Forgive Me Father For I Have Loved Read online

  “I...I know, Dane. That’s why I’m here actually—to speak to you about what has been going on.”

  “So, there is no business trip? You aren’t here on business?” Dane asked, taking a sip of his iced water. Most of the ice in his glass had melted, and he felt suddenly parched, dry, as if someone had poured flour on his tongue, thick and heavy, that would turn anything he could possibly say at that moment into gelatinous gravy.

  “Well.” Josh clasped his hands together nervously and shifted his body on the bar seat. “Yes, I had some business to take care of, but it could’ve waited. I escalated the visit.”

  Escalated. Like this is dire. Oh, dear God...

  A waiter with choppy blond hair and a pierced eyebrow came up to the table, speaking with a pronounced lisp.

  “...Broccoli and cheese and potato and bacon...and then there is the clam chowder made fresh daily...”

  Outside the window, the rain fell hard like bullets onto the street. Cars and passersby moved in a blur to and fro—a symphony of activity carefully orchestrated around the rain. Yes, the rain, like tears from the heavens, tears of a God who is crying for His children…. Someone paid a meter while holding a teetering dark umbrella with the word ‘Paris’ printed on it in bold, elegant calligraphy, while another person screamed ‘Shit!’ as the relentless shower drenched the poor guy from head to toe.

  “Dane?” Josh called out, tearing him away from his wayward thoughts. “Are you ready to order?” The waiter and his thin friend were looking at him, waiting.

  “Uh, yeah, I’ll just have the Chicken Caesar salad, please.” He handed his menu to the man and looked back at Josh who was now rubbing the back of his nape and staring contemplatively into space.

  “Just tell me, Josh,” he said. The words tumbled out, unbidden, and he waited for acknowledgement.

  “Okay. Here it is.” Josh sighed as he planted his hands on the table. “I have cancer, lung cancer.”

  Dane looked at him for a moment while his legs got heavy, as if they’d been dipped in cement in preparation for him to be thrown off a plank, into icy Michigan river waters. His heart cracked, then he tried to summon all his strength just so he could get through the darn conversation. He felt light headed, as if he may pass out right then and there, but he needed to keep his cool, not fall apart. He’d heard of people getting sick from cancer all the time, and even visited them and prayed over their beds, as well as gave them and their families words of encouragement as the end drew near. But looking at Josh was like looking at himself—like looking at a torn page from his most favorite book, and he refused to believe it could be ripped away and burned with little to no regard. After all, this particular page, and book, meant everything to him.

  “You don’t smoke anymore. You haven’t smoked in years...just...God.” Dane’s head dropped as he stared down at his lap, feeling destroyed by the implications of Josh’s admission. Barely, he held a slippery grip on his reserve and composure.

  “I know, and... imagine my own surprise. It started about four months ago.” Their eyes met, saying unspoken things to one another, so much more than their mouths ever would. “I was...feeling tired. Margie insisted I go to the doctor. I figured,” he shrugged, “it was just the stress from work, you know, the new position. Then, I started coughing a lot, coughing up blood, and I knew I had to see someone. It... doesn’t look good, Dane. I needed to see you, to tell you face to face. You’re my best friend. This isn’t something I could email ya or tell you over the phone.”

  “But four months, man? You’ve known all this time.” Dane tempered himself, the screaming in his head becoming so loud, he had to tell it to shut-up. It would be so easy to go off, to point a finger at Josh and let him have it for his blatant disregard, but it wouldn’t change anything, so why even bother?

  “No, I was in treatment, not believing what was happening to me. It took me awhile to even fully accept the diagnosis. I wanted to tell you, ‘Hey man! I beat cancer.’” He laughed, a sad, sorry laugh that left his mouth sounding like a sickly little white ghost then disappeared into thin air. “But I know now that won’t happen. I am here against doctor’s orders. I haven’t quit my job, either.” He sighed. “I tried to fight but...”

