Jericho: Coeur d'Alene, Idaho.
I sat bolt upright in bed. My cell phone was ringing. I slipped out of bed so as to not wake Steph and dove across the room to grab my phone before it rang again. No caller ID. "This had better be good," I barked as quietly as I could.
"Jericho, it's God. How are you?"
"Oh man. Why do you only call me in out of state hotel rooms?"
"How was the service?"
"This is total bullshit. How did you get my number? Who the hell are you?"
"Jericho, you feeling okay? It's God. We've been through this. Remember Chicago?"
"Yeah, I remember. I should have hung up on you then, too. Two other people are in this room and they don't need to be woken up by your shit. I'm hanging up now."
"We won't disturb them."
"What?"
"Have a little faith. They will never know I called." I looked over at the beds. The hotel room was quiet except for some soft snoring. My wife was in one bed, our friend was in the other bed. It was as if nothing had happened. "You have questions, don't you, Jericho?"
"No. I have no questions. I have only contempt."
"I see. So, you don't understand?"
"What's to understand? A young, smart, interesting, beautiful person gets aggressive brain cancer. She turns to her faith for answers and help. Nine months later the cancer kills her. Yet, Rush Limbaugh still walks the planet. Makes perfect sense."
"She was ready. She had done her work. It was time."
"So, when our time comes, when our work is done, we are given unending migraine style headaches until our brains are crushed inside our own skulls? Totally logical."
"Jericho, I know that tone, you always get cold and sarcastic when you are confused and defensive."
"That's all you have to say?"
"Of course not. I just want you to know that I hear you and I want you to talk to me, not just make stabbing remarks about the situation."
"All I have is sarcasm. Without sarcasm, I might as well not talk at all - my vocabulary would consist of monosylabic grunting, tongue clicking and high pitched whistles."
"Are you going to talk to me or are we going to do this all night?"
"Do what? This is the second time in two months I've gotten a cell phone call from God. If I'm still sane, I would be totally shocked."
"You asked for this Jericho. You wanted to be one of my prophets."
"I asked for it in college! Do you own a calendar?"
"You weren't ready. You're ready now. I talk to my prophets. Always have."
"Are the guys walking around Seattle wearing newspaper for pants and talking to the sky your prophets as well?"
"A few of them. This isn't an easy cup you have asked to drink from."
"Robert Tilton?"
"I thought we were talking about you."
"We aren't talking at all. I can't believe any of this. As far as I'm concerned, I have proof God doesn't exist. So, that means you are just some crank and I get to hang up on you now and go back to sleep."
"You have proof I don't exist?"
"Sure. Occam's Razor. Which is more likely? An omnipotent God who creates life, the universe and everything so that all of creation can worship Him. Or, man makes up God to comfort himself as he struggles to understand this great chaotic ball of chemistry and physics around him? A God who would create a spiecies simply to worship Himself would have to have an ego like a black hole. I don't think a being like that would allow itself to exist for very long. So, either God would have destroyed Himself just after the book of Genesis or He never existed in the first place."
"That's your proof?"
"She came to you for help. You either ignored her or you don't exist. Which is it?"
"She chose faith as her medicne."
"Right. She healed her soul as her brain was eaten by a tumor. Some medicine."
"She ministered to her friends and family. She was a witness to my love."
"Love? What love? Pal, you are truly messed up in the head! Brain cancer is your idea of love? YOU need a CAT scan!"
"So, I don't exist."
"You allowed an innocent person to die in one of the worst ways possible. Yeah, you twisted fuck, you don't exist."
"We're done?"
"We're DONE!"
"Okay. By the way, Jen said to open your heart and give Steph a hug for her."
"FUCK YOU!"
I'm sorry, Jen. I'm really sorry.
"Jericho, it's God. How are you?"
"Oh man. Why do you only call me in out of state hotel rooms?"
"How was the service?"
"This is total bullshit. How did you get my number? Who the hell are you?"
"Jericho, you feeling okay? It's God. We've been through this. Remember Chicago?"
"Yeah, I remember. I should have hung up on you then, too. Two other people are in this room and they don't need to be woken up by your shit. I'm hanging up now."
"We won't disturb them."
"What?"
"Have a little faith. They will never know I called." I looked over at the beds. The hotel room was quiet except for some soft snoring. My wife was in one bed, our friend was in the other bed. It was as if nothing had happened. "You have questions, don't you, Jericho?"
"No. I have no questions. I have only contempt."
"I see. So, you don't understand?"
"What's to understand? A young, smart, interesting, beautiful person gets aggressive brain cancer. She turns to her faith for answers and help. Nine months later the cancer kills her. Yet, Rush Limbaugh still walks the planet. Makes perfect sense."
"She was ready. She had done her work. It was time."
