Last Winter's Snow

by Hans M Hirschi

  They had rented a car and driven from Gothenburg to Götene early in the morning, to see Roland, offer their condolences, and be there for him. When they’d arrived at the house, Elisabeth and her family were already there. She was every bit her mother, minus the age, plus a lot of rage and pain over having lost her mother. And, it seemed, she squarely placed the blame on Casper and Nilas.

  “I’ll go talk to her,” Roland said as he slowly got up from the chair. He looked at the funeral director and added, “I’m sorry for the outburst.”

  Nilas wasn’t sure if it was her behavior he was apologizing for, or the fact that Casper was married to him. In the midst of all this, the funeral director was as calm as a rock. He didn’t even look embarrassed or surprised.

  “I’m so sorry for all this,” Casper said apologetically, blushing bright red.

  “Don’t worry about it, Casper. I’ve been in this business for twenty-five years, and trust me, I’ve seen it all before. Losing someone close to us unleashes unknown forces and emotions within us. It’s quite all right. I’m sure everything will work out for the best.” He fired off a faint smile.

  Nilas wasn’t quite sure how honest it was. From what Casper had told him, the guy was a member of the same Pentecostal congregation as Casper’s family, which is why they’d chosen him. Nilas was certain that if it came to picking sides, he and Casper would be on the losing team.

  After ten minutes or so, Roland returned to the office, alone.

  “How is she?” Casper asked. Roland raised his hand and shook his head. He walked back to his chair and sat down, placing both hands on his knees. He looked as if he’d aged considerably in these past minutes. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

  “I’ve spoken to Elisabeth, and she won’t budge. I am sorry, Casper, but I had to make a choice, and it’s not been an easy one. You, and you alone, abandoned this family, when you decided to pursue a homosexual lifestyle.”

  Casper opened his mouth and wanted to protest, but his father raised his hand and continued.

  “I know you see things differently, but our family, our community, the church, God, your sister, and your mother—they do not, did not. As much as it pains me to tell you this, you’re not welcome at her funeral. You brought this upon yourself, and I would like to ask you to leave now. Your sister won’t return before you are gone.” With that, he ducked his head and refused to look at Casper.

  Nilas was stunned. He had gotten the impression that Roland was amenable to rekindling a relationship of sorts with his son, to bring the family back together, but it seemed as if the hatred his sister bore toward him was so strong that he felt he had no choice. Effectively, she’d made him choose between his two kids, one of them with two grandchildren and living nearby. The choice probably wasn’t all that difficult.

  Casper’s face was ashen, and he didn’t say a word when he got up from his chair and turned to walk out the door. But before he did, he stood still for a moment, as if he was considering something to say. Instead, he placed his right hand on his father’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. Then he walked out the door without looking back. Nilas followed him, hearing Roland crying in the office.

  ***

  The funeral was held three weeks later. Casper had found the obituary on the funeral home’s website. They had debated whether or not they should attend anyway, despite his father’s warning. In the end, they decided not to interfere with Roland’s wishes, but they nevertheless traveled to Götene a couple of hours after the funeral to allow Casper to take his leave from his mom at her temporary grave site.

  It was two weeks before Christmas; Sweden had just celebrated the Nobel Prize ceremony, as always a glorious event, televised live across the entire country, and celebrated the day of Saint Lucy, the third-century Italian martyr. Sweden was a dark place at that time of year, and this year was no exception, although the snow which had fallen and covered almost the entire country reminded Nilas a bit of home.

  It was bitterly cold, and the snow glistened. In every window there were traditional Christmas lights; the triangular, electric seven-light candleholders that were so popular in Sweden made the darkness of December a little more bearable. More and more, people were also decorating their balconies and bushes with electric lights and every now and then, a well-lit Christmas tree was seen standing in a garden.

  Casper drove their rental to the cemetery and parked next to the church offices, as there was no parking immediately outside. They didn’t leave the car right away, because Casper wanted to wait and see if anyone was still out there. Not seeing anyone, they exited the car. Casper was wearing a beanie and had pulled up a hoodie, as if to shield himself from the cold, while Nilas was wearing his parka. He was more used to the cold and didn’t mind it as much, but he understood Casper’s need for discretion. Clearly, his family didn’t want him here, hence the need for a clandestine farewell.

  They walked the few yards over to the cemetery and entered it, looking for the spot where a burial had recently taken place. In a corner, about fifty feet from the entrance, they found it: a dark mound of frozen dirt and snow, a simple wooden cross, wreaths, flowers, and a single candle that was lit inside a glass candle lamp. Casper had brought his own candle and placed it on the ground next to the family’s wreath, which only mentioned his father, sister and her family, and lit it. He knelt next to it and prayed in silence.

  Nilas watched on. He knew that Casper had been raised Christian and that he had always held on to his personal faith, even after the break from his family. While the Christian religion at Nilas’s house had been something they participated in because they had been forced to by the state, it had been a mere social function of his youth, rather than a spiritual thing. Nilas didn’t see the Christian god as anything but an oppressor of his people. He had his own gods, above all else Ráđienáhttjie, the Almighty Father, and his wife Ráđienáhkká, the Almighty Mother. But he respected Casper’s beliefs and his deeply held convictions, as private as they were, and as close to his chest as he’d handled it over the years. For Casper, his faith was his, and his alone. No church, no priests, no dogmas, and certainly no condemnation of anyone. That’s how he had found an arrangement with his god.

