerry. And yes, I was disappointed and hurt that evening when you didn’t say much after I told you I love you.” She reread the letter and then folded it and set it on the end table. She had talked to him three or four times since Angela’s funeral and he hadn’t said “I love you” once. She wondered if he found it easier and less threatening to write it. When Kathy put it in her card, she probably did it for the same reason, afraid of saying it out loud.
Rebecca thought about the impact of knowing Jerry and how he had changed her life. Introducing her to Alice Peterson was probably the biggest thing, other than her falling in love with the big jerk. Every time she found herself feeling cold or judgmental toward someone or sounding harsh, she thought of Alice’s comment on her “hardness.” She picked up the letter again and after reading the part about the movie and the old doctor she whispered, “Well, Jerry, my friend, maybe I’ve been a phony, too. You’ve pushed me into loving Angela and Julie and even loving Helene, Denise and Rene more than I thought possible. Have I helped you?” She looked forward to talking to Helene about Jerry’s letter. When she went to pick up Julie, they made a date for lunch.
On Tuesday, Rebecca looked across the table at Helene, casually dressed as usual, in a faded aqua sweatshirt and jeans. Helene was excited to tell her that both Rene and Denise were talking about college for the first time. She asked if Julie enjoyed her stay with her and Melissa. When they finished their meal, she asked, “Well, what do you hear from your noble knight of the prairie?”
Rebecca smiled. “Well, I do want to talk with you about him. I’m not sure what I hear from him. Maybe you can help me.” She opened her purse and took out Jerry’s letter.
Helene wiped her hands on a napkin and picked up the typed page. She alternately frowned, smiled, and nodded as she slowly read it. When she was finished she looked upat Rebecca. “Hmmm, ‘I love you.’ Sounds pretty serious, Rebecca. What do you make of it?”
“I don’t know really. That’s the first time he has put it in words. I’ve talked to him nearly every week on the phone and he never, even once, ended the conversation with the shortened version: ‘Love ya.’.”
“But you did tell him how you felt when he was here for the funeral?”
“Yes. And he said for the first time, in that letter, it meant a lot to him.”
“How about the movie Wild Strawberries. Have you seen it?”
“I rented it last night. Like Jerry said, it’s about this old physician who is heading to Stockholm with his daughter-in-law to receive some kind of humanitarian award. The daughter-in-law doesn’t like him very much and tells him that he’s done a lot of good for people but as a person he’s a cold, aloof , and closed individual. They do manage to connect as the old man opens up to her.”
Helene looked thoughtful as she said, “Somehow the movie really touched Jerry.
He said he identified with the old doctor.” Helene put the paper down on the table. “You know what I think?”
“No, what do you think?” Rebecca hoped Helene’s answer was one she wanted to hear.
“I think he’s struggling with all kinds of mixed emotions, maybe even feeling some for the first time. Like love and passion.” Helene looked intently at her for a moment and then smiled. “I asked you a few months ago if you were in love with him and you said ‘no.’ Remember?”
“Yes. So...?”
“Maybe he has begun to be in touch with his feelings just as you are. Remember I was with you two at Angela’s funeral. The energy between you was so strong I wanted to run away.” Helene tapped the letter. “I see here the depiction of a very human man struggling to love, have courage, and develop faith.”
Rebecca only heard the energy part. “Why didn’t you say something before about the energy between us?”
“Rebecca. Why do you think?”
Rebecca tapped the table with her fingers and thought for a moment, then said, “One, if you said it when Jerry was present, he probably would have run away. If you had said it to me, I probably would have gotten angry with you. So, seriously Helene, you don’t think I should end our relationship?”
“End it? No. First, unless you’re keeping something from me, it’s still platonic. Secondly, he’s brought a lot to your life and I think it’s a pretty good guess that you brought more to his life than just confusion. Didn’t you tell me that his favorite passage from the Bible is ‘God is love?’”
“Yes, but I think it was a more sedate…” Rebecca giggled. “I guess ‘spiritual’ would be better word to describe it, than the kind of love I’m looking for. Helene let me tell you about another movie that bothered me.”
“Okay. I suppose it involves our prairie friend?”
“Indirectly, but yes. The title is Molokai, it’s an island in Hawaii. It’s about this nineteenth-century priest named Father Damien who takes care of lepers who are quarantined on the island. He volunteers to be there and stays for years among these poor, wretched people. He finally contracts leprosy himself and dies. It’s a true story.”
