He put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. This was the hardest part of the job, he thought. Coming up with something new and different to say every week. And he'd just been at this for a few years now. How did the priests who'd been doing this for decades manage it?

The phone rang and, grateful for the distraction, he picked it up. "Father McLachlan."

A woman's voice. Immediately he could tell that she was nervous, anxious. "Father James?"

"Yes."

"You don't know me. I'm Susan Lewis; I'm a friend of Luka Kovač ."

Father James immediately sat up straighter in his chair. Luka. The troubled man who had come to see him months before, so distraught, so ill. He had seen Luka at mass quite regularly for a while, still thin and pale, the pallor still visible even beneath his summer tan. He'd seen him stand a little taller, a little straighter, a little more confident as the weeks had passed. Seen the pain fade from his eyes to be replaced by a new calm, a new peace; even as he had grown physically more frail. And then, quite suddenly, he had disappeared. Father James had been worried about him, terribly worried. He'd considered phoning or visiting him at home, but realized that he had no way of contacting him. Luka had never even given him his last name. He had finally assumed, in all honesty, that Luka had succumbed to his illness, and could only pray that he had made his peace with God before doing so.

And now this call. From Susan. Surely that was the name of the woman he had been seeing. His girlfriend. Perhaps THIS was the call then. She would ask him to perform a funeral service.

"Yes, Susan. Luka spoke of you. I ... I've been worried about him, haven't seen him here for quite some time."

"He's been too ill to get there. I offer to drive him, I have a car, but he won't let me. He says he doesn't want to go any more. He says ... it doesn't help any more." Susan's voice broke. "But I think it does. When he was going, when he was ... praying ... he seemed so much better. Now he's so depressed ... afraid ... he sleeps so badly." The words spilled out faster and faster, more and more anxious. "Physically, he's much worse, he doesn't have very much time left ... we're getting to the end ... but it's the emotional side that I'm worried about. It's like he's pushing me away. I just don't know what to say to him any more. I want to comfort him, help him ... but I don't know how ... he won't let me. Whatever I say, it seems to be the wrong thing."

"Would you like me to come and talk with him?"

"If you could."

"Yes, of course. I can come right away if you like."

"Thank you. But ... Father James. He might not be glad to see you. He doesn't know that I'm calling. I've offered to call, several times before, and he got angry, said no. Had some ... fairly choice words to say about priests. He's asleep right now ... doesn't know that I'm talking to you."

"I'll handle it."

The priest got the address from Susan, gathered some things together, and hurried out into the chilly November day.

The door was opened by an attractive blonde woman; attractive, but pale and tired looking. "You must be Susan," he said.

"Come in, Father." she said. "Watch the steps."

He had expected that Luka would be in bed, and was suprised to see him sitting at the table in the kitchen area of the apartment's living space. And even more surprised when he rose from his seat and offered his hand in greeting.

"Father James." Luka's voice was a little more hoarse than he remembered it, but his handshake was still firm. His hand though was little more than bones now, and so was his face. The baggy sweater and sweat pants no doubt covered a body that was equally thin and gaunt. "Can I get you something? There's a fresh pot of tea. Decaf, ginger tea I'm afraid. Or I could make you some coffee."

"Ginger tea would be fine. And decaf is great. I get too much caffeine as it is." Father James watched as Luka took his crutch and walked slowly to the stove, poured the tea. It seemed to require a lot of concentration, but Luka was, clearly, determined to be the good host still, so he would let him do so.

When the cup was safely on the table Susan said, "I'm going to go out for a bit. We need groceries and I need to refill some prescriptions for you. I'll be back in an hour or two."

James saw Luka shoot her a look, half pleading, half anger; but she resolutely put on her coat, picked up her purse, and walked out the door. After it closed, there was a silence. He sipped his tea, watched Luka stare into his own cup, crumble the remains of his piece of toast into crumbs.

"How have you been, Luka? I've been concerned about you."

"I'm not dead yet." Another silence. A deep breath. "I couldn't come to mass anymore. I've been too sick. I was in the hospital for a while. It's a long drive. I didn't mean to worry you. I should have called, let you know I was ok. I'm sorry. And Susan shouldn't have ... put you to all this trouble."

"It's no trouble. She's been worried about you too."