  “Please, don’t.” Dane put his hand up. “We can’t afford to think that way, to just give up. With God all things are possible, Josh. The body and mind, when working in agreement, can do some phenomenal things, but if you ever want to see those possibilities, you must keep fighting!” Dane caught the glances from people nearby as his voice rose. He didn’t care; his heart had accepted the words, and now he just wanted to fix the problem, make it right. He was the rock...he had to make it all go away, make it all right. Reaching across the pub table, he tightly grasped Josh’s wrist.

  “Dane, I need you to—”

  “We will pray right here, right now, we will ask for—”

  “Dane, damn it!” Josh snatched his hand away angrily, his voice, though weakened, ragged with irritation and hoarse undertones. “Don’t you think I’ve been praying?!”

  He hastily turned away and stared at the people milling about, eating, enjoying themselves…carefree. The laughter and chatter seemed to mock the somber mood hanging over them, and the invisible murderer called grief went unnoticed as it slinked about, under the radar, delivering packages of pulsating pain.

  That pain was beginning to eat him alive, right there front and center, starting with his bleeding heart. Josh’s eyes welled with moisture and tears cascaded down his sunken cheeks. He was angry with God—Dane was familiar with the look. So many that stood before him during mass had the same mask on. One of disappointment and unbelievable resentment that drove them to the depths of hatred for the Heavenly Father, for leaving them in a world that was destroying them, among people who simply didn’t give a damn.

  “I’m going to pray for you, because I know God can heal you,” Dane said calmly as their food arrived. He nodded at the waiter, clasped his hands and turned back to his friend, who was now slumped in his chair, his arms loosely by his side, as if his tenacity and will to live had melted right then and there like a prayer candle burned down to its pitiful blackened wick.

  “You can pray all you want,” Josh said gruffly as he looked down at his plate. “It won’t change anything, Dane.” He shook his head, his tone still fueled with fury, but Dane knew it wasn’t anger toward him; but toward God and the world, in general. Josh admitted he was exhausted from fighting the tormenting emotions, the back-to-back doctor appointments and everything else that this downward spiral to hell entailed.

  “This is the reality, Dane. Take it or leave it. I’m in stage 3B, the damn chemo and radiation is making me even sicker! I am going to die from this. It could be tonight, it could be months from now, but I’m going to die sooner than I’d like. I’ve gotten past the shock, I’m angry as hell, but,” he gulped, “I’ve accepted it. My affairs are in order,” he said matter-of-factly before coughing harshly into his napkin. His face reddened from the exertion and pain that twisted his expression with each outburst.

  “God is stronger than cancer.”

  Josh rolled his eyes dramatically.

  “You’ve always seen the glass half full, Dane. You were the class clown, the calm guy all rolled into one. You kept order in our group of misfits.” He managed a genuine smile. “But I’m sorry, Dane, that won’t change anything this time. No jokes will make this disease run away from my body...no prayers, resilience, none of that will change one...damn...thing. I had to accept it, so I can live the little bit of life I have left. I just...I just want to enjoy this time with my family and friends...that’s why I’m here.”

  “Well, you do what you want,” Dane offered coolly. “I’m trusting in God, Josh. It isn’t over until it’s over. You didn’t believe you’d ever get the job you have now—you got it. You didn’t believe Margie would agree to marry you—she did. You didn’t think your sister would survive that car accident, but she did. I don’
t know what it’s like to be in your shoes and I don’t pretend to know, but I do know that God heals and I believe that with all my being. God believes in you, even when you have all but given up, and when God has faith in us, then that is enough.”

  Josh gave a weak smile and nodded as he picked at his plate full of creamy mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli and grilled lime chicken. Dane cast him a reassuring glance, then bowed his head and prayed over their food. He finished the prayer, but kept his eyes closed for a few moments as he deliberated over what had transpired. He could feel Josh watching him. He knew the man probably hadn’t prayed in weeks and had all but waved the white flag on his life having nothing else to say to God, except a certain four letter word.

  Josh, you may have given up, but I haven’t. I can’t lose you. God wouldn’t let that happen right now. It’s not your time to go. Margie just had another baby...you got promoted. You’re my best friend, the only person besides my family who didn’t treat me like a freak when I became a priest. The only person who I could tell anything to, the only one who truly understands me. No, this is far from over. I need you, bro...

