Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Again, I squeeze the cold hand in mine, desperately wanting him (only not him) to forgive everyone who should have loved him. He would have loved me. I just know it. With my other hand, I wipe the tears from my cheek. A restrained sob chokes my next breath, and crushing emotions leak through the cracks of my existence.
You would tell me to shrug it off. Not waste time on regret. But I can’t let go until I acknowledge how tightly I’ve been holding on. If I let go, the loss is real. The hollowness in my chest is real. Your death is real.
My life with him passes before my eyes.
How tiny my hand felt in his.
The way he tried to restrain his smile every time I giggled.
The first time he let me fly my own kite.
The pride in his eyes when he knew I was smarter than him and everyone else.
The picture in my head is so clear, it feels real . . . but it wasn’t.
None of it was real.
“I’ve had so many thoughts.” I wipe more tears, my words barely a whisper. “But you are by far the greatest thing I’ve ever imagined.” I release his hand and cover my face, body racking with sobs as everything I built over a lifetime comes crashing down. The weight of the rubble crushes my identity.
“So sorry to disturb you. I’m going to give him a bed bath, if that’s okay?” The nurse’s aide interrupts my thoughts. “Do you want to step out of the room?”
I quickly wipe my face while she’s still behind me, and I stare at Thatcher. Will should be here.
“No. I’ll stay,” I murmur.
The young woman waits until I gather enough of my senses to slide the chair away from the bed. She eyes me.
“I’m a doctor,” I say. A doctor with red, swollen eyes.
Her expression softens, and she nods. His breaths are numbered, and that number is small. But she cleans him, gives him a little dignity, even in death. There are not enough wings for all the angels who care for the dying.
She eyes me as I slowly stand and bend down to kiss his forehead. “Whatever comes next, I’m sure it’s amazing. Godspeed.”
As slowly and gently as possible, she rolls him onto his side. Saliva and mucus run down the side of his face. I watch his chest, and after a few seconds, I slide my fingers to his neck. The aide glances at me while removing his diaper.
“Keep going,” I say, despite detecting no pulse.
She continues, and I feel nothing against the pads of my fingers, but inside, I feel everything I’ve refused to feel since I learned the truth.
“When you’re done, call the nurse. Then call his family,” I whisper before I press my hand to my neck as if I can push my heart out of my throat and back down into my chest.
Chapter Forty
Will
As I open my mom’s door in the nursing home parking lot, her phone rings.
“Hello?” she says, taking my hand as she steps down. Tears fill her eyes. “We’re in the parking lot,” she says in a strangled voice.
Crash!
Her phone falls to the ground, and I pull her into my arms. It’s time for me to be strong for her. But it’s hard to keep my knees from buckling as my chest shatters and pieces of my heart scatter into oblivion. No amount of time or foreshadowing prepares one for this kind of loss. I’m so fucking scared to go inside, so I just cling to her as much as she’s clinging to me.
We weren’t there. She doesn’t even have to say the words.
He died alone, or he died with a pastor he saw at Easter and Christmas. What was I thinking? Why was I such a coward? This fucking hurts. I knew when we left, that he might die before we returned. And I think I wanted that to happen because I’m weak.
Time slips away, and at some point, she releases me. I feign strength, picking up her phone with the shattered screen before tucking her under my arm as we take steps as heavy as our hearts toward the entrance.
People talk to us, but I hear nothing.
Mom nods, wiping her nose with a wad of tissue.
But I can’t cry. The pain has paralyzed me, and I cling to denial even though death is the only undeniable thing in everyone’s life.
When we step into the room, Dad’s roommate looks up from his word search, and he offers a raspy “Sorry for your loss.”
The hospice nurse echoes his sentiments.
“Were you with him when he died?” Mom asks, sitting on the edge of his bed and resting her hand on his. “Or was . . .” Her voice breaks. “Was he a-alone?”
“I was told a young woman was with him, but she left right after he died.”