Louise Lane Gutierrez

On streets of gold

By Louise Lane Gutierrez
Inquirer News Service

I FELT my body become one with the bed. I was so tired that when my cell phone rang, I rejected the call.

It was my sister. Calling me three times. Waking me up three times. Disturbing my sleep three times. I rejected her call three times. I groaned. She most probably wanted something. She probably wanted to ask me if I took her white blouse or whether she could borrow the player, or something so trivial. Options: Answer, Loudspeaker, Reject. I turned off my phone and went to dreamland.

I woke up three hours later. I decided not to call back. Maybe later after the gym. I do body combat. Muay thai is hard. All that silly jumping. Instructor is perky, like some cheerleader on designer drugs.

I came home, switched the cell phone on and it rang immediately.

"Hello!" It was my sister's voice.

What's up?" I asked.

"You know Malaika?"

Of course, I know her, I wanted to shout. She is one of my close friends in church.

Two years ago she had this sickness that I feared would be bad. Some disease related to lupus. But her doctors didn't agree with my diagnosis. I feared back then that she had systemic sclerosis, but her doctors said it was milder.

Systemic sclerosis is usually fatal; most patients die two to three years after its onset. The diagnosis wasn't really clear because she didn't have the money for all those stupid laboratory tests.

Last time we talked, she had just come out of the hospital, where she was treated for a lung disease. I knew then that my diagnosis was accurate. But should I tell her that? I knew she knew what I feared.

"So what about Malaika?" I asked

"She just died."

Silence. And more silence.

"What? You are kidding me."

My sister told me she had collapsed in her house earlier and when she reached the hospital she couldn't be revived.

My head spun and my surroundings whirled. I couldn't believe this. I expected this, but didn't really believe it would happen.

I said, "Okay," and put down the phone.

It is unfair. Holding the hands of strangers as they go through some terrible disease makes me nauseous. Why can't I hold the hands of the ones I love? Why can't I be there for them?

Tears. Regrets.

The path I have chosen mandates that I help the faceless, the nameless, embrace those whose eyes I cannot recall, whose hearts haven't touched mine, and pray for the hands of God to continually cover those whom I love but cannot touch.

It will always be this way.

I open the good book and read about love, something about good Samaritans and loving strangers. I can only hope she was handled with love by strangers, too.

I see death all the time. Yet when death comes so close to me, I still shudder.

I lie back and think about everything. Malaika once thanked me for being such a blessing in her life. What role I played, why I was given the honor of blessing her, still haunts me. I just lost a good friend. I couldn't spend more time with her anymore. Fulfilling the promise to "get together some time" will have to wait.

We will meet again, Malaika. We will drink coffee someday and laugh. On streets of gold where you will no longer have to wear gloves because your fingers always feel pain when exposed to cold.

Over the finest cakes and food, we will laugh. And you can laugh all you want because when we meet again, laughing will not make your chest hurt, will not make you feel breathless. You will not cry anymore. No more pain. No more tears.

I will see that day happen.

For now, I will carry a smile, knowing I've gained an angel. And I know that you no longer feel pain and that you are not being loved by some nameless stranger but by a friend who loved you and me so much He died on the cross for us. I know that our Savior is holding you now, showing you around.

Say hi to my uncle there. And to my grandfather. And to my friend Ed. Tell them I just came back from limbo and that I promise to be a blessing to strangers just as some strangers were a blessing to you.

We fought the good fight, huh? You ran the good race. I still have to run the race set before me. You have just finished yours. Wait for me at the sidelines. Mine may take a few more decades to finish.

Someday we will laugh. No more goodbyes. No more tears. Someday. But not for now. I still have something to do here.