a layne post

A loud show played in the background, my sofa scattered with sleepy girls buried under their colorful silky blankets their grandma made when they were born. As I jog down the stairs, I call out, “One hour!” because if you know me, even a little, you know I hate to be late. As I walked through the kitchen, my puppy, Humphrey, wriggled at my feet, sneaking a lick of my toes from time to time, making me squeal, ‘Gross!’. I rise to my tippy toes and lean across the kitchen sink to peek out my kitchen window see if anyone was moving around out back. It is Sunday morning and few patients will commit to going to church ahead of time, it’s going to depend how they slept. I’ve lived with cancer patients almost fourteen years now, and I am keenly aware that how someone feels can change by the minute.  

I scoop Humphrey up to take him potty outside, and see one of our young patients. He is walking back into our pedestrian gate, a plastic grocery bag in hand filled with fresh Mozambican bread bought next door. His nice outfit, one of the few he brought with him to my house, indicates he will come to church today. I was surprised as he had a round of chemotherapy only a couple of days before, but forgetting the hospital had run out of half of his treatment and he had only gotten part. “Bom dia!” I say loudly with a wave. “Wow!” I exclaim with my eyebrows raised, “you look so handsome.” He giggles and bashfully looks down saying, “Obrigado,” with a smile to rival the best of them. He really is handsome.

A wave of love comes over me.

No one else was feeling up to the car trip and hard chairs, so there was no need for two cars this morning. I hop in the backseats with the girls and tell him to sit up front with Jon. It was our church’s first day at a new-to-us building. Upon arrival I could hear the worship music from the sidewalk. We followed the melody inside and the first thing I noticed was that we would need to walk upstairs. Steep stairs.

A wave of worry comes over me.

I casually put myself behind him, to make sure he wasn’t too weak, but also not wanting to hover, as he is a teen. He is fine; however, I cannot help but notice his thin body as I trail him. We find our seats, and I flash a smile to a few people, giving small waves, not wanting to be too distracting since worship had already started. Everyone is standing. He sits.

A wave of sadness comes over me.   

I frantically try and pull it together. I know if a tear falls a full-on sob might take over. He’s dying. I want to lean over a hug him hard, but I hold it in, he is a teen.

I love him.

This is going to be hard.