Take My Breath Away

by Wendy L. Wilson

  “He’s getting too weak to go up and down the stairs, so Mom and Dad moved down here to make it easier. He’ll talk to you later,” Abby says with a disheartened smile.

  Mom looks at me with a gloomy expression and motions me to come in the kitchen with her. My heart fills with panic and I look to the spare room, remembering how drained and frail Dad had looked last week.

  “I’m going to go visit with Daddy first,” I say with my heart already halfway to the doorway.

  Abby grabs my arm, nudging me towards the kitchen as mom gently suggests that I wait.

  “Honey, just wait, he needs the rest. He will be awake soon enough and will join us.” Mom gives me a reassuring smile, so I take her advice and force my legs to move into the next room.

  We carry on with small talk until dinner is ready. Mom has always outdone herself with cooking and baking. She goes all out for dinner, treating us to big meals like an Italian night, complete with pasta, pizza and homemade garlic bread.

  Tonight, her specialty happens to be my favorite: breakfast, with eggs, biscuits and gravy, sausage, pancakes and bacon. I know she is overcompensating to keep our minds off the obvious, but it makes her happy and she is an awesome cook.

  Honestly, I did not inherit that gene; instead I got Dad’s fascination with tinkering in the garage.

  Since I was little, Abby and Andrea would cluster around Mom while she was busy cranking out cookies, cakes and pies in the kitchen. I, on the other hand, would follow Dad out to his workshop. He’d give me spare pieces of wood, nails and a hammer and I would be hard at it creating and building all sorts of projects. Most of the time it ended up being a tower of scrap wood nailed together, but it meant spending time with Dad, so I loved it.

  Dinner is quiet, as if we are afraid to speak. It’s not very often that we sit at this table without Dad.

  Finally, Abby decides to break the ice in true sisterly fashion, “Ok, spill your guts. You have man-problems. Let’s talk about them.”

  My mouth drops to the table and I look from her to Mom. Is she kidding me?

  Mom presses her lips together trying to suppress a smile.

  “Oh come on! Do you want me to leave?” Mom asks with a laugh that makes her sound like she is a teenager gushing about boys with her best friends.

  Laughing to myself, I admit, “No, it’s just not something I can really talk to you about.”

  Feeling a little ashamed that I said I can’t talk to her about some things, my eyes dart down to my hands in an effort to not look her in the eyes.

  She blows out an exaggerated breath and slaps her hands to her forehead.

  “Oh please, I thought the same thing about my parents at your age. Honey, I’ve had 3 children. I know all about the birds and the bees so don’t think there is anything you can’t talk to me about,” she informs us in a proud tone.

  Both Abby’s and my mouth are hanging open.

  “What? You think your father and I didn’t have fun, too? This one time, your Dad and I . . .”

  Whoa! I have to stop her right there!

  “Mom!” Abby and I both shout out in unison.

  “Ok, I get it, but still . . .” I add, but Mom holds her hand out in an impatient gesture like I’m not listening.

  I surrender all efforts of explaining why I can’t discuss boy drama with her and smile.

  “Ok, you sure you want to hear this?” I ask, stunning myself that I am going to have the nerve to talk about this with Mom.

  She nods her head.

  “You have to start from the beginning, Alyssa. Tell her all about the lake this summer,” Abby throws in there, making me feel nauseous with nervousness.

  With my palms sweating and my body wracked with anxiety about sharing intimate details with someone else, I tell her everything from the beginning and travel down a beautiful road of how I fell in love with Judd.

  My heart speeds up at the memory of us lying under the stars in the back of his truck and I giggle when I tell her about him asking me to be his girlfriend. There are some details I choose to keep to myself, but I spill nearly everything, even the fact that we slept together the last night at the lake.

  “. . . . So then he just never called me, ever. He just up and vanished.” My heart squeezes as I hear myself say the last part.

  Mom’s expression doesn’t change and she never tries to interrupt me, so I go on, “Oh and he even got his phone disconnected.”

