Sarah and Saint Anthony

"Anthony! My favorite hospice chaplain! Come in."

"Sarah, I'm your only hospice chaplain."

"Nevertheless. Where have you been?"

"I do have other patients."

"But none you love more than me."

"None that I love more than you."

"Good boy. Sit down."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Anthony, hold my hand."

"Okay."

"How long have you been coming to see me?"

"I think about six months now."

"That's a long time."

"It's really not, Sarah."

"It is when the doctor says you only have six months to live."

"Fair enough."

"My six months are up."

"It wasn't a hard deadline, I don't believe."

"My expiration date has arrived, Anthony. I'm spoiled milk."

"I think you'll make it through today."

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Anthony."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Anthony, we need to talk."

"That's all we ever do, Sarah."

"This is different, dear."

"Different talk."

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Anthony, you ARE a priest, correct?"

"Incorrect."

"Incorrect?"

"I'm a hospice chaplain."

"Those aren't priests?"

"Some are."

"But not you?"

"Not me."

"That's inconvenient."

"Sarah, are you Catholic?"

"Oh, God, no."

"Then why do I need to be a priest?"

"Because we need to talk."

"Different talk."

"Yes."

"That requires a priest."

"Yes."

"Sarah, I can find you a priest, if you need one."

"But I've already got a lot of time invested in you."

"And different talk requires a greater time investment?"

"You betcha."

"Well, if I find you a priest today, you can begin investing the time that's necessary for different talk."

"Anthony, I told you. I'm spoiled milk. Spoiled milk has no time."

"Then I guess you're stuck with me."

"Seems like. So, how close are you to a priest, Anthony? On a scale of 1 to the pope?"

"Well, I guess, on that scale, I would be... a 34."

"Hmm... that's not very priestly."

"Sarah! What do you need?!"

"Confidentiality."

"Okay. I can give you that."

"I don't know. You're just a 34."

"A 34 is no slouch, Sarah!"

"I was kinda hoping for at least a 72."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Sarah, you know you can tell me anything."

"I don't know, my dear. There are some things you can't unhear. Some things a 34 might not be prepared to hear."

"Try me."

"Okay. But you've been warned. May I call you "Saint Anthony"? That might help."

""Saint Anthony" will work, I guess, if that helps."

"Saint Anthony, I need to tell you something."

"Is this a confession?"

"To a measly 34? Be serious."

"WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO TELL ME, SARAH???"

"I killed my husband."

"You what?" 

"I killed my husband."

"I don't understand."

"It's a pretty simple sentence."

"No. I... you did what?"

"I killed my husband."

"You keep saying that."

"You keep asking."

"I keep thinking you'll change that sentence."

"I can't. But I will continue if you'll shut up."

"I'll shut up."

"Okay.”

"Okay." 

"My husband... wasn't a nice man. Especially when he drank. He was a violent bastard when he drank."

"Okay."

"When it was just focused on me, I endured it. But when it turned toward my little girls, that I couldn't endure."

"Why didn't you go to the authorities, Sarah? Nobody should ever have to... "endure" something like that."

"My husband was also a powerful man. A big fish in a small pond. More like a puddle, really. Small towns prefer their dirt neatly under a rug. No one would have helped."

"What did you do, Sarah?"

"On a night I knew he would be home late, I went to his gun cabinet, and pulled out his gun cleaning kit. Laid everything out on the table, like I had seen him do countless times over the years. Took one of his rifles, and removed the bolt like he showed me when I went hunting with him back when we were dating. I laid both out on the cleaning mat on the table with his cleaning supplies. Then, I went back to the cabinet, and pulled out the shotgun. Loaded it with buckshot, and sat down at the table and waited.”

“Sarah, what you’re saying… this is…”

“This is why I warned you, 34. Now be quiet so I can finish.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I heard his car pull up after midnight. The girls were spending the night with friends, so it was just me in the house. I had the shotgun propped on the table, pointed at the door. The lights were off, and he was drunk. He didn't see me until he was all the way in the kitchen.

I never said a word. Just pulled the trigger. Laid the shotgun down on the table, and called the police. My voice was trembling, so it sounded just right when I told them he was cleaning the guns when one went off. That I thought he might be dead, and to please hurry."

"Sarah..."

"Saint Anthony, no one was going to believe me but Jesus. So I sent him to Jesus."

"Okay. And no one ever suspected that you…”

“They came in, smelled the alcohol on him, and assumed he was another idiot cleaning guns while drunk.”

“Okay.”

“You keep saying “okay”, Saint Anthony. ARE you okay?”

“Okay. Yes. I’m okay”.

"Okay. Now, I'm sorry that I put that weight on your shoulders, Saint Anthony. That you have to carry that now. But it has been 37 years, 4 months, and 15 days since I did it, and I just can't carry the weight another mile. I know you have only been a saint for about 30 minutes now, and that is not nearly long enough for what you have heard. So you just do what you need to do."

"Okay. Wait. What I need to do?"

"Call the police."

"Sarah, I'm not calling the police."

"You're not a priest, Saint Anthony. You can tell them."

"And, what? Let them lock you up for the last six days you're alive?"

"SIX DAYS?! I thought you said there was no hard deadline! Do you know something I don't know?!"

"No, ma'am! The only thing I know is you are spoiled milk."

"That I am."

"I don't think hard time is in your future."

"Maybe not."

"Do your girls know?"

"Nope, I only confess to saints. If we aren't gonna call the SWAT team, do me a favor. Don't tell them. Not sure I have enough time left to make that up to them."

"I understand."

"Do you think Jesus can forgive me for what I did, Saint Anthony?”

"I think you'd be surprised what Jesus can forgive, Sarah."

"Let's hope so. Hope is all I got."

"His mercies are new every morning."

"That's the rumor. Guess we're gonna test that."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Saint Anthony, this conversation has drained me of all my company-keeping energy. Could we call it a day?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be back next week to see you again."

"If I'm here. Spoiled milk, and all."