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"You and Dad... you both believed in God, but we never really went to church much growing up."
Her mom sighed. "That's true," she said. "I... Let me tell you about something that happened to me just before your father died."
Beverly shifted, curling her legs beneath her as she settled in to listen to her mom's tale.
"There was a patient who was dying. Maybe five years older than me. She came from a very wealthy family. her parents died young. She never married, had no siblings. She had no one really. Just her money. She hadn't trusted much of anyone because she thought everyone only ever wanted something from her. I asked if she wanted the chaplain to come in and talk to her, and she started to cry. She had never prayed before, and she was afraid of dying, and she thought that if she prayed now, God wouldn't believe her or accept her because it was only because of fear."
Beverly said nothing, but she could understand where the woman in the story was coming from.
"I asked her again about the chaplain, and she said yes, but she wanted me to stay in the room. The three of us talked, although I intended at first to just be there for moral but silent support. It... During her stay in the hospital, this woman had been so upset and afraid. It made her condition worse, but after the three of us talked, she calmed right down, and she was at peace. I could tell something profound had changed within her, and she died in her sleep the night. She... I told her that I would watch mass with her on TV the next morning because it was a Sunday. She was removed from the room before then, but I did go to her room before another patient came in and watched mass. I... I might go on Sunday here. I might not. I don't know, but I do think God is real. I think prayer is important. I'm not sure if I've impressed that on you enough, but maybe... We always would go for Christmas and Easter... Your father would take you?"
When Beverly had been in grade school, her mom would try to take off some time during those major holidays in addition to the summer to spend time with the family. Once she hit high school and worked more with her father, her mom wasn't always able to get time off during the holidays. Health care professionals were in demand every day of the calendar year, after all.
"Not so much for the past few years," Beverly admitted in a low murmur. "I... I would say I believe in God, but I didn't really do much of anything with that belief." She paused. "Roy's talked to me about God. he's a firm believer. Was raised that way."
"Does it bother you that he's a strong believer? Does he go to church?"
"I'm sure he does. No, it doesn't bother me. Talking to him about God and prayer... it makes me question myself."
"In a good way?"
"I... That woman you told me about... Would it be wrong of me to turn to God because of grief? Because I'm hurting?"
"I don't think God cares at all why you turn to Him, so long as you turn to Him at all," her mom said. "If you want to go to church with me on Sunday, I would love that. If you would rather go with Roy—"
"We can go together," Beverly said.
"Maybe all three of us." Her mom smiled and then yawned. "I'm off to bed, but we can talk more about this soon, okay?"
"Sure, Mom. I love you."
"Love you too. Don't stay up too late."
Beverly watched her mom go before sighing and flopping back against the couch cushions with a slight smile on her face. She might not know what lay ahead with Roy yet, but she was thankful for the chance to find out, even if it wasn't quite in the way either of them might have expected it to be.
* * *
Beverly lay in bed that night and started to drift off to sleep. Suddenly, her father appeared in her dream. He was dressed in his Sunday best, wearing the same starched shirt, tie, and suit he had last worn to church the last time they had gone to Christmas mass together as a family. His smile was gentle and understanding as he stood beside the bed and held out his hand to her. He gestured for her to take it, and as soon as she did so, they were surrounded by a light so white and pure it almost hurt her eyes.
He guided them through the light until they were standing on a grassy hillside overlooking a small town with steepled churches dotting the landscape like stars against an inky sky. Beverly smiled at how peaceful everything seemed from up there, how protected somehow. The warmth of her father's hand didn't leave hers even for a moment. She could feel strength radiating from him, strength that filled her heart with hope and gave her courage despite any fears.
Neither of them said anything, but there was nothing that needed to be said. She stared into her father's eyes. His arms wrapped around her, and she sobbed against his chest, soaking his shirt. She never expected to feel his arms around her again.
When she drew back and wiped her eyes, she realized the location around them had changed. They were now in the middle of a large open field on a sunny day, with wildflowers blooming everywhere around her. The flowers were such an array of beautiful colors—purples, blues, yellows, pinks—that Beverly could scarcely believe it was real.
It wasn't real, though. She knew it wasn't. Her father was dead, yet here he was.
A gift. This dream was a gift.
As she took it all in and just enjoyed being among nature's beauty, she heard a familiar laugh.
"What's so funny?" she asked him and then wrinkled her nose.
Even if this was only a dream, that was the question she had for her father?
She hugged him tightly, and he laughed again.
"Can you talk?" she asked.
