Lynette leaned against the kitchen counter, her legs suddenly weak. Placing her right hand on her chest, she felt her heart pulling itself apart. She could hear her brother’s broken voice from the living room where he lay on a hospital bed placed in front of his picture window. She wondered if he was still able to see his beloved property from that front window as he walked toward death, and she began to tremble.
Nearly a decade ago, she had decided to pull herself away from him and his family all over a trivial matter, and now, here she was; charging into his life again. Just minutes ago, she had stood beside him, his large, soft hand in hers.
“I am so, so sorry I was away from you for so long. Can you forgive me?” He slowly pulled her hand to his chest and held it for what seemed an eternity. “You are here now,” he whispered. “And that is all that matters.”
The melanoma was discovered on a hot summer evening as he sat on his deck, savoring a chilled Sam Adams. His wife noticed the odd spot on his back, touching it lightly as she passed behind his chair. They made arrangements that next day to have his doctor take a look at the blemish and results of the biopsy were conclusive. It was one of the more aggressive forms of melanoma and the prognosis was grim. That was nearly eight months ago, just after he had purchased his dream home. And now, eight months later, he lay dying; surrounded by capable, empathetic hospice volunteers, his immediate family, and friends who clearly loved him.
They had welcomed Lynette back to the fold with open arms, hugs, kisses, and forgiveness. She lost herself in their warmth, delivering fresh muffins, overly decorated doughnuts, and decadent, fancy flavored bagels to them each morning on the way to her office. She stopped each evening, quietly sitting at the kitchen table, her right hand caressing an ivory rosary tucked into her pants pocket. And, she pleaded with God, asking Him to bestow her brother’s pain upon her own strong and healthy body. Toward the end, she was begging God. “Heal him or take him,” she prayed. By the third day, the medicine given to him by the hospice team had no effect on the pain. His cries for relief and his agonizing, incoherent prayers caused her to question if God even existed.
She received the call shortly after leaving him with a tender kiss. His wife graciously thanked her for her support, the breakfast food she had brought every morning, and the money she left on the kitchen counter each day.
“We loved having you here with us,” her sister-in-law said. “You are welcome in our lives. Please don’t be a stranger.”
She stared at the curve of the phone, pressed tightly against her chin, and she could not find her voice. Seconds passed without a sound, without a murmur, and she realized in that moment that the most powerful words of all are sometimes spoken in silence.
Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives in Connor with her husband, Dale, and their Goldendoodle, Barney Rubble. You may contact Belinda online at dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
