Do You Trust Me? Part 2

Three weeks later, my mom and I walked back into the house from Carol’s funeral. Carol Few was an older lady in my church who had been like a grandmother to Melody and me. She had never been sick, and then, all of the sudden…ovarian cancer. Again.
I hated cancer – the disease, the word, everything. It ended lives and devastated families, and it did it quickly.
“Go ahead and change your clothes,” my mom said, as we headed up the stairs. “Put on something comfortable, and we can put a movie on while I finish ironing your dad’s shirts for the week.”
My eyes lit up. I still hadn’t practiced piano for the day, and my mom so rarely let me skip days. Before she could change her mind, I darted to my room and changed into my t-shirt and Nike pants as fast as I could.
I went to my bathroom and put my hair in a ponytail. As I ran the brush through my hair, I heard the voice again. Michelle, do you trust Me?
Frustrated, I dropped the brush on the counter, and the clang of the metal hitting the marble surface echoed. God, why do You keep asking me that? You know that I trust You!
This time, there was no reply. If there was, I didn’t hear it because I was interrupted by my mom’s voice. “Michelle?” she called from her bedroom. “Are you okay?”
I flipped the light switch on the bathroom, thankful for an interruption. I darted down the familiar hallway of the upstairs and made a flying leap onto my parents’ bed as I had done a million times before. “I’m fine, Mom. I just….” my voice trailed off.
My mom was standing in her closet, half dressed, and her face was as white as a ghost. She put her hand over a chest and shut her eyes, as if she was struggling to breathe.
“Mommy?” I asked, sitting up to move towards her. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head and turned around to face her clothes.
“Mom,” I said again, with a firmer tone. “What is it?”
She tuned around to face me, and I saw there were tears in her eyes. “There is a lump on my breast.”
My heart literally sank. I felt it drop. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to scream. Instead, I simply said, “What?” in utter disbelief.
“I have a lump on my breast,” my mom repeated. “I felt it when I was changing my shirt.”
At that moment, I buried my face in my mom’s pillow. No, God, no. Not me. Not my mom. Not my family.
My mom came to sit down on the bed next to me, and I leaned onto her. She either let me cry for a minute, or she was silent, trying to gather her own composure.
She pulled me away from her. “Michelle, look at me,” she said.
Reluctantly, I opened my eyes. At the sight of my mom, I immediately had to look away. I couldn’t handle seeing her right now.
“It’s going to be fine,” she told me. “I’m going to be okay. In fact, it’s probably nothing. I’ll just go to the doctor to get everything checked out just to be safe, and then, everything will go back to normal.”
“Normal,” I repeated. “Yeah.” I still couldn’t look at her.
“I’ll call first thing on Monday morning,” my mom promised. “But Michelle…” she paused. “Michelle, look at me for a minute, okay?”
I looked up, my eyes once again swelling with tears. “Don’t tell your Dad about this, okay? Or Melody. I don’t want them to worry about this unless…I just don’t want them to worry about it, okay? Promise me.”
I nodded, taking the chance to look away again.
“Michelle, promise me. You have to.”
“I promise,” I finally whispered.
“Good,” she said, forcing a smile and cheerfulness into her tone. “Now, go wash your face, and then let’s get the movie night started.”
Lifeless, I trailed to the bathroom and splashed water on my face.
Do you trust me?
I became angry, and I lowered my face to the sink, hoping the rushing water from the faucet would prevent the flow of tear from my eyes.
Do I trust You? The One who took away Katie’s mom? The One who made Mr. Few cry today?
For the first time in my life, I had a different answer. I don’t know if I trust You anymore, God. And if You take my mom from me, I definitely don’t know if I can trust You.
I gathered my composure and went downstairs. My mom was already down there, and I saw one of our favorite chick flicks was already playing on the TV. The ironing board was nowhere in sight, and I didn’t say anything. Silently, I curled up next to my mom on the couch, wrapped both of my arms around her arm, and rested my head on her shoulder. My eyes never left the TV screen, but I didn’t pay attention to the movie at all.
As I sat there, I silently prayed, Please, God. Don’t take my mom. I’m not ready. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t take my Mommy away from me. Please.