All these thoughts are stirred up simply from seeing that ebullient young mother’s joy over her child. Charlene’s words from last month come back to me, when she told me that joy is evidence of God.
Well then, if that’s true, what is grief evidence of?
On my way through the lobby, I contact the hospital again and find out that Dr. Tanbyrn is still in a coma. I ask the nurse in charge to text me or call me if his condition changes. Since I’m not family, it takes me awhile to convince her, but in the end she agrees.
As I approach my room, Charlene meets up with me in the hallway. “So how are your ribs this morning?”
“Still tender. Your arm?”
“The stitches are tugging a little, but not too bad. Your head?”
“Manageable. Burns from the fire?”
She shrugs. “Nothing serious. You?”
“I’m good.”
“Good.”
Remarkably, I do feel better. Not 100 percent recovered, but at least on the way, and that’s one thing to be thankful for. I’m glad she’s doing alright too.
Inside the room, we find Xavier has showered and changed. His eyes widen when he sees the food, especially the box of cinnamon rolls. “I’ll take some of those to the kids.”
I hand him the bag and he leaves to deliver breakfast to the McClury children.
“He really likes those kids,” Charlene observes.
“I’m thinking it might be more than just the kids.”
“I’m thinking you might be right.”
We pull out our notes and for a few moments we’re quiet, and I realize I’m slipping back into my retrospection about the loss of my family.
At last when Charlene speaks, I hear gentle caution in her words. “Jevin, you need to be careful.”
“About?”
“The times you disappear.”
“The times I disappear?”
“Into the past.” A pause. “Into your pain.”
Her words hit me hard and ring as true as Xavier’s did on Monday, when he talked about my past being a part of my story but not what defines it. “Stop feeding your pain and it’ll dissipate,” he’d told me. “Be where you are; let where you’ve been alone. Do that and the universe will lean in your direction.”
But how? How do you get to that place?
I take a long time before responding. “What are we supposed to do when life makes no sense, Charlene? And don’t just say we need to make the best of it. There’s no best to make of it when your sons are murdered by your spouse.”
“I know.”
“So?”
A moment passes. “I don’t know, Jev.”
I let my thoughts crawl over everything again. “I guess it all comes back to the question behind all questions.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The question ‘Why?’ Why do bad things happen? There are never enough ‘becauses’ to answer that final ‘why.’”
“I have to believe that there is, that there’s a reason why God would—”
“Would what?” The words come out before I can stop them, taut and cutting and fueled by my brokenness: “Would allow two little boys who’re strapped in their car seats to drown? Would allow their mother to sit by and let it happen?”
“It makes no sense to me either. I don’t know why we hurt so badly and hope so much for something better. But I do believe that somewhere there’s a reason behind it all.”
“God works in mysterious ways? Is that it?” Even as I’m saying the words, I feel bad about the tone I’m using with her, but it’s as if these feelings have been churning around inside of me and now they’re geysering out all on their own.
Charlene seems to be at a loss for words. Finally she stands and walks to the window. Gazes at the day. “Jevin, when Jesus was dying he cried out to God, asked him why he’d abandoned him.”
“And what did God say?”
Her eyes are on the skyline. “Nothing.”
I’m quiet. So not even Jesus could unriddle the mystery of suffering, the feeling of being abandoned by God. I’m not sure if that’s supposed to reassure me or not. Honestly, it only serves to make the answers I’m seeking seem more elusive than ever.
Charlene faces me, says softly, “There’s a teaching in the Bible that all things work together for the good of those who love God.”
“And how did being tortured to death work out for Jesus’s good?”
Oh, that was just great, Jev. Just great. Keep attacking what she’s saying when she’s just trying to help.
“Charlene, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“It wasn’t the end when he died.”
“He rose.”
“That’s what Christians believe. Yes, St. Paul said death has been swallowed up in victory.”
The idea that death could be conquered, that life would win in the end, strikes me as too good to be true, but also as the most necessary truth of all.
“Do you believe that?” I ask her.
“If I didn’t, I’m not sure how I’d find enough hope to make it through the day.”
I have no idea how to respond to that. I haven’t felt hopeful in a very long time. And I haven’t felt very prepared to make it through my days either.
She approaches me. Her voice is tender. “Jevin, who are you angry at, yourself or God?”
“I’m not angry.”
“No, don’t do that. Not with me.”
“Do what?”
“Brush me off. Hide. I know it’s there. I can see it. How you’ve changed.”
I find I can’t look her in the eye, but then she puts her hand gently on my chin, turns my head so I’m facing her again. “Rachel had problems, Jevin. She was ill—”
“Okay, let’s just—”
“Something broke inside of her and she didn’t have the chance to get it fixed.”
“Charlene, stop.”
“There’s no way you could have known, no way you could have—”
I pull away. “That’s enough!” I’ve never spoken to her like this before, and I’m sorry, so sorry, for snapping at her. “Charlene, I’m—”
“It’s okay.” She pauses and I can tell there’s more she wants to say. “I loved her too, Jevin. We all did. But her choice wasn’t your fault. She’s the one who did that terrible thing, not you.”
“Ever since it happened, ever since that day, I’ve been trying to hate her for what she did to my boys.”
“I know.”
“I can’t seem to.”
“I know.”
All the questions and anger and desperation that has been piling up for the last thirteen months overwhelms me. It’s like a weight too heavy to bear, one that’s smothering me and isn’t ever going to let me go. “I don’t forgive her, Charlene. I’ll never forgive her. And don’t tell me I need to forgive myself, because I don’t even know what that means.”
“No, I wasn’t going to, Jev. You don’t need to forgive yourself. You need to stop hating yourself.”
I’m standing there, reeling from the impact of her words, when the hallway door opens and Xavier and Fionna step into the room for our meeting.
Dilemma
“Hey, kids,” Xavier calls. “You two behaving yourselves?” He’s halfway through one of the mammoth cinnamon rolls. Fionna has Dr. Tanbyrn’s iPad in hand.
I turn to the side so no one can see my face. I’m afraid a tear will escape, but I make sure it doesn’t.
The question behind all questions.
The one not even Jesus knew the answer to: Why?