Penelope

by Shauna Checkley

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

With her sunny disposition and her penchant for good deeds, Penelope became a favorite everywhere: school, Brownies, church, all through their Heritage Heights neighborhood, that working class enclave in the city core. She helped lady bugs trapped in spider webs, baby birds that had fallen from their nest, stray cats looking for food and affection, children being bullied by others. It seemed that her natural inclination was to nurture and protect, comfort and soothe.

She wasn’t without her faults, however. She had a voracious sweet tooth. Sometimes it caused her to steal treats or even howl when she wasn’t allowed any. Jane recalled at a committee meeting that she only ever witnessed a true meltdown once and this was over a package of blue whales. Likewise, she didn’t fare well without enough rest or down time. Her sensitive nature required protection it seems. Sleep was a must. Without it, she would whine, hang her head.

Fretting over bills spread out on the kitchen table, Jane and Ross frowned. It was hard getting by on one income, just his as an underpaid mechanic at Rusty’s Garage. But they managed somehow.

“It seems like we can never ever get ahead no matter how hard we try!” Ross exclaimed.

As it was Tuesday night in 1970, the best night for TV, with The Partridge Family and The Brady Bunch on, Penelope was hunkered down in front of the set. She was eating her beloved blue whale candy. One. After. Another.

Shaking his head in dismay, Ross cried, “Holy shit!”

Sensing upset, Penelope rushed into the kitchen. “I’ll quit eating candy if that helps. This can be my last bag even. You can save a little money there.”

They laughed. “That’s okay. Go enjoy your shows, honey” Jane cooed.

That night, though, Penelope prayed extra hard. Kneeling in front of her bed as ever, she petitioned the Lord like never before. She knelt until her knobby little knees felt close to breaking. She prevailed not only for her family’s finances but for Mavis, for the gophers the city had begun to poison en masse and for a new foster child at school that everyone had been teasing and bullying. She prayed until tears collected in the corners of her eyes, until her arches were ready to collapse. She knew that this was how the truly devout worshipped, like the nuns at school whom she adored. Hail Mary. Bless us, Jesus.

Though a young child, she had special devotions to various saints, petitioning them almost incessantly. Yet there was no sign of imbalance in her. Rather, she had a shining, apple-cheeked glory about her, with luminous blue eyes, an almost angelic bearing with that aura of patient perseverance. She was special. It was becoming increasingly apparent to the adults around her, not just family. Though an average, normal child otherwise, she seemed spiritually gifted somehow, flowing with blessings and gratitude. She set up shrines and altars in their back yard, with special stones and sticks and leaves and feathers and colored glass and beads that she gathered up.

Through the kitchen window, that shining portal to the other side, Jane observed Penelope one such time. The girl was on her knees, loudly praying at a shrine for a squished squirrel.

Jane could hear her through the open screen door. Such a good girl. So unusual, but good. What did I ever do to deserve her? What would I ever do without her?

Yet it was not that long afterwards that the child became sickly. Pale. Listless. Feverish. Headaches. Limping with bone and joint pain. At first her worried mother thought it was only some sort of nasty lingering flu. But it was when the child totally lost her appetite, sometimes even having trouble holding fluids down, that Jane rushed her to Emergency.

Penelope was admitted into the General Hospital for testing. Nursing cans of Canada Dry ginger ale, Jane and Ross huddled in the waiting room.

“So glad we have socialized medicine in this country. Just think, if we lived south of the border, we’d never be able to pay for all of this,” Ross opined.

Jane nodded in agreement.

After the results of blood work and bone marrow testing came back, the doctor approached them. She was a tall, willowy brunette who struck the parents as rather brusque.

“Penelope has leukemia. I’m referring her to a pediatric oncologist, Dr. Visfarz, who will likely start her on meds and chemotherapy immediately.”

Jane covered her mouth with her hand. She felt like she was going to swoon. Putting his arm around his wife, Ross half-held her upright.

“Do you have any questions?” the doctor queried

But Jane was too thunderstruck to even speak. Slack-jawed, the parents just stared.

The remainder of that day was a proverbial blur, phone calls, trips to the drug store. Everything. Jane felt like the world had melted right under her feet, like her reality had suddenly dried up and disappeared. Over the course of a few weeks, it had all happened so fast. She could hardly make sense of it all.

Over the next few months, the child’s decline was fairly rapid. She was mainly bedridden, occasionally mustering the strength to visit or read. But she had become a small, still figure in her own little pink bed. Though having just turned eleven years old, she was petite in stature.

Sobbing in her husband’s arms one night, Jane finally vented. “I can’t do this. I’ll never get through this. I will never survive this, either.”

“You can do it. You will find a way,” Ross said.

“I will never find a way out of this,” she hissed. It angered Jane when people insisted to her that things would get better, that life would rally even if the child didn’t. How can they be so certain? How could she ever survive this journey to the dead? It didn’t seem possible at all.

Through it all, however, Penelope maintained her faith. Even though she had pallor, was bone thin and had dark rings under her eyes, a sickly sight indeed, she held onto a religiosity that was both simple and profound.

“It’s okay,” Penelope said. “I’ll be in heaven with all the angels, and I can help them. I’m going to go live where all the lights and angels are.”

Can’t face that! Don’t want to even hear that...I have no way to manage it. Tucking the child into bed for the night, Jane froze. She studied Penelope’s face but only saw an ecstasy or adoration that had overpowered the sickliness. It was in the softness of the eyes and her gaze; some faraway expression like on the stained glass figures at the cathedral.

When she, too, retired for the evening, Jane lay helpless in bed. She couldn’t sleep. Yet, rather than being caught in her usual storm of worry, she continued to see her daughter’s rapt face, hear her mystic words.

Jane told herself, “Penelope has made peace with it all. She sounds almost eager to go to heaven. So why can’t I just do the same? Why can’t I ever follow her lead? It feels like she’s almost guiding me through the process. Why, yes, oh I see with clarity now. I’m to grow and experience through this, too. And by God, I will do just that.

When Penelope’s blood count became too diminished, she was admitted into the hospital. A prayer vigil gathered at her bedside, usually her parents, and a few kindly neighbors or parishioners as well.

Yet it was when the group followed the nurse into Penelope’s room that the miraculous happened. She was glowing in a golden light. Even though it was evening, and the lights were off in the room, there was a sparkling aura about her, outlining her body in the darkness.

“Say, what’s that?” Ross asked.

A group formed about her with their mouths agape. Standing with her arms akimbo, Nurse Smythe declared, “Never before have I seen such a thing!”

After a minute or two, the golden mystery light faded out. But it became an established feature of her hospitalization. Every once in a while the dying child would be bathed in a bright golden light. No one knew when it was coming or how long it would last.

Pointing their polaroids and 8-mm cameras at her, they began to document the miracle. People snapped their cameras as if they were the paparazzi. Flashes abounded.

Once Jane cried, “I see like a halo above her head! See that! I see it!” The others murmured in awe and reverence.

When Penelope finally did pass away early one morning, the event seemed almost anticlimactic. It felt like the necessary punctuation to a wider event. Jane and Ross clung to each other.

Yet after a proper period of mourning, a committee was formed. The others had gone about it while the parents made the necessary funeral arrangements.

While Jane and Ross were holding each other in bed one evening, Jane considered it all. Am I crazy to go along with the committee? Will they just call me a deluded mother, an attention-seeker? But she no longer cared. She resolved to rise above both tragedy and miracle, now and always.