Come on, MC, don’t be afraid. Peace . . . Jesus is with you. But her next breath wasn’t easier. A wheezing came from deep inside her lungs. Everything felt tight and her chest hurt. She tried again, but no matter how hard she worked she couldn’t catch her breath.
Her heart began to race and black spots danced in front of her eyes. Panic grabbed at her, surrounding her, suffocating her. I can’t breathe, God! Help me! Dizziness swept over her and she grabbed at a nearby signpost. What was happening?
Mary Catherine bent at the waist and put her forearms on her thighs. Lord, let me breathe.
Exhale. Breathe out, my daughter. I am with you.
She closed her eyes. Thank You, Father. You’re with me. I can feel You with me. Calm me down and help me breathe.
With deliberate patience, she exhaled. That was the difficult part, getting the old air out of her lungs. She breathed out again. A few more times and gradually the panic subsided. She straightened and drew a slow breath. The air seemed to fill only the top half of her lungs and her heart rhythm seemed off. But at least she didn’t feel like she was being strangled. If a simple walk to the beach was causing this kind of struggle, the doctor was right. Her heart didn’t have long—no matter how much she didn’t want to believe that. No matter how much she prayed about her health.
For a few minutes she stood there, not moving. She was sweaty, the insides of her palms and her forehead. Her eyes found the distant shore. Was this how it was going to be? She’d gradually suffocate to death? In her darker moments she’d read articles about how a person died of heart failure. Most people who suffered through it described it as a slow drowning.
An inability to breathe.
The sweat on her forehead evaporated after a minute and her heart settled into a normal rhythm. She was going to be okay. This time. Mary Catherine took a swig of water from the bottle in her bag, and then pushed her way toward the water. Santa Monica Beach had a forever stretch of sand before the shore. Normally she loved walking through it, feeling the burn in her legs and knowing the effort was good for her. Today every step felt like a battle. She wasn’t sure how much more she could ask of her heart.
When she reached the water she was exhausted. She spread her towel out on the sand, sat down, and stared at the horizon, at the place where the ocean met the sky. God, I know You love me. I feel Your Spirit at work inside me. Even now. But is this really it? Would You please heal me, Lord? She thought about her breathing, the terrifying feeling of not being able to draw a breath. Is my heart that bad?
This time there was no quick response, no easy answer. The breeze off the water played with her hair and soothed her soul. I don’t need to hear Your voice, God. I only need You. She lifted her eyes to the cloudless sky. This time her whispered words mingled with the wind. “Please help me walk the road ahead. That’s all. If You don’t heal me . . . just help me.”
She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to walk too fast and feel the frightening breathlessness again. All her life Mary Catherine had taken life a hundred miles an hour, her hair flying behind her. She had raced the wind and won. Time and time again. Nothing she couldn’t do. No fear. God had come to give her life to the full and she was going to take hold of every minute of it.
Until this week.
Now the only way to get the most out of life was to go slow. Just like the doctor said. To measure her steps and monitor her activity. And focus on breathing. She couldn’t imagine a time when breathing was the most difficult thing she’d do in a given day. But that was coming. Mary Catherine could feel it.
Life would be slower, simpler in Africa. She would take it easy and maybe she’d even rebound a little. She pulled her phone from her bag and called Janie Omer, the coordinator for her trip to Uganda. Janie explained that she’d emailed the list of necessary shots. “You have to get on that.” The woman sounded worried. “The malaria medicine has to be in you for at least a week before you arrive in Africa.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Mary Catherine tilted her face to the sun. “First of the week for sure.”
They talked another minute about what to pack. Mary Catherine planned on bringing an extra suitcase with school supplies.
“We have a few cargo containers being shipped to the new orphanage.” Janie paused for a moment. “We could use small boxes of crayons. We weren’t able to get those. And maybe some children’s books.”
Mary Catherine took a slow breath. “I’m on it.” The thought of shopping made her feel even more tired.
“We’re meeting a week from Wednesday. New York’s LaGuardia Airport.” Janie rushed through the details. “Our flight will leave around three that afternoon. I need everyone there by noon. We’ll go over the details before we fly out.”
“I’ll be there.”
The call ended and Mary Catherine tried to imagine all she had to do over the next ten days. Get her shots, shop for school supplies, pack, and figure out a way to say goodbye. She had booked her trip to New York with a three-day layover in Nashville. Time with her parents. Originally she had planned for a week with them. But her work schedule hadn’t allowed it. Besides, they didn’t know she was coming, didn’t know about Africa.
They didn’t even know about her need for a heart transplant.
A ribbon of guilt wove itself through her conscience. They would be distraught if they knew about her health. That’s why Mary Catherine didn’t see the point in telling them. That would happen soon enough. The last thing she wanted was her parents panicking over her trip to Africa. A person could die in a car accident or in their sleep.
Going to Africa wasn’t going to increase her chance of dying.
Right?
She stared at the whitecaps on the far-off waves. The problem was the timing. She might not have six months. After the way she felt walking here today, she might not have half that. Which was why she needed to make the goodbyes count.