  I press my hands against the hard surface of the kitchen table as though I can brace myself for the next piece of the puzzle I will share with them.

  “Ok, so what is the new information that you said you needed to tell me?” Abby asks referring to my text I sent her from Kyle’s room earlier today.

  I inhale a deep calming breath and silently chant to myself, stay calm and don’t cry.

  “Well, last night Bethany brought some mystery guy home with her, so I . . .”

  “Holy crap, NO WAY!!” Abby shouts out before I can finish.

  She slams her hands against the kitchen table with wide eyes. I’m glad she figured out the obvious, because I’m not sure I can say it out loud. Nodding my head, I fold my arms across my chest as if they can protect my heart from any further damage.

  “No freaking way!” Abby sounds as crazed as I feel. “How? I mean, did he know you lived there? Oh. My. God. Did they . . .” Abby clips her blatant thoughts off as I squeeze my eyes shut, to keep from crying.

  Upon opening my eyes, I see my mom and sister both staring at me. As much as I need support for how hurt I am, I’m silently hoping Mom doesn’t look down on Judd as a bad guy. He pretty much is a slime ball, I suppose, and I should hate him for how he used me, but to hear someone else bash him will probably hurt more.

  As usual when I least expect it, Mom surprises me.

  “Oh, honey . . .” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “It sounds like you really developed some strong feelings for him.”

  I stare at her; that’s all she took from that.

  “I think that is beside the point, Mom,” Abby chimes in.

  Mom holds her finger up to signal that she is not finished talking. “When you love someone you have to fight for them.”

  “Yeah, but . . .” I start, but Mom raises her eyebrows into a stern expression and keeps her finger held up in front of her.

  “What I heard you say is that he ran after you, that he was mad and that he kept arguing. To me, a person would not display any of those emotions if there were not feelings there. Why would someone bother to fight, argue or get mad at someone they didn’t care for? When you love someone, you fight with them, you get mad at them and you say hurtful things when you know you shouldn’t. It’s not all butterflies and rainbows or unicorns or whatever you kids say these days.” Mom waves her hand in the air and then gets up to clear the table.

  “What’s not all rainbows and unicorns?” Dad voice fills the room.

  “Is that how that phrase goes?” Mom jokes with him as she rushes to the stove and fixes Dad a plate.

  Her speech comes out of nowhere and leaves me a little stunned, but right now I’m too excited to see Dad. I scoot my chair out and race over to hug him.

  “Alyssa fell in love this summer and now she has a major dilemma,” Abby brings him up to speed even after I flash her a dirty look. “She met a guy out at the lake and now he just might be seeing Bethany,” she adds.

  I clear my throat and make an extreme effort to change the subject. What a blabbermouth. I definitely do not want to dive into this with Dad, too.

  “Well, if this boy knows what’s good for him, he’ll come to his senses,” Dad says, looking over at me as Mom places a plate of food on the table.

  Abby and I look at each other and smile at Dad’s words.

  A few minutes later and after a nice save from mom, we all sit at the table discussing Mom’s fall garden rather than my love life. The sound of metal scraping against ceramic has me looking over at Dad while he pushes foo
d around on his plate. I put my hand on his arm and feel nothing but bones. He looks over and offers a small smile and I notice the deep, dark shadows under his eyes and the way his shirt hangs around his neck like he’s wearing someone else’s clothes. His once salt and pepper, short hair is now replaced by a shiny bald head which he keeps hidden under ball caps.

  Once Dad has given up his attempts of eating, Mom clears the table and they decide to let us in on why they wanted us all together tonight rather than tomorrow.

  Dad clears his throat and sits up, looking ghostly pale.

  “Honey, I can tell them,” Mom’s quivering voice has alarms screeching in my head. This is not good.

  Mom takes a shaky breath, closes her eyes and then opens them back up, looking as though she has gained a sense of strength and fortitude. “Your father’s body is not responding to the treatments. The doctors say it would be best to discontinue the chemo at this point.” Her throat wobbles as she closes her eyes, trying to obtain courage to go on, “He had more tests run this week and the cancer has spread.” Mom keeps a steady voice while she delivers the news.

