Goodbye

Jesus remained in the hospital for two weeks after we were first told that he had leukemia. The doctors gave Jesus medications that made him lose his hair and have diarrhea. He came home for a week and then he had to go back. On his second trip to the hospital Jesus stayed for only two days. He was discharged home again, this time with the idea that he would have to go back in four days to have his counts checked.

Counts had something to do with blood cells and they told us whether or not the cancer was leaving. If his counts were okay then he could stay home. If his counts were too low, he would have to go back in the hospital and be started on antibiotics. Regardless of his counts, he would have to go back in the hospital in three weeks for the next round of chemotherapy. Each time meant more needle sticks, more x-rays and less hair.

Each time Jesus went into the hospital, he lost more and more weight. I would joke with him saying, “Come on Jesus. Show us some backbone.” And he would turn around and bend over, revealing a protuberant spine. I told him we were going to have to strap one of Mom’s Christmas fruitcakes to his back or the wind would blow him away. He said he was afraid that if he farted he might shoot across the room and we both laughed at that one.

I loved Jesus when he would come to stay with us at home. We could all pretend that he had never gone into the hospital and that he was well. Jesus and I would color and paint and talk about how life would be when we were older. I told him that I would have one or two Marys of my own, maybe a son who I would name Joseph.

“When I get older there won’t be any more needle sticks or medications that burn my arm,” Jesus said.

Jesus scanned the floor searching for the right crayon. He had taken out a piece of paper and was coloring a blue sky over an apple tree. I could see that he just wanted to have a normal life.

Jesus went back and forth to the hospital for close to two months. Each time that he went there was more blood tests and long waits in a small room to see the doctor. The people who came to draw the blood wore long white coats and carried a tackle box full of needles. I could not figure out why God would make a world that require anyone to carry a box full of needles.

After two months of tests, hospitalizations and doctor visits the cancer was still there. The doctor said that Jesus' cancer was stubbornly aggressive. That was Jesus’ luck, to get a stubborn cancer. The doctor recommended that a surgeon place something called a port in him. At first Mom said no but after the doctor explained that it would save Jesus many sticks, she looked at his scrawny, bruised up arms and agreed.

The day they put the port into his chest, Jesus had to go to surgery. We were all sitting in a big waiting room with other children and worried parents when two tall men in long, white coats came and got Jesus. Jesus stood up and went with them without hesitation. As they walked him away I told Jesus that they were going to turn him into a cyborg and he laughed. "I'll be back," he said. Mom started to cry as soon as Jesus left the room.

After the surgery they moved Jesus into a glass cube in a special part of the hospital. The doctors said it would protect him from germs. When we were allowed to visit, Mom and Dad could go inside the cube but Mary and I had to look at Jesus through the window, like he was a hamster in an aquarium. I would have given him a big metal wheel to run on if he wasn’t already so weak from the cancer.

When God wasn’t looking, Little Mary and I made funny faces by curving our mouths and sticking our tongues out at him. Jesus would giggle and Dad would quickly turn around to see what we were doing but we had made our faces right again. I gave him a look as to say "what" and he would turn back to talk with Jesus.

Some days stick in your mind like a brand or a birthmark. Mom told us that they were moving Jesus to a new room on Wednesday, May 20th, where we could all stay and visit with him. At first Mary and I thought that the doctors must have been moving Jesus out of the class cube because he was getting better. We talked about how we were going to throw a big party for Jesus when he came home and invite all of our friends from school. Mary even said we should have another piñata but we would not let God put anything in the animal’s head.

The moment I saw him, those dreams all disappeared.

I would not have believed that it was possible but Jesus had become even more thin and weak. His cheeks sucked into his face. His eyes sunk into his skull and his lips were dry and chapped with blood. He had small, purple freckles all over his body. It was the first time that we could touch him in over three weeks. I longed to touch his fingers like in the sandbox when we reached through the two holes in the tunnel and tickled each other’s hands. He was my brother and for some reason he already felt like he was no longer here. I hated myself for feeling that way. I was afraid to be near him. He looked like a touch could break him.

Jesus looked at Dad and said that he didn’t want to have the sickness anymore. He said that he was tired. God told him that if he could take the sickness and carry it within him then he would. He also said that none of us are given anything that we cannot handle. Little Mary looked at me and said that she didn’t know who was giving out this stuff but that she didn’t want any of it and that she wished that they would just keep it to themselves. I agreed.

Two days later it was Friday and Little Mary and I woke up and started getting ready for school. I was pulling my hair into a scrunchie when Mom said that we could stay home from school. Little Mary asked why and Mom said that we were all going to sit and play with Jesus today. Little Mary and I were all excited because we had not gotten to play with him in over three weeks.

Mom made us dress in some of our best clothes and we had to fix our hair nice. Dad brought out the video camera and Mom shot him a glare that made him put it back. I was about to ask if I could bring Chutes and Ladders but thought better after seeing that look.

Mary and I were hoping that Jesus might be coming home. When we went into his room we didn’t have to wash special and nobody told us “not to touch” everything we saw like they usually did. The excitement continued to build within me until I saw Jesus.