  When Casper got up again, he had teary eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Nilas asked, and Casper nodded.

  They hugged and finally, Casper said, “Let’s go home! I’m done here.”

  A month later, a letter in the mail informed Casper of his mother’s estate inventory. As she was married, whatever was hers was passed on to his father. He would not receive any inheritance until his dad, too, passed away. The letter was the last contact Casper ever had with his family. He neither saw nor spoke to them, ever again.

  * * * * *

  2015

  The Stroke

  “Casper, are you ready?” Nilas called into the house. He stood at the front door, ready for their walk. It was a glorious Sunday afternoon; the cool autumn sun was still warming the air in Gothenburg. They’d decided to take a walk, to enjoy the sun and catch a few stray rays before the next fall storm moved in from the west.

  There was no response from their bedroom where Casper had retreated just a minute ago to change his clothes. Nilas heard a thud, and he instinctively ran to their bedroom upstairs. Casper was lying on the floor, unconscious.

  “Casper, are you okay? Answer me?” Nilas shook him, patted his cheeks, but Casper was out like a light. Nilas pulled out his phone and dialed 112. “Hello? Yes, this is Nilas Jonsson. My husband just collapsed. He’s unconscious and not responding to my attempts to wake him. Would you please send an ambulance right away?”

  On the other side, the operator remained calm, something Nilas was grateful for, despite the horror he felt within.

  “Hello, Nilas. I’m contacting them as we speak. How old is your husband?”

  “He’ll be fifty-five this November.”

  “Thank you. Now, can you do me a favor and see if your husband is stil
l breathing?”

  Nilas looked at Casper and could see his chest rising and falling regularly. “Yes, he is.”

  “Good. Can you feel his pulse?

  Nilas squeezed the phone between his ear and shoulder and took Casper’s right arm in his, putting his index finger on Casper’s wrist to check for a pulse. “Yes, I can feel it.”

  “Excellent. Now when I tell you to, try to count the heartbeats. Stop when I tell you to. Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go!”

  Nilas began to count the heartbeats, as the operator on the other side presumably counted to six. “Stop! Now, tell me, how many heartbeats did you count?”

  “Six.”

  “Okay, good. Listen, the ambulance is on its way. You’ll hear them when they get to you. It’ll be about fifteen minutes. I’ll relay the information you’ve provided me to them. Before I let you go, are you aware of any prior conditions that could’ve led to this?”

  “No, nothing. He’s very healthy.”

  “Is he physically active? Do you exercise much?”

  “We’re not exactly gym rats, no. But we were just about to go out for a walk. That’s our exercise.”

  “Brisk walking?”

  “No, not really our style. More like strolling.”

  “Okay. Thank you. Now, try to move him onto his side. We want to be sure he can breathe properly. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes, sure.” Nilas grabbed the comforter from the bed and tugged it behind Casper’s legs to support him as he turned him sideways. Gently, he stroked his husband’s hair. “Done.”

  “Good. I have all the information we need. Now, wait for the arrival of the ambulance, okay? Good luck.”

  “Thank you.” He heard the call disconnect on the other side.

  “Oh, babe. What did you do? I hope this isn’t a stroke.” Tears began to flow down Nilas’s cheeks.

  ***

  But a stroke it had been, a pretty bad one, too, and for a while, things were touch and go for Casper. Nilas barely left his bedside and took a leave of absence from work to spend as much time with Casper as possible. While the care facilities at Sahlgrenska University Hospital were among the best in the world, a stroke as bad as Casper’s would take time to recover from.

  When Casper finally woke up, two days later, he was paralyzed on his left side, and his speech slurred badly. He was confused about where, when or even who he was, but over the coming days, he slowly, gradually, began to remember.

  To watch his husband reduced to a care package was almost unbearable for Nilas. He helped Casper take small sips of water, only to watch half of it run out of his mouth again; Casper had no control over the left side of his face. It was heartbreaking. But even though Casper didn’t recognize Nilas during the first days in hospital, he let him administer whatever care the nurses and other staff allowed him to. He seemed calmer in Nilas’s presence somehow, and the staff appreciated his help, as thinly manned as they were on the ward.

  “Doctor,” Nilas asked one morning as the staff made their rounds, “what are his chances of a full recovery?”

  “It’s still far too early to tell,” the doctor replied, barely looking up from his papers as he stood at Casper’s bedside. “Patients with strokes as severe as your husband never completely recover. Depending on the residual damage—and we won’t know what that is for three to four weeks—he’ll spend a lot of time in rehab, where he may very well need to learn to walk again and regain the use of his arm. The thing is—” he looked up from his papers and turned to Nilas, looking him directly in the eyes “—there’s still so much we don’t know about how strokes affect the brain, and how bad the damage is. The MRI allows us to locate the blood clots in the brain, and your husband was lucky to have been found quickly. But still, we can’t see which areas of the brain were damaged, or how bad the damage is. The only way to do that would be an autopsy. We’ll just have to be patient and see.”