The only person she wouldn’t be able to tell goodbye, or even see—maybe ever again—was Marcus.
She exhaled, and the weight of his memory settled around her shoulders like a blanket. I miss you, Marcus. You’ll never know how much. She leaned back on her hands and for a moment she could feel him beside her again, here on this beach, the two of them sharing bits and pieces from their past.
Gradually letting down their walls.
Mary Catherine hadn’t written back to him after his last email. She hadn’t seen the point. But that wasn’t right. Marcus had done nothing to deserve her silence. And since she probably wouldn’t see him again, she could at least write. She’d do that before the day was over.
She decided to call her parents. The most amazing thing had happened with them. They were back together. They had gotten remarried before a judge and were even talking about having another wedding—something small for family and close friends.
After their divorce, Mary Catherine had prayed every day for her parents to reconcile. Now they had. Which meant God could do anything. He could even heal her heart while she was in Africa.
She checked the time on her phone. Her parents would be finished with dinner by now, doing dishes, talking about the church service. Her mother answered on the third ring. “Mary Catherine! What a wonderful surprise!”
She didn’t realize how much she’d missed them until the sound of her mother’s voice. Tears blurred her sight, and she blinked them back. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”
They spent five minutes catching up. Her parents’ health was better than ever, their diet radically changed. “You were right about ketosis. Your father and I have so much more energy eating a high-fat, low-carbohydrate diet. In fact, we’re hardly eating any carbs, and all our blood levels are better.” Her mother sounded a decade younger. “No more insulin for your father’s diabetes. It’s like a miracle. Really, we feel amazing.”
“That’s great.” Mary Catherine smiled. “You’ll both live to be a hundred. Together. Which is the best part of all.”
Her mother’s la
ugh filled the phone lines. “I wouldn’t mind it.” She caught her breath. “You’re still eating that way, right? Low carb, higher fat. Protein.”
“For the most part.” Mary Catherine remembered the nachos she’d had with her work team yesterday. The carbs absolutely hurt her ability to breathe. She needed as little inflammation as possible. “I could be more intentional.”
“Well, you’re young.” Her mom’s happy tone fell off a little. “How’s your heart, Mary Catherine? You haven’t told us in a while.”
“It’s still beating.” The panic rose within her again. She wasn’t about to have this conversation with her mother. “Hey, I have a surprise for you.”
“I still want to know about your heart.” Her mother wouldn’t be easily fooled. She’d been tracking Mary Catherine’s health since they found her heart defect at three weeks old. The smile returned to her mom’s voice. “What’s the surprise?”
“I’m coming to see you! I’ll be there in a week.” Suddenly she could hardly wait. “I’ll be there for three days.”
“Why not a week?” Her mother sounded confused. “I mean, we’ll take it! I’d love to see you for any amount of time.”
Telling her mom about her heart could wait. Africa could not. She stood and walked slowly toward the water. “I need to be in New York on Wednesday morning. I’m meeting with a mission team there and flying to Uganda.” She forced a giddy tone. “Isn’t that incredible?”
Her mother didn’t answer.
“Mom?” Mary Catherine allowed a lighthearted laugh. “Aren’t you excited? I’ve seriously always wanted to go back to Africa. You know that.”
Her mother drew a long breath. “It’s just . . . how come you’re only telling us now?”
“Everything just came together.” Not quite the truth. Mary Catherine winced. She put her toes in the water. “I’ll be there for six months. I’m helping open an orphanage and a school.” She hesitated. “We’ll get it up and running and then someone else can step in and take over.” Another pause. “Isn’t that great?”
“Six months?” Her mother sounded shocked. “What about your job?”
“They’ve given me a leave.” Mary Catherine stopped trying to sound happy. “Mom, this has been on my list forever. You know that.” In the silence that followed, her mother began sniffling. “Please . . . you’re not crying, are you?”
“Honey, Africa?” She was definitely crying. “For six months?” She seemed to struggle to find her voice. “What about your health?”
“I’ll be fine.” Mary Catherine hated this. “My doctor gave me permission. I wouldn’t go if he didn’t.”
It was a slight exaggeration, but she wasn’t lying.
Her mom hesitated. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Mary Catherine hurt for her mom. It couldn’t have been easy all these years having a daughter with heart trouble and diabetes. “I’ll come home earlier if I’m not feeling well.”
“All right.” Her mom clearly didn’t agree with the plan. “So you’ll be here Sunday?”
“I will.” Relief came with the next breeze off the ocean. Her mom sounded a little happier when they hung up. She would be okay. And the less time she had to worry about the heart transplant, the better.
Mary Catherine turned off her phone and slipped it into her pocket.
She thought about her parents again. Having them worry the entire time she was gone would do none of them any good. She’d tell them about her heart once she got back from Africa. And if she never returned . . . then her time was up. Her parents would understand. Spending her final months knowing her parents were worried and upset was not what Mary Catherine wanted. She breathed in little bits of ocean air until her lungs were filled. Shoulders back, hair blowing in the breeze, she closed her eyes and faced the sun.
