Friends
Stories
Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit
62 Stories For Cycle B
Marty pulled into the crowded hospital parking lot and began her daily ritual search for a parking space. She turned up one aisle, down the next, her expert eyes peeled for an empty spot, taillights, or the telltale exhaust of a recently started engine. It had been a long, long day at work, and she didn't really want to be here. There was laundry piled up at home, the dishes hadn't been done the night before, and the refrigerator was nearly empty; the kids would be home from school, unsupervised, for about half an hour, again, but she knew it would all wait. Although it had been almost a year, with no sign of change or hope, she was compelled to come and sit with him. Some part of her soul that transcended reason brought her back every day.
"He's my brother," she thought defensively as she waited for a small white Buick to back out in front of her, then maneuvered her much larger minivan into the narrow space. "All we have left is each other." A wave of melancholy rolled over her, along with the cold March wind off the lake, as she left the warmth of the car and joined the straggling procession of visitors to the hospital entrance. It was so hard to see him this way ... dead to everything outside himself, but breathing, his heart beating as strong as ever, and, she believed, alive in his mind.
The doctors refused to give her false hope. They insisted that his brain was alive, but they would not predict when or if the coma, brought on by the high fever that had accompanied a bout of meningitis, would end. They encouraged her to talk to him, play music he liked, read to him, because there was no certainty that he couldn't hear everything going on around him. Still, they would not say that he would recover. Their job was to keep his body nourished, exercised and functioning to the best of their abilities. Hers was to keep the vigil. After nearly 10 months, it grew more and more difficult every day.
As she entered the hospital, and nodded to the familiar security people and receptionist before she turned into the nursing home hallway, she wondered why that part down deep inside her wouldn't let go. When their parents were killed while she and Russ were still small, she hadn't wanted to let go. She hadn't wanted to accept it when they were teens and their grandmother died of a stroke, forcing them to move in with one set of aunts and uncles after another until both of them had graduated from high school. But, in both cases, she had let go. There had been no real choice. This time was different. Marty had come to believe that it was because, down deep in her soul, she knew Russ would live. She was the only one left to care ... she and ....
Marty walked toward the elevator, thinking of Jack, Russ' best friend, and feeling a familiar anger that he had not come to visit in all of these months. She was astounded when she looked up and saw Jack standing at the end of the hall, as if he were waiting for her. The look on his face and the pain in his eyes melted her anger, and she ran the remaining distance and threw her arms around him.
"Oh, Jack! I'm so glad you came! Please, come up with me and talk to him."
"I thought he was in a coma," Jack replied, and she drew back as if repelled by his words.
"The doctors say talking to him is good. His brain is still alive. He could wake up. Maybe you can get through to him."
As they rode to the third floor on the elevator, she related to him the pain of her months of waiting, hoping, giving up and hoping again. She told him, in words, what had been done to keep Russ' body functioning, but words could not prepare Jack for the sight of his friend, pale and thin, hooked up to numerous machines and tubes, and looking much more like death than life.
"Russ, I'm here!" Marty announced, pulling Jack to the bedside, though he resisted slightly. "Someone else has come to visit you, too. I wish you could see him. I know you'd jump all over one another and whoop and yell. Jack is here, Russ. Can't you please wake up and say hi to Jack?"
There was a brief moment of anticipation for both of them - she holding Jack's hand as he hung back, as much to comfort herself as to keep him in his place at the bedside. But the moment passed and there was no movement from the hospital bed but the steady rise and fall of Russ' chest.
Marty brushed away angry tears. "Why do I do that? Why do I get so hopeful when I should know there is no hope?"
Jack put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, handing her a tissue from the box on the bedside table. Seeing Russ this way was every bit as bad as he had imagined it would be. That was what had kept him away. He had wanted to come, but he hadn't been able to bear the sight. He still couldn't. Jack wiped away his own tears as he comforted Marty. It seemed to be the most he could do for Russ at this point, as the memories of their childhood flooded in. So he pulled a chair into place beside the bed, where Marty perched herself next to her brother, and he said to her as he sat down, "Do you remember the Halloween Russ and I got busted for egging old lady Miller's picture window?"
What followed was an outpouring of loving remembrances, punctuated by laughter, sprinkled with tears, directed from Marty and Jack to one another and to Russ as he lay near them and came alive to them again in their stories. Finally, when the tales exhausted themselves, Marty became somber again.
"It hurt so much when you didn't come after I called you. We both needed you. There isn't anyone else. Bill doesn't understand why I still come everyday. The kids are too young. I know it's not true, but I keep thinking that maybe if you had come sooner, he would have come out of it. I guess I'm just frustrated because he won't wake up for me. Every morning I get up and tell myself, no more! I'm not going to go there and put myself through it all again. But every night, after work, here I am. My house is a disaster, dinner is always late, the kids are alone after school, and it's straining my marriage. The doctors say any little thing could suddenly bring him out of the coma, but they won't really give me any hope that it will actually happen, and still I can't stop coming! What I wonder is, after all this time, what made you come?"
Jack tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and his eyes filled with tears again as he forced his gaze away from Russ' almost lifeless form to Marty's red-rimmed eyes. At first all he could manage was a shrug, but finally he cleared his throat and said softly, "There's a part of me that can't let go. Just like you said you can't stop coming, I couldn't stop thinking about coming, even though I didn't want to. There's this old song that keeps going through my head, day after day. I think we learned it at camp or something. Do you remember it?" And he sang softly:
"Friends, I will remember you, think of you, pray for you. And when another day is through, I'll still be friends with you."