  Nilas nodded gravely. “Worst-case scenario?”

  The doctor sighed, weighing his words. “Death. Unfortunately, that is always a risk. But that is not likely. Casper is healthy, his vitals are strong. But beyond that? I think a realistic worst-case would involve a life in a wheelchair, under constant care, twenty-four seven.” Nilas was about to respond, but the doctor lifted his hand to continue. “But please understand, that is not the likely scenario. I need you to be patient. We could stand here all day and speculate, but that’s not what Casper needs from us. He needs us to be professional and for you to simply be there for him, talk to him, let him know you’re here. Let’s be optimistic for Casper. Okay?”

  The doctor smiled at Nilas and put his hand on Nilas’s shoulder. “Can you do that for me?”

  Nilas could only nod.

  * * * * *

  The Long Road To Recovery

  Casper began to recover from his stroke. After a week, he was able to move his left foot again, and the fingers of his left hand. The physical therapists began to work with him every day, stimulating his senses and his nerves. Casper applied himself. He had never been a fan of hospitals and hated having to rely on others for help, particularly as he was a very private man.

  It had been particularly painful for Nilas to watch the first time that Casper realized he’d been fitted with diapers. The pained expression on Casper’s face when two female assistant nurses came to change him was almost impossible to watch for Nilas. And while he tried to do as much of the personal care for Casper, like washing his face or body, there were things he simply couldn’t do, where the professional care of trained staff was needed.

  Two weeks after the stroke, Casper was moved into a wheelchair for the first time, to be taken downstairs to the rehab facility, where he began with some simple physical training. No one knew if his legs would ever carry him again, or if his left arm would be able to hold any weight. In bed, he’d held on to small items like a book, but never for long, and he’d shake visibly.

  After six weeks, Casper left the hospital and was moved to a residential rehab facility. Medically, there was nothing left to be done for him. He’d responded well to all the treatments, and the physical therapists at the hospital had been pleased with his progress. He still wasn’t able to walk or even stand on his own, but he was able to move his legs and his arm again, and in time, with lots of exercise, he might regain more of his mobility.

  Casper had also regained some of the motion of his face, and he didn’t look as much like “Two Face” anymore, even if the left corner of his mouth still largely hung down. Nilas knew that Casper didn’t want to be in public, didn’t want to be seen, not like this. He was wearing dark sunglasses as they left the hospital to be driven to the rehab facility. He’d refused all visitors; he just didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Not his publisher, not his editor, nor any of their close friends. He was too ashamed of the state in which the stroke had left him.

  A further two months passed, and Casper was able to move home. Nilas had prepared for his homecoming for weeks, having carpenters remove every threshold and doorstep around the house. He’d also had a stairlift installed to help Casper move up and down the stairs to their bedroom with his wheelchair, and he’d changed the doors to every room in the house, fitting broader doors which would allow Casper to move more freely. He was no longer relying on his wheelchair all the time, but he grew tired very quickly, and although he could walk on flat surfaces assisted by a walker, he would probably never be able to climb stairs again. He just didn’t retain that kind of motor control and had accepted the wheelchair as a means of getting around.

  The day before he was due to come home, the final work in the bathroom had been completed, installing a whole new bathtub, fitted with a door, to allow him to more easily get in and out. Casper had always loved to soak in a hot bath, and Nilas wanted to make sure he’d be able to continue to indulge in that activity. Bars were installed to help him get up and sit down. Nilas spent the last night cleaning the house, making sure it w
as perfect for Casper’s return.

  Then he waited for the patient transport to arrive. They pulled up at just about eleven in the morning. Nilas was sitting in the office, trying to get some work done, when he saw the green and yellow van pull up in front of their house. He rushed out to welcome Casper home.

  “Hey, babe. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you here, particularly at nights.” He kissed Casper as soon as the driver had freed him of the constraints in the van and deposited him safely on the sidewalk. They took their leave of the driver, who drove off, heading for his next assignment. “Are you ready to come inside?”

  Casper’s voice was still slurring a bit, due to the partial paralysis of his face. “Yes, beäjvviebájttuo, I am so glad to finally be home again.” He noticed the ramp that had been built to overcome the two stone steps from the sidewalk up to the level of their garden. Casper followed the pathway and noticed that there was also a small ramp built up to the entrance to the house. He lifted his good arm and pointed at the ramp. “You did this? For me?”

  Nilas laughed. “No, doofus, I did it for me. I’m not going to break my back lifting you and the chair up every step, every time you feel the need to go somewhere.” He noticed the confused expression on Casper’s face and stopped fooling around. “Of course I did this for you.” He grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and pushed it up the ramp.

  “Let me do it now!” Casper said, as they’d reached the garden path which led to their front door.

  “Whatever you say, babe. Just let me know if you need help. I’ll go ahead and open the front door.” Nilas walked around the wheelchair and ran to the door, opening it wide. “Do you think you’re strong enough to make it alone?”