If that were not enough—and it clearly was more than enough—another brother was graduating, not from high school, but from college. Not only that, but his picture was all over the local newspapers—the sports sections anyway.
Nobody was interested in Lucy’s grade average: 3.8, thank you very much. Everybody was busy conjecturing about her brother Tony’s career.
Agony!
Had any other young woman ever been relegated to so much obscurity on one of the most important days of her entire life?
Lucy’s doubts to the contrary notwithstanding, it was a triumphant time for the Delvecchios.
Vinnie would make a central casting priest. So tall that, later, one of the school children referred to him as the “high priest.” Pencil-thin and ramrod-straight, he had plenty of room to expand and still be every inch the ascetic—a tall, dark, and handsome ascetic.
By general consensus Vinnie was headed for great things. No one could quite figure out why he had not been sent to Rome for his theological studies. It might have been politics: One of the two seminarians sent to Rome from Vinnie’s class was nephew to the bishop of Grand Rapids.
Still, the smart money was on Vinnie’s climbing the hierarchical ladder. Not a bad endorsement, considering that he was not particularly close to anyone in his class.
It was almost as if Vincent and Anthony might have had different fathers. Oh, there were similarities, of course, but in physique they were worlds apart.
Tony was listed as a six-footer. A slight exaggeration; he was more like five feet eleven. Where Vinnie appeared to have come fresh from forty days of fasting in the desert, Tony seemed never to have missed a meal.
Lucy was the prize—as close to flawless as a young adult could get.
Several inches taller than her mother, but as fine-boned, Lucy had her late father’s surprising strength.
Girls’ sports had not yet come of age. But in an all-girl high school, somehow the varsity basketball team became the big game, and the members of that team were the BGOC—Big Girls on Campus.
Besides holding one of the top academic grades in her class, Lucy was also a standout in theater, dance, and on the debating team. In almost any other family, Lucy would have been the noteworthy member. But among the Delvecchios, particularly at this point, she came in a distant third.
It wasn’t fair! That she knew. But her day would come. Would it ever!
This was still the era, especially in parochial schools, when young ladies (at least those with no thought whatsoever of entering the convent) were pointed at the vocation of finding a man, having his babies, and answering to the sublime name of homemaker.
Lucy had paid close attention when the nuns spelled all this out—with, nonetheless, of course, a word or two on religious vocations. Realistically, the nuns knew that, of the two life vehicles, wife and mother would draw far more applicants than the religious calling.
Lucy, early on, had set her sights on the medical profession. It mattered not that there were precious few female MDs. Determination was Lucy’s middle name. Had the priesthood been her goal, it would not have mattered that her Church did not ordain women. But Lucy didn’t crave ordination. One priest in the family seemed enough. Of course, if she were offered an immediate bishopric …
Things were rolling for the Delvecchios.
But more and more Louise was able to participate in the fulfillment of her children less and less.
There was a nagging pain that would neither be relieved nor identified. With some frequency, she visited the physician who had treated the family for many years.
Lucy, mostly because she was the only child still living at home, was the only one who knew—or at least had some glimmer, since Louise did her best to mask her condition.
Lucy urged her mother to seek other medical opinions. “After all, Mother, things have changed since scalpels replaced leeches.”
“Don’t be disrespectful, Lucy. Don’t forget: Dr. Schmidt brought you into this world!”
Actually, Dr. Schmidt agreed with Lucy. It was he who sent Louise to a series of specialists. One of whom called Dr. Schmidt. “Werner, I got Mrs. Delvecchio’s biopsy.”
“And …?”
“It’s bad. Doesn’t get much worse. Pancreatic cancer.”
“I feared as much. I don’t suppose we’re in time to save her.”
“It’s inoperable, Werner. Sorry, old man. I don’t envy you now—or her.”
“Nor do I.”
Schmidt phoned Louise, told her he had news that was not so good, and asked if it would be possible to gather the family to discuss the options.