"I'm dying, Father. This shouldn't be a great surprise to her by now."

"That's not what has been worrying her. I think she's concerned about your spiritual health, not your body. This is the time when you need to be getting closer to those who love you, Luka. To Susan, and to God. You don't want to be pushing them away now. You need to be comforting each other."

"I don't know how."

"How to what?"

"To comfort her. I'm going to die ... she'll be alone. What can I say that will make that better? I know what it's like to be ... left alone by those you love. There's nothing that makes it better."

"You can let her be with you now, while she still can. Share the time you have left. Let her know you aren't afraid of what's coming."

"But I am ..." Barely audible. "I wasn't before. But now I am." Luka got up, put his dishes in the sink, leaned his tall form against the counter. "I've been having ... dreams ... terrible dreams."

Father James remembered Luka telling him of the nightmares that had plagued him for so long. Had those returned again? "What do you dream about?"

"I dream ..." Luka licked his lips, shut his eyes. "I dream that I'm dead. I've just ... died. And I'm ... I open my eyes and I'm looking for Danijela."

"Your wife?" James clarified, and Luka nodded.

"I can't find her ... because it's dark. There's nothing there ... just dark. I can hear her voice, and she sounds ... happy, so I know that where she is ... it must be light ... beautiful ... I'm calling her, but she can't hear me. And I can't find her, I can't get to her ... and I'm so afraid ... in my dream ... that I'll never be able to find her. I can almost bear it, because I know that she is happy ... but I don't want it to be like that." Luka wiped the tears from his face. "I can't make the dreams stop ... they're always there when I sleep now. I don't want to sleep any more. And I don't want it to be like that."

"It won't be like that." James said firmly. "It's just a dream, Luka. We sometimes dream about things that have happened to us, or of things we are afraid of, but dreams don't predict the future. Death is frightening. No matter how ready we are, how certain in our faith, it's still something unknown to us. Seeing Danijela again, being with her again, that's what you are wanting the most?"

Luka nodded, sat down again finally. "For 13 years now."

"So it's natural that all your fears about dying; about the unknown, about leaving Susan, about the pain still to come; will all come together into one dream about your greatest fear - that you won't be with Danijela."

"I prayed ... for God to stop the dreams ... but He didn't."

"Have you told Susan about them?"

"No. How can I tell her?"

"She knows about Danijela, doesn't she?"

"Yes, of course. And she's ... wonderful about it, about her." He smiled a little. "Teases me sometimes that I'm leaving her for another woman." But I know it still hurts her I don't want to hurt her more."

"The worst thing you can do right now, for both of you, Luka, is to hide your pain from her. Share what you are feeling, what you are afraid of. Face it together. Let her help you. God brings people together so we don't have to face things alone. If you share your pain with her, and with God, it will lessen it for you. And that will make things easier for Susan, because she won't have to see you suffering so much."

Luka nodded slowly. "I suppose."

"Would you like me to pray with you, while I'm here?" Another nod, silent this time.

The sound of a key in the lock. Father James looked up from his book as the door opened and Susan came in. He jumped up quickly to help her with her bags of groceries.

"Where's Luka?" she asked.

"Asleep." Father James nodded towards the couch, where Luka lay stretched out, sleeping quietly.

"Does he feel any better?" Susan whispered.

"I think so. We talked for a while, prayed for a while. I think it was what he needed."

He watched as Susan walked over to the couch and looked down at Luka for a minute, tucked the afghan more snugly over him, kissed him. And her hand touched his forehead for a moment, where the smudge of oil was still visible under the fringe of his hair. She smiled, and returned to the kitchen. "Thank you."

"Feel free call me any time." He hesitated. "Have you discussed arrangements?"

"He'll be buried at home, in Croatia. That's where his family is. The funeral will be there. But I will call you, if he needs to talk to you again."

"You can talk to me too, Susan. Any time."

Susan shook her head with an embarrassed smile. "I'm not Catholic."

"Any time, Susan." Father James repeated.

"Thank you. I will."

"I'll be expecting to hear from you then." As Father James turned towards the door, he saw Susan return to Luka's side, sit on the floor beside him, lay her head against his chest. And Luka sighed a little in his sleep, put his hand on Susan's head to stroke her hair, but didn't waken.