It's My Life - Melody Carlson [52]
But then she smiles (only slightly) and waves and says hello. And Beanie and I make a big deal of greeting her, then pull a couple chairs over to where she's sitting.
“How're you doing?” I ask, trying not to show how nervous I feel.
“Okay, I guess.”
Big, long pause.
“So how's the food?” asks Beanie brightly (and I want to sock her).
Jenny makes a wry smile. “Yummy. That is, if you like eating through a feeding tube.” Then she scowls.
“Ugh, they make you eat through a tube?” I ask, then immediately wonder if that's the wrong approach.
She nods. “Yeah, unless I can start doing it myself.”
“Can't you?” I ask hopefully.
Sadly, she shakes her head.
“Isn't there anything you feel like eating?” asks Beanie. “I mean, how about ice cream?”
Jenny makes a face.
“Well, how are you feeling then?” I ask. “Are you feeling a little stronger now that you've got something nutritious in you?”
She just shrugs. And that's pretty much how the next hour goes. And let me tell you, it's not easy. It's one of the longest, most difficult hours I've ever spent, and even though I feel guilty for leaving before visiting time is over, I'm certain that I'll never last another hour, and am pretty sure Beanie feels the same.
“Well, we should be going,” I finally say. “I hope we didn't wear you out.”
She just shrugs again, for what seems like the hundredth time. But then she says, “Will you come back?”
“Of course,” I say, too quickly. “If you want us to, that is.”
Then she nods and I notice just the tiniest spark of life in her eyes. “Yes, please do come back.”
So we both hug her, and I can feel the tears building in my eyes, but I don't want her to see; I don't want to discourage her any more. So, I tell her we'll be praying for her, and that we'll be back to visit her soon. And as we reach the door, I turn around to see her looking at us with big tears running down her face, but she's not making a sound. Part of me wants to run back and stay, but another part says it's time to go. And when we finally get back out to the parking lot, I'm just feeling totally confused about everything.
“Man, that place is lame,” says Beanie. “Poor Jenny.”
“Did you see her face as we were leaving?” I ask, barely able to talk.
Beanie nods. “Yeah. But I didn't know what to do. It seemed better to just go. But I think we should go back. Maybe even tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I stare at her curiously. But of course, she's made of much stronger stuff than I am. “You want to go tomorrow?”
“Don't you?”
“I suppose so. It's just that right now I'm feeling pretty drained.”
“Then you better let God fill you up again.”
I sigh. “Yeah, I suppose you're right.”
We hardly spoke on the ride home. But Beanie stayed at my house and ate dinner with us, and afterward we went up to my room and rehashed the whole thing. Then Beanie suggested we should pray for Jenny. So we did. And then I felt a lot better. I just hope Jenny does too. I really, really hope our prayers are making a difference because, to tell the truth, it sure didn't seem like our visit helped all that much.
Sunday, October 14 (whose life is this anyway?)
After church, my dad took us to dinner at a Chinese restaurant. And we got to talking about this being my last year at home and how I'd be going to college and everything next year, and then I mentioned that I'd been wondering how important it was for me to go to college. Big mistake.
“You mean, you'd actually consider not going to college?” asks my dad, his forehead creased with fatherly concern.
“Maybe,” I say as I use my chopsticks to pick up a sweet-and-sour sparerib. “You know college isn't for everyone.”
“But it's certainly for you,” says my mom eagerly. “You're an honor student, Caitlin. Why in the world would you choose not to go to college? It sounds absurd.”
“Maybe she wants to be a receptionist forever,” offers Ben. Thanks a lot,