Jesus had become a ghost of himself. He appeared tired and small. He looked like a balloon that had lost all its air. He laid there in bed, buried in all those big, white sheets. At first I thought that they must have put him into a huge double bed, but then realized that he had just gotten smaller. His arms were like uncooked noodles and the small, purple freckles on his skin had been replaced by purple splotches. He had black, dried blood staining his lips and a little around both his ears and nose. I wanted to cry the second I saw him but knew I couldn’t because then he would know that I was scared and that would make him feel bad.

Mom walked right over to him and bent over and kissed his forehead. He looked as though he could brake with any touch but her kiss brought a smile to his face. “Hi Mom,” she seemed to wake him up.

“Look honey, Mary and Little Mary are here too.” Mom tried to smile as she gestured in our direction.

Jesus looked at us and smiled. “Hi Jesus,” we said together with as much excitement as we could muster. Little Mary ran over and gave him a hug. “No, Mary,” I cried. “You might hurt him.”

My Dad’s gentle voice quieted my fear. “No, no, no Mary; it is okay. It is absolutely okay. You can go over and give your brother a kiss,” Dad said rubbing my head. “It’s okay, Jellybean.” He bent down close to me and pressed his palm steadily to my back. “Go give your brother a hug; I know he wants you to.”

I walked over and gave Jesus a hug and a kiss. He reached out and grabbed my hand. As we held together I could feel his little finger tickle my palm and when I looked up at him he had a smile on his face. Even with the sickness, I could still find glimpses of his bright spirit.

“I love you Mary,” he said.

“I love you too Jesus,” I said back.

Our eyes said “I missed you.”

We sat together for hours, sometimes talking, sometimes watching the television but mostly just looking at each other. At one point Mom suddenly startled to cry. She walked out of the room and stood right outside the door, we could hear her whimpering in the hallway.

I asked Dad if I could sit alone with Jesus and he said that he thought that would be all right. He picked up Little Mary and brought her out of the room with him.

I looked around the small hospital room not certain what I should do or what I should say. Everything looked too delicate, like it was no place for children. There were thin, metal poles with bottles hanging from hooks. Out of the bottom of the glass bottles emerged tubes that snaked into my brother’s arms. The tubes scared me. It had never been difficult to talk to Jesus. I walked over to the corner of the room and grabbed hold of the ribbon hanging down from a giant, mylar, Tweetee Bird balloon that floated in the corner. I pulled it down while saying, “I taught I taw a purty cat.”

Jesus ignored my forced attempt at humor. But still it cracked the ice because he asked “How’s school going?”

“Oh, school is school. John splashes anyone who walks close to the water fountain and Mary Magdalene keeps getting into trouble for kissing boys. I haven’t been too interested in class lately. Math and science seem to have lost their color. Everything seems so bland.”

“Like the food in here.”

“Yeah.

“Is Ned still squeaking?”

“Of course. Oh, and Sister Ellers says 'hey'.”

“Tell her I said hey back.”

Our conversation carried on in this strained fashion for a few minutes with neither of us saying anything of significance. It felt good to talk to him though, to have Jesus back in my life. I knew what I eventually had to ask him and that until I did that we weren’t going to be able to talk. Really talk like brother and sister and the best friends that we had always been. But I needed to put it off a little longer. Eventually I came around to it.

“Jesus,” I said, “why can’t you just take that cancer out of you?” I fought to suppress my tears. I had cried so much over the last few months that I thought that there could not possibly be any more inside of me. Each day, however, I found new tears. “I mean why can’t you just make yourself better and then we can take you home and everything will be back to like it was.”

“I don’t know, Mary. I dream that I am better. I make up these stories in my mind where the doctor comes in and says that they were mistaken and that everything is okay. They pull the needles and tubes out and send me home, the whole staff apologizing for their mistake. I tell them that it’s no problem and I’m just glad they figured it out before they killed me. I rewind these dreams and play then over and over again. But each time that the doctor comes in he just listens to my heart and my lungs and asks me how I feel today and then walks out. He doesn't know how to heal me either.” Jesus shrugged his shoulders. "I think maybe that I have other things that I must do and this body is not the one for me to do them in."

I immediately wanted to change the subject. Go back to talking about nothing. It was safer. “Dad says you are an acorn and are going to grow into a giant tree.”

“Sweet. I always wanted to be an oak. With my luck, somebody might cut me down and make a floor out of me.”

“Or a toilet seat.”

“I miss hearing Dad tell stories,” Jesus said. “When I first had to stay in the hospital he used to sit up with me at night and tell me all about creating the world. Each night it was a different animal or plant or rock. He told me how he made bunnies and gave the girl bunnies big feet so they could push the boy bunnies away. He gave snails slime so they could always find their way home.”

“Are you afraid to die,” I asked him. I don’t know where it came from. The words burst out of me and then I wished that I could take them back but it was too late.