12
Lucy was home, but Tony was in Kalamazoo and Vincent was in Plymouth. Louise would try to gather the tribe. Would tomorrow morning at ten be all right?
Ten would be as good as any other time.
Lucy wasted no time. She got her mother to lie down. Now Louise was fighting whatever was wrong with her and, additionally, the worry over her children. Lucy would contact her brothers. Mother was not to be concerned.
Vincent and Tony were shocked. They knew their mother had not been well. But not being on the scene, they’d had no clue how serious her condition was. To obviate any possible excuses, Lucy painted the situation to be as bleak as her imagination would permit. Even so, she could not match the hopelessness of reality.
Only Vincent encountered resistance to his request to leave immediately for home. In the face of his insistence, however, the rector had to admit that Delvecchio had already proven his “manhood” sufficiently. And if any student could afford to miss classes, it surely was Vincent Delvecchio.
And so, at ten the next morning, all assembled in the Delvecchio living room: Louise, Dr. Schmidt, Vincent, Anthony, and Lucy, as well as Father Koesler, whom Louise had contacted.
To the hushed and increasingly dismayed group, the doctor explained how difficult it was to diagnose cancer of the pancreas. He was not exculpating himself, but merely spoke the truth: As advanced as the diagnostic tools were, as brilliant and capable as the specialist was, the condition was very good at hiding itself.
The diagnosis was bad news, the prognosis even worse: Two to five months. It could be longer … but yes, in all frankness, it could be sooner.
Dr. Schmidt explained the only option that current medical science had to offer: radiation therapy. He explained further that it was not much of an option: It would intensify debilitation, while offering practically no possibility of even minimal effectiveness.
Louise, brow furrowed, was thoroughly confused. The decision clearly was hers. But there was no marked path in this maze.
Bewildered, in distress, she looked slowly around the intent circle. “What …? What …?”
Finally, in the absence of any other response, Koesler spoke. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “if you shouldn’t consider radiation. It seems the only choice to me,” he added after a moment. “If we do nothing … inevitably it’s the end.” For the first time in his life he shied from the word “death.”
Tony broke the brief silence. “I’m with Father. It’s the only shot we’ve got. I say we take it.” Ever the athlete, Tony could not imagine his body betraying him. It didn’t matter what injury had been sustained. An hour or more in the whirlpool bath could do wonders. Or a temporary brace. Or a massage. Or something. Sports medicine was forever coming up with novel splints, supports, methods of taping. In the brief experience of this resilient, powerful, young—and emphasize the young—man, the body could come back from anything. The body would never fail if you gave it a modicum of care. Tony never thought of death. It was there, of course, but he didn’t consider it.
Two votes were in: Koesler and Tony both favored the therapy.
Vince looked as if he were in a decisionary limbo. The news of his mother’s seemingly fatal illness had rocked Vinnie to his core. He couldn’t think beyond this moment, let alone recommend a course to take.
One voice, though small, sounded loudly. �
�No!” Lucy insisted. “I’ve read about radiation therapy. It’s worse than the sickness—well, maybe not worse: It doesn’t kill you; it just makes you wish you were dead. If you want, I’ll tell you what the side effects of this treatment are. Then let’s see how you vote!”
Everyone looked at this young woman still in high school. No doubt about it, she would become a force to be reckoned with.
“Doctor”—she turned to Schmidt—“you said it was possible—possible—that radiation might help contain or even put a cancer in remission. Does that include pancreatic cancer?”
The doctor slowly shook his head.
Lucy turned to face the others. “Tony … Father …” Her tone turned apologetic as if she should not dare correct a priest. “Think of what you’re recommending. This has hit us like a ton of lead. We can’t just pop off. We’re grasping at a straw that’s not attached to anything. With this therapy we’re condemning Mama to months of added sickness and pain while the statistics tell us it’s all for nothing.”
“I know,” Koesler said, “that I’m not a member of this family—”
“You might just as well be,” Lucy interjected.
