Page 39 of Born to be Wilder

I shook my head, more people staring as another loud wail broke from deep within me.

“She’s, uh… emotional from the experience,” Marge announced to the onlookers with a firm nod.

Several people nodded with immediate understanding. One woman pressed her hand to her own heart sympathetically.

“Of course. It moved me to tears as well,” a gentleman said, giving me a sympathetic smile as he walked away.

“See!” I sobbed, pointing at him. “He gets it! They all get it! You’re supposed to be moved! That was my wish! My wish was that you’d be filled with the Holy Spirit and become believers!”

They went dead silent, three sets of eyes widening in sync.

“What?” Sylvie breathed. “What do you mean?”

I tried to stiffen my lip. Stop the tears that refused to turn off. “It’s nothing. Never mind. It’s fine. I’m being silly.”

“You’re not fine. And anything making you cry like this isn’t silly. Come over here.” Marge took me by the elbow, and the four of us walked to a quiet corner and settled onto a bench. “Okay, Doris. Spill. What the heck is happening?”

I took a breath. It came out ragged. “My wish. My real wish. The one I didn’t say out loud.” I looked at each of them and then dropped the unbearable weight I’d been carrying for too long. “I wanted you to be filled with the Holy Spirit when you walked out of here. I wanted God to reach down and fill you up, and then I wouldn’t have to be so scared anymore.”

They were very still.

“Scared of what?” Sylvie asked.

“Of losing you.” The tears started again, and there was no stopping them. “I’m scared of losing you forever. Because I believe in Heaven. I’ve always believed in Heaven. And Axel believes. And Harold believed. And my parents and my children and everyone I’ve ever loved—everyone believes. And then I met you three.” I pressed my hands together. “And it has been one of the greatest gifts of my life. But you don’t believe. And if you don’t believe, you don’t go to Heaven. And if you don’t go to Heaven, then I have to spend my entire afterlife without you. And if you aren’t there... then it isn’t Heaven at all!”

They pressed against me, their bodies like a shield as they surrounded me.

“Doris, oh. I’m… I’m so sorry. We didn’t know that was what you were expecting in there,” Sylvie soothed.

I turned to Alice, my heart breaking. “And you... you’re sick. What if the surgery doesn’t work? What if you die and I never see you again because you were too stubborn to pray and⁠—”

I collapsed into another round of heaving sobs.

I couldn’t finish. Sylvie’s arms came around me, and I let her hold me for a moment.

“Oh, Doris,” Alice whispered, rubbing my shoulder. “You’re afraid we won’t be in Heaven with you.”

“How is it Heaven without you? Heaven is supposed to be paradise, but without you three, I just can’t imagine the eternal happiness I’ve always known awaits me there.” I pulled back and looked at them, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “So what does that mean for me? I spend eternity sad and missing you? Or does God put me out of my misery and erase you from my memory so I don’t mourn you?” That thought stole the air from my lungs, and I struggled to breathe. “I don’t want Him to make me forget you! I don’t want to forget everything! But I don’t want to miss you all forever, either! I can’t… I don’t…”

I sobbed harder, struggling to breathe as I imagined every laugh, every memory, wiped from my mind so I wouldn’t be the one person in Heaven grieving for my entire afterlife.

“Breathe, sweetie. You’re okay.” Sylvie rubbed my back.

I inhaled a shaky breath. “That’s what I keep thinking. All my life I’ve looked forward to Heaven because it means seeing everyone I love again. But now—now you’re my people. You’re my very best people. And the thought of going there one day and you not being there because you couldn’t”—I stopped, looked at Alice—“because you ran out of time before you found God⁠—”

“Oh, Doris.” Alice’s voice was soft in a way it didn’t often get.

“It’s not Heaven without you,” I finished. “It would just be a nice place with other people I love but not you.”

Nobody spoke for a moment.

Then Marge sat down beside me and looked at me with an unexpectedly gentle expression I didn’t often see on her face.

“Can I say something?” she said.

I nodded.

“There are thousands of religions in the history of the world, Doris. Thousands. And they all have different rules about what happens when you die and who gets in and what the whole operation looks like. And here’s what I know after over seventy years on this earth.” She folded her hands. “Nobody knows. Every single one of those religions is based on faith, but no one truly knows.”