Jesus was unfazed by my outburst. “I used to be very afraid. Now it seems muted. I am so tired that it seems like it might be a relief. What I fear most is being away from you and Mom and Dad and Little Mary. I’m not sure what it will be like and I don’t quite understand why this is happening to me.” Jesus looked at the plastic tube sticking into his chest.

“God told me that I would be okay and I believe him,” he said trying to find some reason for something that appeared to have none. “Dad said that each person has an important place in this world and whether we are here for three minutes or ninety years, our impact can be great,” Jesus said.

“Jesus, I don’t understand you. I don’t understand how you can talk this way,” I told him.

Jesus scanned the room and focused on Dad outside the glass doors of his room. I followed his gaze. Dad was holding Little Mary and telling her a story, probably about how he created glass as a liquid in order to confuse humans. “Dad is not the God that people pray to in church; at least I hope that he is not." We both laughed. "However, I do know that I am both his and God’s son just as you are his and God’s daughter. Don’t you think that there must be a connection?” I shrugged my shoulders. “Don’t you think that there is a reason why Dad is our father? He had a part in all of this and I would have never been able to realize my own role in this world without him. Maybe his part was to help me accept my cancer by smothering us with crazy ideas. Maybe with a different father I would feel more terror. I don’t know.”

Jesus and I looked out through the glass wall as a food service worker walked up and Dad preceded to get in an argument about getting some Fruit Loops for his son. He noticed our stares and put one hand towards his face, puffing out his cheeks and making his mouth wide with the aid of his pinky and thumb. With his index finger he pushed his nose up like that of a pig and with his other hand he waved. The food service lady walked off shaking her head and talking to herself leaving Jesus and me to laugh out loud, only not at what Dad thought we were.

“I want you to be in the future,” I said, “to experience it with me.”

“I will, Mary. I will always be with you. I guess just not in this shell,” Jesus picked at the loose skin on his chest. “As you go forward you will feel my presence because I will always be with you, in your heart. And wherever I’m going, I will have you in my heart."

I began to cry. I didn’t want to but the tears wouldn’t stay away any longer. “I don’t understand, Jesus.”

“You will.”

I hugged Jesus and the tears eventually stopped flowing. We talked about our favorite candy (Looney Toon Crunch) that Jesus could not taste because his mouth had lost the ability. We talked about Mom and Dad and Little Mary, playing in the sand, building forts, sledding in the winter and a million other things that last moments but stay with you for a lifetime. I hoped Jesus would be like that. Mainly, we just sat in the room together feeling each other’s presence. Jesus was the closest person in the world to me and on that day I learned that he would always be, no matter how distant our physical bodies traveled.

Mary came running in with a miniature box of Fruit Loops. “Had to pull some strings, son, but I was able to get those for you. After all I am...” Dad’s words trailed off.

“Dad, you can have them,” Jesus said, “but you are going to have to get your own milk.”

“I can have them. Are you sure, son? I mean well…if you insist. Wow, look at this,” Dad reached into his coat pocket, “just happen to have a carton of milk right here and a spoon.”

Dad sat down next to Jesus and ate the Fruitloops. Dad scooped the cereal into his mouth and in the quiet of the hospital room the crunch of the cereal seemed inordinately loud. I caught Jesus’ eyes and we laughed.

We played a game of Ker Plunk and as usual Dad collected the most marbles. We figured he needed them; he was obviously missing a few.

The day slid by us and we came upon the time that we would typically be leaving. Mom and Dad made no moves to depart so Mary and I settled close to Jesus to play a game of cards.

Jesus also realized that we were not leaving and he grabbed hold of Dad’s hands. He said, “Dad, I am scared.” His body quivered slightly under the sheets.

“I know son,” Dad said back to him. “It’s okay to be scared. We are all here with you. It will be okay.”

Mom sat down on the bed next to Jesus and stroked his head. She leaned in close to him and whispered, “You will always be a star in our sky, shining down upon all of us.” Mom kissed Jesus and told him how proud she was of him and how much she loved him.

“Dad, I don’t want to die. I don’t know what it will be like. If there’s anyway you can make this pass, please let it,” Jesus pleaded. “Please make it go away.”

“I can’t change it son," God said. "If I could take your cancer into my body I would. I wish I could. Jesus, we will always be near. You will never be alone. Try not to be scared; all of us will always be with you. You will feel us closer than ever before.”

Dad started to cry and it was like a cold going around the room. Soon Mom, Little Mary and I were also crying. Dad told Jesus that he felt so lucky to have such a great son and then didn’t say anything more. I didn’t know that all that sadness could be in one person.

Jesus fell asleep shortly afterwards. I sat near him and held his hand. I said, "I love you Jesus." He slept calmly.

It was close to three in the afternoon when Jesus died. He was lying in bed sleeping. His eyes had been closed for at least twenty minutes. He was taking slow, deep breaths that seemed peaceful. I watched those breaths, every one of them and had gotten to counting them, starting over with each passing minute. Jesus was now taking just eight breaths each minute. He breathed out and I said “One”. Time passed and he sucked in a second gasp, which came out a few seconds later. “Two,” I counted to myself. Then he took in a third breath and I got ready to say three.

But it never came out.