This memory has undergone many re-evaluations over the past
few years. Hurt- anger- resentment and
finally understanding. I shall try to explain.
Paul was in the second year of his treatment, doing his
second long term hospitalization in Wake Forest Hospital in Winston Salem,
North Carolina. He there, alone at meal
time, at night. Me home, alone at meal
time, at night. Except for those one night weekend visits.
My sister, a devoted evangelical Christian, in an effort to
be supportive and sympathetic called me frequently. It filled the lonely evenings when television
or reading did not seem to help.
Then that one night. I
was feeling particularly lonely and vulnerable.
She talked- she listened. Then she
asked, “Jewell, let me ask you. Has Paul ever been saved?”
Anger, frustration, hurt born of my own youthful disastrous ‘getting saved’ experience sprang
to the surface. “He’s not lost”, I said. She was silent. “He’s dying and so far nobody
seems to be able to save him.”
I hung up and began to sob.
It has been nearly four years since that hurtful exchange. I
have come to terms with my own hostility to the pain I suffered in that ‘getting
saved’ experience. I have come to accept
that my sister wanted only to be helpful. Today we are more accepting of each
other.
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