“Thanks.” Koesler nodded. “I don’t really feel I’m entitled to a vote. But … on thinking it over, I have to agree with Lucy. She’s focusing on quality of life …” He hesitated, then said firmly, “Louise, depending on how important it is to you, this radiation doesn’t promise you much of any quality of life.”
“Wait a minute!” Tony’s tone was challenging. “We can’t give up! If Ma doesn’t get this treatment, it’s … curtains. She’ll be dead! That’s for sure, isn’t it, Doc?”
“I’m afraid so,” Schmidt said.
“Well, maybe I haven’t been around as long as some of you people,” Tony said, “but I’ve learned one thing: If you don’t compete you can’t win. If Ma doesn’t take the treatment, she isn’t competing … she hasn’t got a chance!”
Lucy looked at the doctor. “Please … be very realistic. We aren’t asking you to play God. But you know more about this than we do. You’ve had experience with pancreatic cancer when the patient chose radiation. What’s it like?”
“Pretty much as you’ve already said. Especially with cancer of the pancreas, which is inoperable—which is what your mother has. Radiation may retard the disease somewhat. But in the end …
“What you and the good father have said is the situation as I have observed it. The effects of the radiation add to the discomfort and pain—so much so that there is not much of any quality of life.”
“So where does that leave us?” Tony did not attempt to hide his bitterness. “We’re going to give up? Give up without a fight?”
“Tony,” the doctor said in as conciliatory a tone as possible, “this may be difficult for you to understand, with your youth and your strong, athletic body. But,” he said very deliberately, “there are worse things in life than death.”
Tony snorted.
“Unless …” Vincent had been silent so long the others had virtually forgotten his presence. “Unless there is a miracle.”
Silence.
“I know you’re going to get ordained soon,” Tony said after a moment, “but that’s crazy.”
“Miracles don’t happen to ordinary people like us,” Lucy said, as she looked from face to face. “Do they?”
Dr. Schmidt, now clearly out of his league, become a spectator at an event he had heretofore been directing.
“Vinnie,” Koesler said, “isn’t what you’re proposing a deus ex machina?”
“A what?” Lucy asked.
“We can’t find a rational acceptable solution to this problem of illness,” Koesler explained, “so we drag God in from left field to solve the situation for us.”
Vincent bristled. “I’m not suggesting that we pull God out of a hat. I’m suggesting that we dedicate ourselves to prayer for a cure for our mother. And I’m hoping that we’ll enlist the prayers of everyone we know. Prayer, Father Koesler, is not a deus ex machina!”
For the second time during this meeting, Koesler felt as if he had spoken too hastily. “Of course. It goes without saying that we’ll pray. Each of us.” Even as he said it, he wondered: What about Tony? Would Tony—who could not envision a body that would not fight for health … for life—participate in this group prayer?
“But,” Koesler added, “prayer is one thing. A miracle is something else again.”
“How can you say that, Bob?” Vincent seemed bewildered that he needed to explain this to a priest—a priest in whom Vinnie had confidence. “The Gospels are packed with the marvels possible through prayer. The mustard seed, teaching the disciples to pray—the examples go on forever. The one necessary ingredient is faith. Faith won cures. Faith won even a return from death to life. Faith won miracles. That’s what I’m proposing: prayer backed by faith in a miracle.
“I’m pleading with all of you to pray for a miracle because … because it’s our only hope.” Vincent seemed closed to tears.
“I’m with you, Vinnie,” Lucy said. “I’m going to start today, and by tomorrow everybody in St. William’s will be praying for our miracle.”
“And”—Koesler volunteered his parish—”at St. Norbert’s.”
Actually, Lucy found the notion well beyond her capacity of faith. But at least outwardly she joined forces with Vincent and the priest because it offered an alternative to radiation or death, which, until the potential miracle, had been the only choice on the table.
“We seem to have left someone out,” Dr. Schmidt said softly. He turned, as did everyone else, to look at Louise.
She did not attempt to control her tears, which flowed from a mixture of fear and love. “I am so lucky to have such a family and friends.” She tried to smile through her tears. “I want Vincent to have his miracle.”