  Looking at Dad, I see the same confident smile he always displays as he clutches Mom’s hand in his own. My heart crumbles into a million pieces leaving me gasping for air.

  “What, that’s it?”

  Abby trips over her words and sniffles beside me, but I can’t see her face through my tear-hazed eyes. Reaching my hand under the table in an extreme effort to find comfort, I grab onto her hand and hold it tightly. I can’t breathe; I’m suffocating! Please, don’t take my dad!

  “Don’t you worry, sweetie. I haven’t thrown in the towel,” Dad tries to direct our minds away from the obvious, but mine is already spiraling uncontrollably.

  Abby’s quivering hand has an unbearable grip on mine, but I welcome it; somehow it holds me up and diverts the pain away from my heart.

  Dad’s weak voice bounces me back into the present, “Your mother and I have discussed this several times. We knew this was a possible outcome, but we wanted to wait until we knew for sure before talking to you girls. I know this is scary . . . I have to admit that I have a little trouble with it, but bottom line, I am still here. There is no need to mourn me before I’m gone.”

  Dad leans over to run his thumb beneath my eyes to swipe away a tear and then stretches over one more seat to do the same to Abby. We both look at him and I know Abby sees the same thing I do.

  This is our hero; the man we measure all men up to; our rock; the only man that will ever love us completely and unconditionally.

  Dad has saved me from nightmares.

  He’s danced with me in the living room.

  He taught me how to hold a hammer without slamming it over my thumb.

  He has dried my tears when I’ve cried and he has always been here for me, no matter what.

  He is asking me to be strong, but how can I be when I know that someday I will have to live without him? When someday I will have to say goodbye?

  Dad smiles brightly as I look up and run through a thousand words in my mind that I wish I could say to him. My chest shudders and vibrates as I gulp down a deep reassuring breath that lets me know I can still breathe.

  Dad hugs Abby and me while softly assuring us both, “This is by no means goodbye. This is just another reason to live life to the fullest.”

  His words grip my heart, penetrating the deepest corners of it.

  “I learned a long time ago that life is a gift that we should never take for granted,” he adds happily.

  Leaning back in his chair, he slumps over toward the table and I can tell how exhausting this conversation is for him, but he goes on, “I’ve been looking at this diagnosis as a blessing. So many people don’t get warnings when their time is coming. They don’t get this extra time to hold their loved ones close. They never even get a chance to say goodbye and truly know that their family knew just how much they love and cherish them.”

  Dad looks over to Mom with a smile. She smiles back through the river of tears trickling down her cheeks.

  Looking back at us, he goes on with his mouth curved up into a warm smile, “This is a gift and I am so grateful for it.”

  After we have all shed several tears and wrapped ourselves up in each others’ loving embrace, Mom and Dad head to bed. I watch as they slowly walk away, Dad’s arm loosely wrapped around Mom’s waist while she hugs to him as if he is her lifeline.

  Trailing behind Abby, my feet seem to be on auto-pilot carrying me from one step to the next until we are both in her bed, curled up under the covers. I pull her feather down comforter up to my neck as I huddle up to Abby’s side. The light from her bathroom shines into her bedroom, illuminating her face as she stares up to the ceiling.

  “Do you remember when we were little and we’d go sledding with Dad down that big hill?” I giggle at the memory and allow just one small tear to escape.

  Making sure to stay near each other all night long, we stay up half the night sharing stories. Every once in a while a quiet falls between us and I can’t help but wonder if she is thinking what I am? God chose the two most perfect parents for us. Sick or not sick, I would not change a thing. I love my family and I will love them all until the day I die.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I GET up well before Abby and sneak downstairs for a cup of coffee. At the foot of the stairs, I hear dishes clanging together and I know Mom is up. As I round the corner, her worn out expression and mellow smile has me racing across the room so that I can pull her into a fierce hug. She clings to me and blows out a serene breath before breaking away from our hold.