The time waiting for a transplant would go faster in Africa. The orphans and some workers had already moved in and she couldn’t wait to join them. Mary Catherine pictured their little faces. Children who had nothing, no one. Afraid and alone. Mary Catherine could hardly wait to love them. There’s no other way I’d want to spend my time, Lord. She sighed.
And if God were willing, she would come home and have her surgery.
Mary Catherine moved back toward her spot and dug her toes in the sand. Maybe her breathlessness had nothing to do with her heart. She might just be tired. A good nap and she’d feel like herself. She gathered her things, picked up her towel, and headed back to her apartment. This time she forced herself to walk more slowly. Because of that—and because she knew God was answering her prayers—she didn’t have any breathing troubles all the way home.
She barely made it to her bed and flopped on her side before falling asleep. Three hours later she woke to the setting sun. She sat up in bed and blinked a few times. Why was she sleeping in the middle of the day? She looked around her room. What day was it? Gradually the answers came to her. Today was Sunday. She’d gone to church with Sami and then for a walk to the beach. She must’ve really needed the nap.
Mary Catherine slipped out of bed and felt the room tilt a little. She stayed in one spot till she had her bearings. At least her breathing seemed back to normal. She moved to the sofa beneath her bedroom window, sat down, and grabbed her laptop. Food would take care of the dizzy feeling and restore her energy. But she had something to do before she could eat.
She opened her email and found Marcus’s letter. The one where he had asked her if she was okay and told her he missed her every hour. She was wrong to let this much time pass without responding to him. Especially since he was worried about her.
Mary Catherine read his words again, let them soak their way into her heart.
I have to be honest. I have the strangest thought that something’s wrong with you. Maybe I just don’t want you to leave for Africa. Or maybe it’s something else.
A shiver ran down her arms. How could he have known something was wrong? He had no idea about her heart defect. Mary Catherine finished reading his letter. When she reached the end she read his last words through teary eyes.
I’ll let you go. It never feels right being so far away. Just remember I’m always thinking of you. Praying for you.
Missing you.
Love, Marcus
Why hadn’t he just faded into this next season of life the way Mary Catherine had expected? She had set him free for his own good. He deserved more than her damaged heart and uncertain future. There was no point to the two of them. Yet she loved him more now than ever before. Like he’d woven himself into the fabric of her soul.
She hit the reply button and started to type.
Dear Marcus,
I’m sorry I didn’t write back sooner. I should have. Things have been busy at work and at home, trying to get ready for the big trip. I’m nowhere near organized. You’d laugh at this, but I haven’t even gotten my shots. Queen of procrastination, I know.
She stopped and looked out the window. The evening was perfect. She wished she was still at the beach.
Instead she was trying to find the right words to tell Marcus Dillinger goodbye—again. One last time. She blinked back fresh tears and sighed. “I’m just glad you’re not here in person,” she whispered. Because after today she might actually cancel her flight to Uganda and stay here with Marcus. Glad for every minute they might have together. Even if she only had a handful of months.
Focus, she told herself. Your plans are set. She looked at the computer screen again and her fingers began to move across the keys.
Anyway, I wanted to thank you for writing, for telling me how you felt, and for your concerns.
I think God’s given you a special discernment when it comes to me. Yes, I’m definitely distracted about this trip. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I should really be going for six months. But then I remember how I’ve always wanted to go back. I don’t want to miss my chance.
That’s probably why you’ve been worried about me. I’m fine. Really. Just a little anxious about l
eaving. So if you could pray about that, I’d appreciate it.
She stared at her letter. Awfully superficial. Borderline dishonest. And she hadn’t dealt with the rest of what he’d written. The hardest part.
She started typing again.
About the missing, it’s not much fun, is it?
She hesitated.
I think about you, too. Sometimes I actually hurt from wishing I could see you again. But the important thing is we’ve each got our dreams to follow. I’ll be gone six months . . . and you’ve got the season. Everything you’ve ever wanted, Marcus. You’re the best pitcher in baseball, you’ve got the Youth Center, and a faith that’s growing all the time.
You’ll forget about me eventually.
She read that line again and winced. Too harsh. She deleted it.
You might not forget about me—I certainly hope not, anyway. I’d like to think I’m fairly unforgettable. But eventually you’ll come to understand this is for the best. God will bring someone into your life where the timing is better for both of you, where you both want the same things.
Two tears slid down her cheeks. She wiped them with the back of her hand and tried to see the computer screen.
I guess I just wanted to thank you for your letter, and for praying for me, and to tell you I’m okay.
Tears blurred her eyes again.
Oh . . . and I think it’s all right if we both hold on to that one memory, the two of us dancing on your balcony.
Some people live their whole lives and don’t have a night like that.
Play for God. I’ll pray for you, too.
Love, Mary Catherine
By the time she finished the letter, Mary Catherine had lost her appetite. For food, anyway. She read it again and hit send. Then she closed her computer and dried her eyes. That’s it. She sniffed and hurried to her feet. No more. She wasn’t going to sit here crying about Marcus.
Their time had passed.
Get organized, she ordered herself. You’re going to run out of days.