“I remember hearing about Father Damien when I was in school. Please go on.”
“There was this one scene where this beautiful woman, in the early stages of leprosy I’d guess, comes into his bungalow. She is obviously in love with Damien and begins to caress him. He looks very disturbed and then orders her to go home. Jerry is kind of like that when he is with me. He isn’t quite as blunt as in the movie but I think his feelings are the same.”
“I imagine that if we were living in the nineteenth-century, Jerry would be more like Damien and wouldn’t even think about being alone with you. I think that there are a lot of priests today who feel the same way. As I said before, I think Jerry is searching and is not entirely satisfied with his Church.”
“So, I’m still competing with God, huh?”
“I don’t think your Jerry would put it that way. I think he would say that he is confused as to the best route to take to find God.” Helene glanced at her watch. “I better get back to my little colony of ‘lepers.’”
As Rebecca gave her friend a hug, she said, “I really love you, Helene!”
“Thank you, Rebecca! I love you, too.”
Rebecca was sure that she had never said “I love you” to Helene before. Jerry’s influence?
CHAPTER 20
Wake up from your sleep, rise from the dead,
and Christ will shine on you.
Ephesians 4: l4
Jerry visited St. Louis again in March, after Angela’s funeral. This time he did stay with Rebecca and again he was nervous and more than a bit worried about his too frequent sexual thoughts and feelings. Remembering Father Augustine’s comment that they were natural and just to let them ‘be’ helped him be more comfortable and humorous than on the previous occasions. The week after he returned to Paris, Jerry sat down in his recliner and opened the large manila envelope Sy Peterson had given him. Sy had invited him over for dinner, a well-prepared meal that the man had cooked himself. After they had eaten, Sy had handed Jerry the envelope, saying, “Before Alice died, I started keeping a journal. Last week I put my scribbles on the computer. I’ve been wondering if I should share it with the kids. Father Jerry, would you mind looking it over and telling me what you think?” Jerry said he’d be happy to read the material. Just before he left, Sy said, “Those last ten pages or so are different. They reflect a lot of what I’ve picked up from you. Thanks for helping me.”
Curious as to what the last pages would be, Jerry turned past the first twenty or so pages and looked at the page entitled, “Love, Death, and Gratitude.” He began to read:
Moments before Alice drew her final breath, I moved to her side and took her hand in mine. I placed a cheek to hers and with my lips brushing an ear, whispered one more word of love.
Already, Jerry was in tears. H
e could easily picture the scene and wondered how Sy could think that he, the priest, could have inspired such expression of feelings. He longed to have such an experience but had never even come close nor had he ever witnessed it in his family. He continued reading Sy’s manuscript:
Her hand suddenly arched, then relaxed slowly. I could hear the last of her life drain away in a long steady sigh. When it was over, I said, “Thank God.” I meant it!
That may sound callous to some; not the words of a lifelong husband and friend to a faithful love. Yet they may be the most selfless ever spoken between us.
For Alice was now free of the pain, discomfort, and indignity imposed for over three years by that rapacious predator, cancer.
No longer need she avoid gazing into a mirror seeing, but not wanting to see, her beautiful figure fade and give way to a skeletal imposter. No longer need she seek a stronger dose of the drug that masked her ever-growing pain, a pain she didn’t want to believe was worse today than it was yesterday.
No longer need she make believe that she is in control of her own body, nor need she seek the aid of another when nature makes one more surprise call. No longer need she face the moment-to-moment struggle to live while in her heart she fears the awesome unknown drawing ever near.
Since Alice died, there have been many moments when my sadness for her plight has slipped dangerously close to self-pity. There are times when cancer’s victory stirs anger in my soul, breeding a resentment that threatens to consume me. While I know I did all I could to help Alice, something called pride tells me lies and tries to make me feel like a failure—the fear-filled product of an ego run wild.
I am human. Yet I cannot let ingratitude and fear mask reality. Yes, I do miss Alice. But do I want her back? The answer must be NO! The cost would be too dear. Her life was over. Her work in this world is done. God recalled the body she’d no longer need; a prelude to the spiritual hereafter. Yes, there are moments when I hurt. But when that happens, I pray to regain the truth: my hurt is nothing compared to what that courageous lady endured without complaint at the end of her days. That is enough!