Keeping his gaze on the pulpit, he leaned toward Grace and whispered, "Where's Mom?"
"She wasn't feeling well this morning."
Had cooking and playing games yesterday been too much for her?
He frowned as he looked at Grace. "What's wrong with her?"
"Nauseous and dizzy. She said she threw up in the middle of the night."
"Does she have a fever?"
"I don't know." When Gabe scowled at her, she said, "I don't think so. She didn't look flushed or anything."
The old lady in front of them shot a dirty look over her shoulder, but Gabe was unfazed. Had Mom been exposed to the flu somewhere?
He leaned toward Grace again. "Why didn't you stay home with her?"
"To watch her sleep?" Sarcasm filled her voice, which only deepened his frown. She let out sigh. "I offered to stay home, but Mom insisted I come to church. She said she planned to rest all day."
"Did you at least make sure she had something to eat?" Gabe hated how helpless he felt.
"Of course I did." It was Grace's turn to scowl at him. "I left some herbal tea and toast by her bed. Not that she'll eat it.” Worry lines filled her face. “Yesterday before you and Paige arrived, she complained of pain in her chest and said she felt short of breath."
The lady in front of them turned and shushed them with a finger to her lips as though they were children.
Gabe lapsed into silence. Not because he felt bad about talking during the service, but because his mind raced a hundred miles-per-hour. This was more serious than the flu.
He reviewed in his mind the symptoms of late-stage pancreatic cancer he'd researched after his mom was diagnosed. Sleepiness; check. Mom had been suffering exhaustion for months. Loss of appetite and stomach pain; check. She ate very little nowadays. That's why he was so surprised she'd vomited. But she shouldn't be experiencing dizziness or shortness of breath and chest pains yet.
Unless the cancer is progressing much faster than Dr. Sumner predicted.
Gabe's stomach hardened as a chill swept over him. He propped his elbows on his knees and shoved his fingers into his hair. It had only been three weeks since her diagnosis. Wasn't the medicine she took supposed to slow the growth of the cancer?
I can't lose her yet. I'm not ready.
He spent the rest of the hour-long service praying—no, begging and pleading—for a little more time with his mom. Eventually his prayers turned to asking the Lord to help him accept His plan and being able to cope without his mother.
When the service ended, he shot to his feet. "I'll meet you at home." Grace barely had a chance to say okay before he was out the door, having stepped on a few toes in his haste.
When he reached the house, he hurried inside and down the hall to his mom’s room. He knocked softly on the door then opened it a crack without waiting for an answer. Spotting her in bed, he opened it wider and stepped inside. He watched her for a moment.
The rise and fall of the blankets eased his mind, but he took in the dark shadows around her eyes and the hollows of her cheeks that had become more pronounced over the past few weeks.
Please Lord, just a little more time.
More time than what? The thought entered his mind as though spoken aloud behind him.
Gabe spun around, half expecting Grace to be there. But she wasn't.
More time than what?
He repeated the question in his mind as he continued to watch his mom sleep. He'd had an additional twelve years with her after she beat breast cancer. Gabe should be happy for that, but it wasn't enough.
Dr. Sumner had said three to six months, maybe even as long as fifteen. Even if Mom lasted that long, it still wouldn't be enough. As her cancer progressed and her condition worsened, he'd feel guilty begging God to prolong her life for his own selfish purposes. But he couldn't bear to let her go.
He recalled how sick she was when she went through chemotherapy. He'd often wished he could take that pain and sickness from her for a while. But he couldn't. Just like he couldn't take this from her.
"Gabe," Grace whispered behind him, making him jump. "What are you doing?"