  ~***~

  Two weeks later...

  The ducks fluffed their downy black feathers, making sudden ripples in the placid lake surface, disturbing the green moss around them. Tiny white fish swam below them, searching for the perfect meal. Blues and pinks streaked across the sky, blending together like flowing home-spun salt water taffy. The air smelled of summer, teasing his senses with the pending season, giving a preview of what was to come. Dane looked over to his right, smiling at an elderly couple holding hands, their slow bodies moving as one. Wrapped in a ribbed, long white sweater, her thin, shoulder length silver hair blowing freely in the breeze, the woman held on to her aging husband’s arm, smiling faintly out at the flowing freshwater. Her face embodied peace, and an appreciation for every moment they had together. Such a beautiful sight, like a painting on Nature’s wall that fit seamlessly into the gorgeous day. Dane needed the reprieve, and he loved Mies Park, which was the picture-perfect setting to unwind and release.

  The huge area boasted scenic sights, long picturesque bike trails, discrete picnic areas and plenty of space for children and lovers to play. Sometimes he’d come, sit on his favorite bench under an old oak tree and read his Bible or write out his sermon. Other times, he’d just daydream. Every day here, he found something extraordinary, beautiful or whimsical to sink one or more of his five senses into—something that moved his soul and spirit, making them slow dance to the natural music of the gifted day. Today, he came to escape his own worries. Josh had been admitted into the hospital and was sliding further down into a dark chasm, which caused grief to all that loved him. Since their dinner, Dane had kept in constant contact with his ill friend on a daily basis, trying to not become a nuisance, but he was driven to hear the man’s voice. The more time passed, the weaker Josh seemed. Dane tried to offer words of encouragement, refusing to admit that he, too, sometimes felt angry with God about the recent turn of events. He hung on to his optimism, hoping that this was truly one of those moments when things grew increasingly gloomier before bursting like a star storm of energy and bestowing a blessing in the nick of time.

  Dane sat back on the bench, legs slightly parted, and crossed his arms over his chest as he drifted into his memories. He was briefly distracted when one of the priests from his parish walked past in the near distance.

  “Hi, Dane!” Fr. Sinclair called out, waving.

  “Hey, Stewart!” Dane waved and forced a grin, though he wasn’t in a smiling mood, and the man kept on his way.

  Dane could see Josh clearly in his mind—the two of them cutting across the high-school field, laughing and goofing off during football practice, only to be reprimanded again and again. They were bad influences on each other, but couldn’t help themselves and were hitched at the hip. Twin souls, the best of friends, more like brothers. It started in the third grade, and never stopped. You couldn’t find one without the other; their lives were intertwined and they’d experienced so much together.

  He remembered how devastated Josh had been after his parents divorced but soon after, a new exciting chapter arrived in his life, saving him from his own hopelessness. His first love, Marilyn Lopez blew the lid off of the seemingly quiet, suburban life the two young men had grown accustomed to. The sexy Latina siren from Massachusetts moved to Lavonia from Canada with her father. She, too, was a product of divorced parents and lent Josh an ear, as well as her heart.

  The new girl with waist length jet black hair, alluring green eyes and a Spanish accent made the boys’ toes curl. All the junior guys wanted a chance at her, and Dane and Josh played a bit of rivalry to get her attention, but Dane could see that Josh really dug her, so he stepped back and let it all play out. After a while, they both had steady girlfriends and were living it up—football, dates, parties. Life was a blast. But then, Marilyn was gone, just as quickly as she’d arrived. She moved away after less than a year, when her father was transferred to managerial job in New Mexico.

  Josh had tried to play it cool, but inside the poor guy was fading. Despite Dane’s support, he did what anyone would do for a guy that was dumped by the chic he’d lost his virginity to—drown him in a bottle of illegally acquired booze. Dane quickly obtained a fake I.D. and purchased them both some beers to get them both completely plastered the night she pulled out of her driveway for the final time. He nonchalantly told him to forget about her, that she wasn’t worth it, but they were just words, something to pacify the deep crater inside his best friend’s fractured heart.

