by Lucy-Brianna Taylor
A completely spur-of-the-moment Lucy angstfic. Set somewhere later in season 5, after she announces she wants to be a minister.
I'd seen Dad do this a million times. I'd practically memorized his methods, his words, even his actions.
I've helped plenty of people. Friends dealing with family issues, divorce, breakups, drugs, self-injury, alcoholism.
This should have been easier.
But when it comes to death, there's no such thing as 'easier'. Even if it's not someone close to you, or someone you love, it's never easy, watching someone die.
And it's even harder trying to console the family of the person who's just died.
Mrs. Wilton told me they'd be upset, even angry. They'd take their anger out on the nearest person. Fortunately for me, the doctor and their mother's lawyer arrived first.
I talked to them. I tried to reassure the little ones that their grandma was at peace now, I tried to ease their parents' pain.
Tried being the key word.
I faltered. I almost broke down and cried myself. Mrs. Wilton's husband looked so much like Grandpa Charles when Grandma Jenny died, it broke my heart.
I still miss Grandma.
I know their pain all too well to just tell them everything would be okay, that she was in a better place now. That she was resting. That she was with God.
I know as well as anyone that none of that helps after you've just lost someone.
So I stopped talking. I just sat there, nodding my head while they talked.
After the Wiltons left, I cried. I felt like an idiot for choking back there. I knew exactly what to say, why couldn't I say it?
I was too overcome with my stupid emotions, that's why. I inwardly cursed myself for letting them get the better of me. A real minister wouldn't let her emotions take over.
A minister is supposed to be strong and unwavering.
I wavered.
What if I had broken down and cried in front of them?
I always cried too easily. When I was a teenager, everyone knew me as the girl who was always crying. I thought I'd finally grown out of it.
I guess I didn't. I guess I never will.
Maybe I'm not cut out to be a minister. I want it more than anything, but if I can mess up this easily, maybe I shouldn't.
After all, who wants to go to a minister who chokes and gets teary-eyed over everything?
There's a knock on the door.
"Come in," I say. The door opens, and I immediately regret telling the person 'come in'.
It's Dad.
I don't even have time to hide my face and wipe away my tears. He sees me, and immediately gets worried.
"Luce, what's wrong?" he asks, sitting down next to me. "Did you see the Wiltons this afternoon? How did it go?"
"Not so good," I mumble. "The grandmother died, and everyone was devastated."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Estelle Wilton was a wonderful person," he says.
"I know." I sniffle, and he hands me a box of Kleenex. "I was with her when she died," I say, blowing my nose.
"That's always hard," Dad murmurs. "So what happened then?"
I swallow and force myself to look at him.
"Dad...I can't be a minister. I'm not good enough," I whisper. He looks pained.
"H-how can you say that? Luce, you've been working so hard, you're not giving up now, are you?"
"Dad, you didn't see me this afternoon!" I cry. "Everyone was so upset and I tried to tell them everything you always tell your parishioners, but I choked! I hardly said anything and ended up listening to them the whole time! They were still pretty sad when they left and I can't have helped them by just sitting there nodding my head!" I'm overcome by a fresh flood of tears as I bury my face in the pillow. "I'm just not strong enough. I cry too easily...the whole world knows that."
"Luce..." He rests one hand on my shoulder and brushes my hair away from my face with the other. "It was the first time you ever dealt with this kind of thing."
"But what about all the times my friends lost people! I didn't lose it then!"
"That's because you know them. You were dealing with complete strangers this time," he says. "No one's perfect, honey, and that goes for ministers, too. Come on, you've seen me goof up more than once! Remember the time I embarrassed your friend Suzanne and you got mad at me for it?"
"That's true." I smile a little. "Yeah, I do remember. But it all worked out just fine in the end. You always come through for your parishioners."
"And so will you. Luce, you did a great thing for the Wiltons today just by listening to them." He smiles. "Remember, part of being a minister is listening to people. A minister doesn't always have to know all the right things to say. They just have to be there."
"...You're right," I sigh. "But I was talking and doing just fine telling them 'this is a very difficult time, I understand, she was a good woman'...then the second I saw old Mr. Wilton's face, I kind of lost it. I started thinking about when Grandma Jenny died and it was like I was twelve years old all over again. I kept thinking 'I know just how you feel' while I listened to them. I felt so selfish for thinking about my own pain while they were pouring their hearts out."
"Well, why didn't you tell them you know how they feeling?"
"Because that's not my job! My job is to listen and help them out, I can't start talking about myself!"
"Luce, it's not like you'd be babbling about school and boys and parties. It might have even helped them to know you understand how they're feeling," he says.
"You really think so?"
"Tomorrow, when you see them again...tell them. Tell them about Grandma Jenny, about your friend Sarah. Tell them you know what they're going through right now," he says.
"...It can't hurt. Anything's better than sitting there and nodding my head like an idiot." I sit up. "And at least they didn't tell me NOT to drop by tomorrow, right?"
"Exactly."
I smile, a little more earnestly this time.
"It's worth a try," I say. "Thanks, Dad. I feel a little better now."
"Good. Now go wash your face, your makeup is all smudgy," he teases. I yelp and glance in the nearest mirror.
"...It's areally good thing I didn't cry in front of them." I shudder at the sight of my mascara smeared all over my cheeks.
"Hey, Luce?"
"Yeah?"
"You'll be a great minister. So don't give up."
I smile.
"I won't."
We share a warm hug, and he doesn't care if I got mascara streaks on his jacket. Then I go off to the bathroom and wash my face.
'Part of being a minister is listening to people. A minister doesn't always have to know all the right things to say. They just have to be there.'
I look in the mirror and smile as Dad's words echo in my mind.
Tomorrow will be better.