  “Excuse me. I’m going to work out back in the yard until your Dad wakes up. I poured you a cup already.” She points over her shoulder to the counter with a subtle grin.

  Grabbing my steaming cup of coffee, I quietly slip out the front door and slide onto the porch swing, pulling my knees to my chest.

  A minute later, the door opens behind me and Dad steps out with a cup of coffee in hand, obviously with the same plan as me. His loveable smile causes my heart to explode with love for him and my own smile grows the longer I look at him. The vise on my heart tightens when I think about how brave he is. His charcoal gray jogging suit hangs loosely on his body and his navy blue baseball cap that is turned backwards takes me back to the night I met Judd. I don’t know why I think of him, but I do. I even wish I could feel his arms around me to ease this pain.

  Dad takes a seat and slides his arm to rest on the back of the swing.

  “What are you thinking about, Lyssi-bee?”

  Looking into Dad’s eyes, there are so many questions that whirl through my head that I desperately want to ask; so many things I want to say to him. My lip trembles as I open my mouth to speak. Dad’s smile deepens and he rubs his hand across my back.

  “Let’s talk. I know you have questions. Ask me.”

  My hands start to shake and I know I am going to cry. Bending forward, I quickly place my coffee on the ground and shiver from the loss of its warmth. A profound sigh sneaks up my throat and out my mouth as I snuggle to his side and draw upon just a little of Dad’s optimism. This is where I feel brave; this is where I gather my strength. His warm arm engulfs me and we sway in the swing, side by side.

  Finally working up the nerve to ask some questions, I bring up the thing that I am the most afraid to know, but I ask anyways.

  “How long? Do they know?”

  He lets out a small sigh as if he knew this was the question I would ask. While keeping his eyes locked on the front yard, he pulls me in tighter and begins to tell me all the delicate details that I never thought I would have the courage to hear.

  “It’s spreading fast, sweetie. The doctor said I could have as much as two to three months at the most, but they are not sure how the quality will be with me refusing the medication as well.”

  I sit up straight, startled at this news. “You stopped the medicine, too?”

  “Honey, they were just taking from the life
I had left. They were making me weaker, but not making me better. I want to live. If it means the length of my life is shorter, but the quality is better, then wouldn’t I want that more?”

  Leaning forward, he places his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands between them.

  “Suppose if I had two days off to spend with you, but I chose to go out to the garage alone while you stayed in the house to watch TV. But on the flip side, what if I had only one day off and we went hiking, fishing, we laughed, we talked and we spent the whole day together . . . which would you choose?”

  I don’t answer; I understand and he knows which one I would choose, but I’d rather not say out loud that I would choose one less day.

  Getting more comfortable, he leans back and places his arm around me as we go back and forth, with Dad answering every question from, “Are you scared?” to “What do you think happens when you die?” Through it all, he never gives pause, always offering up an answer that leaves me with hope and that fills me with peace, because that is what Dad does. He always makes the bad seem good.

  “So, what about this guy you met this summer?”

  His question comes out of left field and I stumble around to find an answer. He laughs at my expression because I must look dumbfounded.

  “Well, his name is Judd.”

  Dad nods his head like he is approving of the name or agreeing with something that I don’t remember saying.

  “We went fishing this summer. He even wormed my hook for me,” I say without even realizing how that phrase could be misconstrued if I was talking to anyone other than Dad.

  Dad’s face lights up into a huge grin and he dips his head down with a quiet chuckle, slowly nodding his head.

  I have no idea what I said that is funny, but his smile is contagious and I plaster one on as well.

  “Truly horrendous things. You better keep your eye on that one.” He laughs and I laugh with him, thinking back at how I thought about those same words that day.

  Looking into his eyes, I think for a brief moment how this could be the last conversation like this that he and I share. Live life to the fullest and leave no words unspoken! That will be my motto for the rest of my life. So, I go for it. I’m going to leave nothing unsaid; no matter how much it hurts to say it.