Everyone seemed bolstered by, or at least satisfied with, her decision—with the very clear exception of Tony.
“It’s mid-February now,” Vincent said, “and Lent has just begun. Easter won’t be here until March twenty-ninth. We have a month and a half before Easter. What a marvelous feast to celebrate the miracle of life.”
“Now you’re putting a deadline on your miracle?” Actually Tony was trying to go along with the invocation, but his heart wasn’t in it.
“No deadline, Tony,” Vincent said. “Just that we’ll be celebrating the epic feast of the Resurrection. It should inspire everyone we enlist to pray for our cause.”
“All right now,” Dr. Schmidt said after the discussion seemed at an end, “but before I leave, there are some practical matters that must be addressed. For instance, Louise, you can expect to be up and around, though not as comfortable as you’re used to being.
“In time, short of the miracle”—the doctor tipped his head toward Vincent—“you will need more help. If we’re talking of a visiting nurse, a practical nurse, someone in the family who has a nursing background …?”
“I’ll ask the seminary for a leave of absence,” Vincent said immediately. “I’m sure they’ll grant it.”
“But, baby, what will that do to your ordination?” Louise protested. “It’s less than four months from now.”
“We can talk about that. If it has to be postponed, well, then, so be it.”
“Vinnie, I have lived for that day ever since you went away to the seminary twelve years ago. What if I haven’t got a lot of time? I can’t take a chance on not being here for your ordination and first Mass. It can’t be postponed … it can’t!”
“All right, Ma, all right. Don’t worry,” he soothed. “But I’ll talk to the rector anyway. I’m sure he’ll let me come home at least once a week.”
“I’m almost positive that kind of arrangement can be worked out.” Koesler was well aware that the seminary faculty appreciated Vincent’s talent and gifts. Even though the request would be out of the ordinary Koesler was certain it would be granted.
“I’ll try to get home as often as I can,
” Tony said. “Finals are coming up. They won’t be tough, but I’ve got to work on them. Then, I’ll be making the rounds of the clubs, to see if anybody wants to sign me up …”
There seemed to be a feeling that Tony was begging off a service he should shoulder. Tony sensed this. “I know, I know: I should try to get out of the whole thing like Vinnie’s doing. But it’s not the same. Vinnie can get ordained in June, or July … or September, for that matter. The thing is, he’s gonna get ordained. If I don’t follow up now … if I don’t give it everything I’ve got right now, while I’m still in the picture, I’ll lose out for sure … and there goes my life …” Tony became aware that his voice had taken on a whiny tone—like a child trying to evade responsibility. He fell silent.
“We understand, Tony,” Louise assured with motherly acceptance. “It’s just like you say: You’ve got to take care of your future now, or you won’t have a future. C’mere, sweetie …” She spread her arms wide. Tony sat down beside her on the couch. They embraced, as Louise lightly stroked his back.
“For what it’s worth,” Koesler said, “I can juggle my schedule around a bit and come over three, maybe four times a week. I’d be far from skilled nursing care. But at least I could relieve somebody for a while.”
“Oh, Father …” Louise wanted to thank him; she wanted to tell him that her family could not make such an imposition on someone as busy as a priest.
It was Lucy who interrupted. “Wait a minute, Mama. I’m the one who’ll be here for you all the time—and I think I’d like to get relieved once in a while.”
“Lucy, darling,” Louise protested, “this is a very big time for you. It’s graduation. There’ll be so many parties and celebrations, you’ve just got to be able to enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime thing.”
“Mama, I’m not going to miss hardly any of it. Besides, you can take care of yourself … and me,” she added lightly. “And don’t forget: We’re looking for a miracle, remember? Just think … Vinnie’ll be lucky to get out to see us once a week, and Tony’s gonna be stressed even more. I’m the one who is already home. And I want to do it. Why can’t we leave it at that?” She turned to Dr. Schmidt. “Sound okay to you, Doctor?”
The Greatest Evil Page 10
