CHAPTER 7
672 Words
CHAPTER 7
“Why does everybody who gets sick go to the same hospital?” Woong asked once Kennedy parked.
“What do you mean?” She got out and opened Woong’s door so he wouldn’t bang it against the cement pillar in the parking garage.
“What I mean is folks at hospitals are getting all kinds of different germs, so why don’t they have one hospital for all the broken bones, and one hospital for all them folks with diabetes, and some other spot for the ones having their baby and so on?”
Kennedy locked the doors to the Honda and had to remind herself that Woong was too big to hold her hand. “That’s a good question. I guess it’s just easier having everything all together, so if the doctors need to give the patients X-rays or something it’s all right there.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been thinking, and now what I’m wanting to know is how come when all the bad stuff happens it always starts with folks coming here to the hospital or ending up here?”
“It does seem like that’s the case, doesn’t it?” Kennedy was glad she found a spot not too far from the entrance. She wasn’t sure she had the patience for Woong’s version of twenty thousand questions.
“Know what else I’m wondering?” he asked as they made their way to the sky bridge that connected the parking garage to the main building.
“What’s that?” Kennedy was prepared for anything from a theological discussion about the possibility of extraterrestrial life to an observation about the mating rituals of the giraffes at the zoo.
“What I’ve been wanting to know is how come Mom got mad at me in the car? I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful to God or stuff and nonsense like that. I really wanted to know.”
Kennedy had been so worried about Carl’s condition she couldn’t remember exactly what Woong had said or done.
“Because I’ve been thinking,” he went on, “and what I’m wondering is how come we’re supposed to pray that God’s gonna heal my dad, only if he doesn’t, we’re supposed to just say, Ok, that must not have been the thing God wanted to do. Because what I’m saying is if God’s gonna do what God’s gonna do, then why should we have to pray about it so hard, know what I mean?”
Kennedy was having a difficult time focusing. She still wasn’t sure if these occasional bursts of mental fog were one of the side effects from her anxiety meds or just a sign of the anxiety itself. One thing she’d learned over the past two years was that as soon as she felt like she’d gotten the upper hand on one of her PTSD symptoms, another one — just as bad or sometimes even worse — was waiting in line, ready to move to the forefront.
“And here’s the other thing,” Woong said as they got onto the elevator to the main lobby. “Don’t you think it’d make God mad if we ask him to heal a Christian? What I mean is don’t all the Bible books and all the pastors say that it’s better in heaven than it is on earth? And wouldn’t God know that so wouldn’t he want a Christian to go to heaven and be happy forever? So when we pray like Mom did for God to heal folks that are saved, what’s keeping him from getting angry at us for being selfish-like?”
Kennedy knew that this wasn’t a question she could brush off like the others. “First of all, God tells us we can talk to him about anything. And it’s not selfish to want to keep from losing somebody we love. Jesus cried when his friend Lazarus died, even though he knew he was going to raise him back to life. But even more important, nobody’s talking about your dad going to heaven. Lots of people have to ride in ambulances, but that doesn’t mean they’re so sick or hurt you have to worry about them dying.”
Woong didn’t respond. They got off the elevator, and Kennedy led him toward the ER. She’d been to Providence so many times by now there was no need to ask the volunteer behind the welcome desk for directions.
“Come on, bud. Let’s find your mom and dad and then you’ll see that there’s no reason to think about anyone going off to heaven.”
Even as she said the words, Kennedy prayed that she was right.
- Writer
