No matter how many times he had seen it, Pastor Andy Craft was never really prepared for death. As he stood next to Jim Andrew's hospital bed and held his hand, he knew the end was near. Jim's wife, Kelly, was stroking her husband's forehead. His breath was more and more shallow and infrequent. Finally, there was a noise from his throat and then nothing. "He's gone," the nurse said. Kelly said nothing, just continued stroking his brow. The two children moved behind their mother, holding her. They had begun the grieving process two weeks ago when Jim suffered an aneurysm at work. They faced the difficult decision to turn off the ventilator yesterday. But even when you expect death, its finality is still a shock.
Some ministers would have immediately offered a prayer and taken control of the situation. After all, that was their job. It wasn't Andy's style, however. He knew the family needed this time alone and they would call him back to the room when they were ready. Experience taught him that the best thing he could do was attend to some of the practical things. He stepped out of the room and called the funeral home. He notified the church's senior pastor, Cynthia Thompson, and then called some of the family's friends who had told him they wanted to be notified.
Fifteen or twenty minutes later, Jim Jr. found him in the visitor's lounge, and draped his arm over his shoulder. "Thanks for all you've done, Andy. We all appreciate it."
"How's your mother, Jim?"
"You know Mom. She deals with things by staying busy and taking charge. She's trying to comfort Becky and the grandkids, calling the rest of the relatives. I told her you'd taken care of the funeral home. Of course, she said, 'He didn't have to do that,' but tomorrow she'll appreciate it." Jim collapsed into Andy's arms, softly sobbing, "He was a good dad."
"The best," Andy said. "Is there anything I can do, Jim?"
Drying his eyes, Jim said, "Why don't you come in and say a prayer. I think we need that right now." Andy returned to the room and read a few verses from the Bible and prayed a prayer of comfort. Becky asked him if her dad was in heaven.
"Of course he is, Becky. Of course he is. He's going to be watching you, cheering at the kids' soccer games, watching you kick butt in the courtroom."
She wiped her eyes and smiled, "I've always appreciated you, Andy. You don't sound like a typical, self-righteous asshole, like a lot of your kind."
Andy said, "You sounded like your dad, just then. He never minced words."
"Well, I am my father's daughter," Becky said with a smile.
When there was a death in the family a pastor's job really began after the person died. The family, especially a spouse, went through a predictable pattern; shock, disbelief, anger and finally acceptance. Andy didn't believe it was his job to constantly reassure people, but to be there and let them talk; let them experience their grief. He listened while they blamed God and let them know that it was O.K. to be angry at God. He let them work through their guilt and was there to listen and occasionally reminded them they'd done all they could and that it was O.K. to get on with life. The process took a long time, and, in fact, Andy felt that if a person claimed to have come to accept the death too soon, it would come back to haunt her later, and make it harder to finally deal with.
Kelly and Jim had been a part of Andy's Disciple Bible Study last year and they used to work with the youth group, which was one of Andy's responsibilities. Andy and Kelly always had a close and easy relationship, so Pastor Cynthia suggested he take the lead in her pastoral care.
For the next seven or eight months, Andy was there for her. Sometimes he just listened, but more often than not, he talked with her. She wanted answers and wasn't satisfied with the clichés he started to offer, so Andy opened up. He told her he didn't believe people went to a place with streets of gold and singing angels, but he thought people became part of God and that caused God to change and evolve as God experienced what people had lived. He told her he didn't think God was some all-powerful and all-knowing being who magically intervened in people's lives but One who offered empathy and comfort. He was of the opinion that people lived on, not in some "heaven" out there, but in ours and God's memories.
Kelly took all of this in, and one day she said, "You know that makes a lot more sense than the crap I heard all my life. It makes God believable."
It wasn't a surprise that Andy began to spend more and more time with Kelly. He discovered that he looked forward to his visits and their talks, and that their relationship was evolving from pastor/parishioner to friends.
It was almost a year after Jim's death that Kelly called Andy. "I hope you know how much I've appreciated you. You helped me get through this year. I want to cook you dinner."
"That sounds great, Kelly. When?"
"I know you're busy with church stuff all week. How about Friday night? Around 6:30?"
"Works for me. I'll see you then."
Friday night he rang the doorbell, a bottle of a 2002 Cabernet in his hand. "You didn't have to do this," she said.
"Well, since I really don't think you'd want me to bring something I cooked, I thought this would be better. It should be ready to open."
"Come on in. Dinner's not ready. In fact, you're going to help me cook. You need to learn to do something besides grill hamburgers."
"Are you sure you know what you're doing? This could be disastrous."
"Bullshit...Oh sorry. I forgot you were a man of God," she joked.
"Damn straight," he retorted and they both laughed. "So what are we making?"
"Spaghetti. From scratch. None of that store-bought stuff. After all, my maiden name was Boscotelli. Now, let's open that wine. You can't cook Italian food without a glass of wine or two."
The food was delicious, of course. Kelly was a great cook. "That was amazing," Andy told her.
"Thanks. It's good to have someone to cook for again."
"Let me help you clean up."
"Forget that. I'll take care of it later." When he started to object, she said, "I invited you, remember. You're my guest. Besides, you helped cook."
"Have it your way. And I don't know how much help I was."
"Let's open another bottle and go to the living room," she said, smiling.
Settling down in a comfortable chair, Andy found himself noticing Kelly in the way a man usually notices a woman. Her loose fitting shirt with a button open and her tight jeans made her look younger than her 56 years. Unlike a lot of women her age, she didn't try to hide her gray hair. In fact, she probably dyed her stylish hair silver. And those deep blue eyes...
"So, Kelly, how are you, really?" he asked.
"I'm good...or at least a lot better. Getting back to work helped. I've got some interesting clients." Kelly, like her daughter, was an attorney; a partner in a mid-size firm. "I still get lonely sometimes, but I guess that's to be expected. But what about you? We've spent a year talking about me and my problems. How long has it been since the divorce?"
The divorce. He should be over it after four years, but to tell the truth, sometimes the pain still cut like a knife at unexpected times; when he saw a red-haired woman in shorts, when he heard a throaty laugh, when he saw a Holiday Inn and especially when he heard the name "Phil."
"Four years," said.
"Are you handling it O.K.?" Kelly asked softly.
"Sure. You know the cliché, 'time heals all wounds,' I can honestly say that I wish her and Phil the best."
Maybe it was the slight catch in his voice or his failure to make eye contact, but Kelly looked at him for a long time and finally said, with more than a hint of sarcasm, "Right."
"So, he said, "let's change the subject. How are the grandkids?"
"Amazing, naturally. The kids tell me I'm spoiling them. And, of course, I am." She swirled the wine in her glass, staring at it. "You know, when I said I was lonely, it's not just that I don't have anyone to talk to when I come home. I really miss...you know..."
"Yeah, I know."
"Come on. A good-looking guy like you?
"Well, you've seen the women in the singles' group at church. I've tried some on-line sites, but for some reason, when a woman finds out I'm a minister...let's just say that pours cold water on things. And sends me to a cold shower." Now it was Andy's turn to stare into his glass. "So. How do you handle it?"