His voice cracked on the final line, and Marty burst into tears again. There was a long silence. The hand that reached out and covered Marty's to comfort her felt stiff when her hand closed around it in response. She looked up, in shock, at Russ, whose eyes gazed back in love, first at her, and then at Jack, as he whispered hoarsely, "I'm thirsty."
"He's my brother," she thought defensively as she waited for a small white Buick to back out in front of her, then maneuvered her much larger minivan into the narrow space. "All we have left is each other." A wave of melancholy rolled over her, along with the cold March wind off the lake, as she left the warmth of the car and joined the straggling procession of visitors to the hospital entrance. It was so hard to see him this way ... dead to everything outside himself, but breathing, his heart beating as strong as ever, and, she believed, alive in his mind.
The doctors refused to give her false hope. They insisted that his brain was alive, but they would not predict when or if the coma, brought on by the high fever that had accompanied a bout of meningitis, would end. They encouraged her to talk to him, play music he liked, read to him, because there was no certainty that he couldn't hear everything going on around him. Still, they would not say that he would recover. Their job was to keep his body nourished, exercised and functioning to the best of their abilities. Hers was to keep the vigil. After nearly 10 months, it grew more and more difficult every day.
As she entered the hospital, and nodded to the familiar security people and receptionist before she turned into the nursing home hallway, she wondered why that part down deep inside her wouldn't let go. When their parents were killed while she and Russ were still small, she hadn't wanted to let go. She hadn't wanted to accept it when they were teens and their grandmother died of a stroke, forcing them to move in with one set of aunts and uncles after another until both of them had graduated from high school. But, in both cases, she had let go. There had been no real choice. This time was different. Marty had come to believe that it was because, down deep in her soul, she knew Russ would live. She was the only one left to care ... she and ....
Marty walked toward the elevator, thinking of Jack, Russ' best friend, and feeling a familiar anger that he had not come to visit in all of these months. She was astounded when she looked up and saw Jack standing at the end of the hall, as if he were waiting for her. The look on his face and the pain in his eyes melted her anger, and she ran the remaining distance and threw her arms around him.
"Oh, Jack! I'm so glad you came! Please, come up with me and talk to him."
"I thought he was in a coma," Jack replied, and she drew back as if repelled by his words.
"The doctors say talking to him is good. His brain is still alive. He could wake up. Maybe you can get through to him."
As they rode to the third floor on the elevator, she related to him the pain of her months of waiting, hoping, giving up and hoping again. She told him, in words, what had been done to keep Russ' body functioning, but words could not prepare Jack for the sight of his friend, pale and thin, hooked up to numerous machines and tubes, and looking much more like death than life.
"Russ, I'm here!" Marty announced, pulling Jack to the bedside, though he resisted slightly. "Someone else has come to visit you, too. I wish you could see him. I know you'd jump all over one another and whoop and yell. Jack is here, Russ. Can't you please wake up and say hi to Jack?"
There was a brief moment of anticipation for both of them - she holding Jack's hand as he hung back, as much to comfort herself as to keep him in his place at the bedside. But the moment passed and there was no movement from the hospital bed but the steady rise and fall of Russ' chest.
Marty brushed away angry tears. "Why do I do that? Why do I get so hopeful when I should know there is no hope?"
Jack put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, handing her a tissue from the box on the bedside table. Seeing Russ this way was every bit as bad as he had imagined it would be. That was what had kept him away. He had wanted to come, but he hadn't been able to bear the sight. He still couldn't. Jack wiped away his own tears as he comforted Marty. It seemed to be the most he could do for Russ at this point, as the memories of their childhood flooded in. So he pulled a chair into place beside the bed, where Marty perched herself next to her brother, and he said to her as he sat down, "Do you remember the Halloween Russ and I got busted for egging old lady Miller's picture window?"
What followed was an outpouring of loving remembrances, punctuated by laughter, sprinkled with tears, directed from Marty and Jack to one another and to Russ as he lay near them and came alive to them again in their stories. Finally, when the tales exhausted themselves, Marty became somber again.
"It hurt so much when you didn't come after I called you. We both needed you. There isn't anyone else. Bill doesn't understand why I still come everyday. The kids are too young. I know it's not true, but I keep thinking that maybe if you had come sooner, he would have come out of it. I guess I'm just frustrated because he won't wake up for me. Every morning I get up and tell myself, no more! I'm not going to go there and put myself through it all again. But every night, after work, here I am. My house is a disaster, dinner is always late, the kids are alone after school, and it's straining my marriage. The doctors say any little thing could suddenly bring him out of the coma, but they won't really give me any hope that it will actually happen, and still I can't stop coming! What I wonder is, after all this time, what made you come?"
Jack tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and his eyes filled with tears again as he forced his gaze away from Russ' almost lifeless form to Marty's red-rimmed eyes. At first all he could manage was a shrug, but finally he cleared his throat and said softly, "There's a part of me that can't let go. Just like you said you can't stop coming, I couldn't stop thinking about coming, even though I didn't want to. There's this old song that keeps going through my head, day after day. I think we learned it at camp or something. Do you remember it?" And he sang softly:
"Friends, I will remember you, think of you, pray for you. And when another day is through, I'll still be friends with you."
His voice cracked on the final line, and Marty burst into tears again. There was a long silence. The hand that reached out and covered Marty's to comfort her felt stiff when her hand closed around it in response. She looked up, in shock, at Russ, whose eyes gazed back in love, first at her, and then at Jack, as he whispered hoarsely, "I'm thirsty."