  Josh had been there for Dane, too. Though Dane’s childhood had been by all outward appearances good—damn near great—with a mom at all her children’s games and events, a father who showed up to open houses and PTA meetings and played ball with his boys in the backyard. Yet, there were still things, feelings...those deep, dark nightmares he’d suppressed and hadn’t told a soul about...except for Josh. The ones that caused him to sneak and drink in back of the bleachers, nursing his woes away until the morning, after which he’d feel a sense of shame that paled in comparison to his throbbing hangover. He wrestled with the newfound alcohol addiction, fought it whenever the ugliness came to the light. He did eventually win that daunting battle, stopped altogether, but the nasty, sticky crap that clogged his heart was still there in the morning, and the morning after that...

  It ate at him so badly, he’d lock himself in his room, pretending to be doing homework when in fact he was writing angry words across his math class notebook and listening to Black Sabbath on his old portable CD player, the headphones blasting so loudly that if the entire house collapsed, he wouldn’t have heard it or gave a damn. His mother discovered the CDs, worn and scratched with repeated wear, and threw them out, but the twisted lyrics still danced in his sordid, tortured mind for months, even years later. He couldn’t talk to her, to the woman with unfaltering faith who insisted that nothing unpleasant be discussed in her home, despite her role in the whole ordeal.

  Ugly emotions? Who had them? Surely not her sons and daughter and especially not Dane, her coveted ‘human heirloom’ child that was the spitting image of his grandfather. The man was even too good for a golden pedestal; she’d declared him a saint.

  Dane was the only one of his siblings to have a widow’s peak. He was also the only one to have dark sable hair that glowed in shades of gold, russet and tawny under bright light—an unusual shade, which many women seemed to take notice of with him, as with his grandfather. It was one of the things he recalled—the women and his mother going on and on about his mysteriously romantic looks...and his eyes—so blue, they said, you could swim in their vastness and declare them ocean-rich. And they told stories, said so much, crystal clear, forcing him to at times, not look life in the eye. Then, there was the matter of his tan; people were certain he’d been going to the tanning booth, baking himself to an ochre crisp. Jokes from even his closest associates never ceased. But no
, it was all due to the strong Southern Italian blood surging through his veins.

  All in all, his mother said he appeared honest, and had actor good looks—but an even more attractive heart. She wanted him to be a person of moral character, an example of discipline, just like her very own father—a man held in high regard who, according to her, had run a strict but loving Catholic home.

  Dane’s thoughts drifted back to the here and now. Family was important, yet in the face of disease, illness and frailty, what did it matter? Fate showed neither allegiance nor concern in either direction and laughed at pity, turning away in disgust from the emotional display. Josh had a family—a wife, two twin daughters, Isabella and Abigail, and a newborn son, Leo—and now they all suffered from the cruelty of their father’s body and spirit’s lost resolve.

  Dane gripped his jacket and pulled it closed as the breeze picked up, giving him a chill. Sighing, he leaned forward, rocking his body, and stared down at the grass beneath his white and navy Reeboks. In the distance, a child laughed, and intelligible words floated on the air.

  Two men jogged past, their feet pounding the pavement as they each clutched their cellphone. After a few more moments, he convinced himself to stand, walk back to his hail beaten black Nissan Altima, go get a bite to eat, then head back to the rectory. As he made his slow steps toward the parked vehicle, still drowning in isolated, painful thoughts of his ailing friend, he caught an image out of the corner of his eye. Stopping, he watched the woman bend slightly as she stretched. Her elegant swanlike neck arched as she moved gently in the breeze, her form kissed by rays of sunlight. It seemed almost as if the sun had slowed down from setting, just to get a few more seconds with her. She’d wrapped her hair in thickly wound black fabric, and suddenly he wanted to know what those tresses looked like. Wearing a black leotard, she moved with grace, like poetry in motion.