A Sweet Taste of Heaven
My daughter loved watermelon, and the fresh taste of summer helped buoy her when she was diagnosed with cancer.
BY: Susan Foshee
from
Denise loved watermelon. As a little girl she couldn’t get enough of it come June. Her father and I always had to keep an eye on her and those sticky black seeds. Denise was known to spit them at her brother and sister when we weren’t looking. “Denise!” I’d scold when I caught her in the act. Denise would giggle and flash her trademark grin.
At 16 Denise had lost none of her mischievousness. Not even when she was diagnosed with cancer. She had a kidney removed, then radiation treatment. My heart broke, but through it all Denise put up a brave front. The cancer came back, and exploratory surgery was our next course of action. I dreaded what it might reveal. “I’m not afraid,” Denise kept insisting. “I know God is with me.”
As playful and fun-loving as Denise was, she had a deep, serious faith. We went together to the revival at our church just before her surgery. I hoped the visiting minister would have fresh words of reassurance for us.
Denise and I sat down and the minister took the podium. He let a moment of silence go by before he began. “I don’t know exactly what heaven will be like,” he said. “But there’s one thing I’m sure has got to be there.” He looked from person to person. “Watermelon!” he said with delight. “Sweet, juicy watermelon, fresh from the patch. When I get to heaven I’m going to have as much watermelon as I want.” Everybody laughed.
Denise nudged me with her elbow. “Me too,” she whispered. She gave me that grin. I frowned at the minister. Maybe he could make jokes about heaven, but I couldn’t. Not with us so unsure about the state of Denise’s health. Besides, heaven was a place to rest after a long, full life. Heaven was peaceful and serene. It was no place for a girl who still turned cartwheels out on our front lawn. God, she’s so full of joy. Please don’t take that from her. I had to force myself to sit through the rest of the meeting.
When Denise’s father and I took her to the hospital, we didn’t talk about heaven. We stuck to happier subjects. What we would do when Denise was better, the new football team at the high school, and the garden I was planning for the yard. Jack and I settled into her room. “We’ll be here when you wake up,” I told Denise as the orderly wheeled her away.
“I know, Mom,” she said, her grin wide even now.
After the surgery was over, the doctor met us in his office. Our worst fears had come true. The cancer had spread to Denise’s spinal cord. It was too far advanced to treat. “You may be able to take her home in a few days,” the doctor told us, “but she won’t have much time after that.”
Denise loved watermelon. As a little girl she couldn’t get enough of it come June. Her father and I always had to keep an eye on her and those sticky black seeds. Denise was known to spit them at her brother and sister when we weren’t looking. “Denise!” I’d scold when I caught her in the act. Denise would giggle and flash her trademark grin.
At 16 Denise had lost none of her mischievousness. Not even when she was diagnosed with cancer. She had a kidney removed, then radiation treatment. My heart broke, but through it all Denise put up a brave front. The cancer came back, and exploratory surgery was our next course of action. I dreaded what it might reveal. “I’m not afraid,” Denise kept insisting. “I know God is with me.”
As playful and fun-loving as Denise was, she had a deep, serious faith. We went together to the revival at our church just before her surgery. I hoped the visiting minister would have fresh words of reassurance for us.
Denise and I sat down and the minister took the podium. He let a moment of silence go by before he began. “I don’t know exactly what heaven will be like,” he said. “But there’s one thing I’m sure has got to be there.” He looked from person to person. “Watermelon!” he said with delight. “Sweet, juicy watermelon, fresh from the patch. When I get to heaven I’m going to have as much watermelon as I want.” Everybody laughed.
Denise nudged me with her elbow. “Me too,” she whispered. She gave me that grin. I frowned at the minister. Maybe he could make jokes about heaven, but I couldn’t. Not with us so unsure about the state of Denise’s health. Besides, heaven was a place to rest after a long, full life. Heaven was peaceful and serene. It was no place for a girl who still turned cartwheels out on our front lawn. God, she’s so full of joy. Please don’t take that from her. I had to force myself to sit through the rest of the meeting.
When Denise’s father and I took her to the hospital, we didn’t talk about heaven. We stuck to happier subjects. What we would do when Denise was better, the new football team at the high school, and the garden I was planning for the yard. Jack and I settled into her room. “We’ll be here when you wake up,” I told Denise as the orderly wheeled her away.
“I know, Mom,” she said, her grin wide even now.
After the surgery was over, the doctor met us in his office. Our worst fears had come true. The cancer had spread to Denise’s spinal cord. It was too far advanced to treat. “You may be able to take her home in a few days,” the doctor told us, “but she won’t have much time after that.”
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