"So, when our time comes, when our work is done, we are given unending migraine style headaches until our brains are crushed inside our own skulls? Totally logical."
"Jericho, I know that tone, you always get cold and sarcastic when you are confused and defensive."
"That's all you have to say?"
"Of course not. I just want you to know that I hear you and I want you to talk to me, not just make stabbing remarks about the situation."
"All I have is sarcasm. Without sarcasm, I might as well not talk at all - my vocabulary would consist of monosylabic grunting, tongue clicking and high pitched whistles."
"Are you going to talk to me or are we going to do this all night?"
"Do what? This is the second time in two months I've gotten a cell phone call from God. If I'm still sane, I would be totally shocked."
"You asked for this Jericho. You wanted to be one of my prophets."
"I asked for it in college! Do you own a calendar?"
"You weren't ready. You're ready now. I talk to my prophets. Always have."
"Are the guys walking around Seattle wearing newspaper for pants and talking to the sky your prophets as well?"
"A few of them. This isn't an easy cup you have asked to drink from."
"Robert Tilton?"
"I thought we were talking about you."
"We aren't talking at all. I can't believe any of this. As far as I'm concerned, I have proof God doesn't exist. So, that means you are just some crank and I get to hang up on you now and go back to sleep."
"You have proof I don't exist?"
"Sure. Occam's Razor. Which is more likely? An omnipotent God who creates life, the universe and everything so that all of creation can worship Him. Or, man makes up God to comfort himself as he struggles to understand this great chaotic ball of chemistry and physics around him? A God who would create a spiecies simply to worship Himself would have to have an ego like a black hole. I don't think a being like that would allow itself to exist for very long. So, either God would have destroyed Himself just after the book of Genesis or He never existed in the first place."
"That's your proof?"
"She came to you for help. You either ignored her or you don't exist. Which is it?"
"She chose faith as her medicne."
"Right. She healed her soul as her brain was eaten by a tumor. Some medicine."
"She ministered to her friends and family. She was a witness to my love."
"Love? What love? Pal, you are truly messed up in the head! Brain cancer is your idea of love? YOU need a CAT scan!"
"So, I don't exist."
"You allowed an innocent person to die in one of the worst ways possible. Yeah, you twisted fuck, you don't exist."
"We're done?"
"We're DONE!"
"Okay. By the way, Jen said to open your heart and give Steph a hug for her."
"FUCK YOU!"
I'm sorry, Jen. I'm really sorry.
posted by Jericho Brown at 5/08/2005 11:54:00 PM
5 Comments:
Yet more nonsense in this nonsensical universe.
Sorry, man. That really sucks.
I'm truly sorry for your loss, Jer. I know words can't make it better.
I read in Jen's blog that she wanted everyone to remember her life, not her death. You seem pretty focused on her death in this entry. Maybe you could post some fond memories of her to remember more than just the brain cancer.
Sorry for your loss J. xoxo
I'm angry about the death. IWDC is here mostly as an expression of anger. We're here, we're pissed and impotent, get used to it.
I'm angry that a young and wonderful person got an incurable disease out of no fault of her own. I'm angry that she turned to "alternative" medicine instead of traditional methods. Traditional methods would have given her a 20% chance of survival - the twigs and berries approach gave her 0% - she chose quality over quanity.
I'm angry that she turned to God and got zero results. I'm angry that the service I attended made it look like her cancer and her death were some holy thing ordained by God. If God pissed on these people, they would have poured it over ice and praised God for the drink. Even Job is sitting in heaven going "Daaaamn!"
I'm angry that I didn't step up to the plate. Jen and I weren't as close as Jen and Steph were. When Jen moved to Idaho, I lost all connection I had to her, she moved into the "Steph's friend" catagory permanently. When I heard about her cancer and the methods she chose, I was immediately angered. Who was filling her head with this crap? But, it wasn't my place to step in and tell her what to do with the remainder of her life. I believe in the right to die - I just don't like when people exercise that particular right - especially when there is a possibility for survival!
And, as usual, I'm angry that I'm angry. I should be able to accept her choice. I should be able to accept that her friends and family accepted this instead of fighting it. I should be able to accept that God, if he exists, decided it was Jen's time and didn't answer her prayers. I'm really bad about acceptance and/or doing anything about anything. I'm really good at fuming and stewing and bitching and moaning. Really good.
Jen deserved better. Everyone failed her - including God. I hope she can forgive us.
I am going to come down on the other side of this. I have seen too much death to ever tell anyone how to react, that their emotions are wrong and that they owe it to the deceased to feel differently. It is possible to show respect for our lost loved ones and still feel in a way they would not have us feel. As much as we love those we have lost, we the living are the ones who have to find a way to survive in the shadow of death.
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