THE LETTER I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE RECEIVED
FROM A FRIEND OR RELATIVE DURING MY ILLNESS

by Emily Camille Kreft

      The room is isolating, silent, isolation. The glass windows are only a mirage of my vision. My eyes are stuck within this room; the pulse of my life circulates around me. I slept and woke to another day of sleeping in the bone-marrow transplant ward. The days blurred together like the scenes one sees when looking out the car window. The colors of spring, summer, and fall disappeared. It was a white winter. We were a group of thirteen hoping and praying we could survive the freeze. We were too sick to visit with one another, but we were living, suffering, and fighting together.

      I woke one night not knowing whether it was the sun or moon pouring light into my room. I thought it may just be the light from the hallway, and I opened my mouth for the nurse to give me Tylenol. I was disturbed by the lack of sound and found the strength to open my eyes. Maybe I should have been scared, but I was not. I observed the glowing figure, standing, and holding the sign from my I.V. pole-With God All Things Are Possible. I thought I recognized a glimmer in his eyes, but he held my hand and it vanished. He handed me a letter, and looked deep into my eyes. Your prayers wrote this letter to God, and I am here with his reply. This is your letter, a past letter from God.

      I heard you when you were on the black pavement, shifting your feet from the curb, up and down. You felt like you were alone, you wondered what you did to be alone, but you were never alone, and never will you be. Your thoughts were with your mother, Mary, and she with you. While your friends were talking about disliking their teachers, she took you aside to give you the graces and comfort that a mother gives her child. She already knew, though you did not, and she needed the time to prepare you. She needed to give you the graces you would need. You did not separate yourself from your friends, your heart did. You already felt too much, and your childhood innocence could not interpret your experiences, nor could your friends, and so you turned to me. You were vulnerable, and shared your weakness with me each night before you closed your eyes. I had compassion for you that month, the month before your diagnosis, when your body trembled and your eyes watered each night before you went to sleep. You trusted me; as did Jesus, and never did you ask me why. I wanted to take your cup from you, though I knew our communion was near. I embraced you each night, though you were still afraid because your body knew what your mind did not. Your soul was prepared in the mystery of this relationship. You finally fell asleep when your consciousness slipped away and your heart could soothe you. You were diagnosed about a month later in August. I smiled upon your faith, that night when you went with your parents to the hospital. I knew you were going to be all right, you had heard my voice.

      The room was dark again and I wondered whether I was dreaming, responding to drugs, or if I had just received a letter from God. I looked out the window of my room. The nurses were still checking charts and preparing medicine. The night was quiet outside. There were barely any stars in the sky. I turned to go back to sleep when my door opened and a nurse came in with Tylenol. I quickly chewed and went to sleep, ignoring all the beeps and other noises. I am not sure if I actually went to sleep or not, because a moment later I opened my eyes to another mysterious light. I was the warmth that opened my eyes. He was standing there again. I observed in silence. I closed my eyes and opened them again, but he was still there. I asked him whether or not I was awake. He asked me if he could answer me in my sleep and I thought that I suppose he could. You are awake he told me, but that is for you to discover on your own. Now, he said, I have another letter, your present prayers to God. He wants you to know that he is listening. He knows you already hear him, but he wants you to have this letter.

      You are isolated from the world in this room, but you are not isolated from me. I took you outside of the world so I could hold you nearer, that I may whisper in your ear when you need the strength to continue one more day. The silence is a blessing, that you may find meaning in your suffering through telling your personal narrative. People do not always know when to listen, but your heart seems to know when I am near. I can speak through you. People are drawn to you because of this, they are not sure why, and yet they have compassion for you. They want to suffer with you in this mystery because they feel something they cannot understand, and desire more. People want to touch you because it consoles them. You are isolated in this room, not for you, but for them. They must learn how to feel compassion without your presence, just as you are learning to cope without their presence. You are experiencing the desire to be connected to people, you are realizing the importance of relationships, and you know the significance of family and friends in your life. You are learning things which most people spend their entire lives contemplating. You feel strength in your connections because you know the dependence of relying on others. You know humility, vulnerability, and weakness; all necessary for complete union with me.

      The darkness of the room returned, but the warmth remained with me. The question of whether or not I was awake went through my mind again. Only this time, I knew the answer. I was certain that it was my Guardian Angel that twice visited me in the night. I did not have proof or physical certainty, but I knew what I felt was real. I looked around the room again, and nothing seemed changed. I could still see the nurses outside the window. I glanced over and saw my mom shifting in the window seat. It did not matter that nothing around me changed. I always knew that my suffering had meaning, though I was not sure what that meaning was. Now I knew. I knew my voice, the voice God gave me, was going to draw people to me, and in the end bring people together. God could shepherd people through me, and I was the lost lamb he was going to save. My eyes fell heavy once again and I nuzzled beneath my covers. I woke once more to what I thought was the light of morning. My room was brighter than the night sky and I knew I had company once again. I have come to visit you once more this night, the night before your transplant. God has one more letter for you.

      There is a reason why you never question whether you will live or die, and it is not your faith alone. This is your third year of listening to me in your sleep. That what you imagine is built upon our conversations. You know that you will live in this world or the next and thus death does not cross your mind. You understand that love has power over death, and is the only power over death. My love for you is more enduring than the grasp upon your body. You give yourself to me, but never to the darkness of your disease. Tomorrow you will receive new life. The marrow of your body is dried up, much like Jesus' before his death. You will receive new life in me-body and soul. You need only give your pain to me. I will suffer with you. Your body will falter with this new life because it is of the sin of the earth, but your soul will rejoice with this renewal. Fear not, for your body will eventually comply with the soul, until it accepts new life as its own. You will endure more than you can suffer alone. I will be with you each step of the way, each step, and every step I will carry you through. Your body could not survive without your soul. You will live and I will work through you. I will be your light in the darkness, remember that there will be light. Call me when you need to be picked up, for I am always by your side. You will spread this meaning to others. Fear not, I will show you how.

      My eyes filled with tears when I finished the letter. The glow of his light moved closer towards me. The glimmer in his eyes became more apparent and I knew who he was. A.J., I called out. He smiled in assurance. God needed me and he needs you, he whispered. I told him I thought he looked familiar. He told me I only recognized him because I opened my soul to God. He leaned on my bed and I moved closer towards his warmth. He was strong in my weakness. He asked if the hospital food was any better. I laughed and told him that I had not eaten since I arrived. He told me not to worry, because God provides all the food I need. He held my hand and I closed my eyes, while warmth filled my body until the sun woke me that morning.