by Monica Cole
Finally he looks at mom. “Mom?”
A strangled noise escapes her throat as she leans forward and embraces Parker. “It’s okay.” He soothes, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I wanted to keep it on the down low. I was awake last night when Canyon told ya’ll the news. I pretended to be asleep because I didn’t want to give anything away. As soon as I heard how excited ya’ll were, I knew this was the right choice. I don’t want any of you to think otherwise. This was my decision. And no matter if I decided to keep my heart or not, I’m still going to die. At least this way Canyon has a chance. And the three of you will always have a part of me.”
“I’m so proud of you sweetheart,” Mom cries. She sits up and takes both of his hands in hers. “You’re so brave and selfless, and I couldn’t be more proud to be your mom. When most people would be weak, you’ve been so strong.” She leans over and kisses his forehead, tears filling his eyes for the first time. Mom moves over so I can hug Parker. I hug him long and hard. A hug that hopefully conveys all the things I can’t bring myself to say at the moment. When I pull away, Canyon takes my place. He hasn’t said anything this entire time but as soon as they wrap their arms around each other, the gesture says more than words ever could. Seeing them like this makes my heart throb, but not entirely in a bad way. They’ve become close over the years, best friends, and it shows how much they care for each other. How much they always will.
We stay in Parker’s room for another hour. Eventually he gets tired, so Canyon and I leave to let him sleep. Mom stays with him and promises to let us know if anything changes. Canyon and I go to the cafeteria where we buy a Coke and a bag of Cheetos. Then we head outside for some fresh air. We sit on a small metal bench and silently eat our snack, watching people come in and out of the sliding glass doors. A nurse in Betty Boop scrubs exits, and I immediately recognize her as Cindy, the nurse I talked to when Canyon was here a few weeks ago. She notices us, offers a smile wave, and then makes her way over.
“Hey you. Back again?” she says sounding genuinely concerned. She lights a cigarette and exhales a heavy cloud of smoke that floats around us. I half expect Canyon to ask her for one considering everything that’s going on. But he just sits there, his forearms resting on his legs, his head bent.
“Yea, afraid so,” I answer.
Her eyes drift to Canyon, and then she raises an eyebrow at me as if to ask if something’s wrong with him. I shake my head and nudge him in the shoulder.
“Canyon, this is Cindy. She was your nurse when you were here a few weeks ago.”
Canyon looks up, giving her a polite but forced smile. “Yea I remember. It’s kind of hard to forget the person who stabs you repeatedly with a needle when they can’t find your vein.”
This brings the slightest grin to my face and Cindy chuckles, tapping the ash into a nearby ashtray. “Hey, that happens less often than you think, believe it or not.”
“Sure it does, Betty Boop.” He offers her a small but playful grin, and I swear her cheeks turn the softest shade of red.
“So, do you mind if I ask why you’re here or do I need to go mind my own business somewhere else?” She takes a drag and turns her attention to me. I like Cindy. Which is rare because I don’t like a lot of people. She was open with me the last time I was here, so I feel like it's okay to share with her why I’m back.
“My brother’s here,” I explain, scuffing my shoe against the concrete. “He was admitted this morning after we couldn’t wake him up. He has an infection in his spinal cord that’s putting pressure on his brain. We don’t know how much longer he has.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” She sighs sadly and drops the cigarette in the ashtray. “I’m so sorry. And right after ya’ll were just here.” Her eyes cut back and forth between us sympathetically. “I can’t image what you must be going through right now.”
I doubt she could either, but then I remember she lost her husband not long ago, and figure she probably understands better than a lot of people. It’s one of those things you have to experience firsthand to fully understand. Up until I found out Canyon was dying, I had no idea that there were different types of heartbreak. And then I saw mom breaking apart in front of me, and Parker telling me he was dying, and I finally understood what it’s like to die on the inside. When everything is being stripped away, leaving you bare and aching and helpless. It’s something no one should have to experience but to those who do, you gain a new understanding of how pain works. How it has the ability to rub you down to the bone until there’s nothing left but fragile pieces threatening to snap at any second.
Cindy clears her throat, probably uncomfortable from the silence dragging between us and checks the time on her watch.
“I should probably get back to work,” she announces, taking a step back. “I’m five minutes past my break time and Mr. Abbot is due for a sponge bath.”
I must make a face because she laughs and nods her head in agreement. “Yea, it’s not pleasant,” she says, starting towards the buildings entrance. “I’ll see you around, Hon.”
She’s halfway to the door before I call her name and rush over to her. She stops, and I stand awkwardly trying to figure out what compelled me to follow her. I guess I feel like I owe her something. A thank you. Or at least an acknowledgement that I appreciate how nice she’s been. I know she didn’t have to be and it means a lot that she did. That she genuinely cares about what’s going on in my life.
“Thank you.” I finally tell her. “You’ve been so nice to me and Canyon, and I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She smiles. “That’s why I became a nurse. I care about people and I enjoy taking care of them. And when I see people like you and Canyon who are struggling in more ways than any person should have to endure, I feel like it’s my duty to do something to help lift that burden. Besides, you and Canyon helped me out more than you’ll ever know.” She glances over at him then back at me. I give her a confused look because I’m not sure what she’s referring to.
“What you told me that day in the hospital room, about how I’ll always be in my husband’s heart,” she lets out a heavy breath, “it changed everything. It was like all the pain and guilt and loss was just wiped off my heart. I was able to start over with a clean slate and after months of beating myself up over my husband’s death and all the things I didn’t say, I was finally able to let go. So if anyone should be thankful, it’s me. I just wish I could offer you some piece of advice that could help you through this situation. Death isn’t an easy thing. In fact, there’s no pain like losing someone you love. That kind of loss, it’s overwhelming. It’s like drowning in the ocean. The currents keep dragging you under, but eventually, you’ll resurface. You’ll breathe. And in your case, I’m willing to bet there’s someone who will always be there to save you.”
I don’t have to ask who she’s talking about. Because there’s only ever been one person in my life who’s saved me. Over and over again he saves me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, stepping forward to give her a hug. She returns it. A complete stranger. But right now it feels like we’re bonded in a weird way. Like fate intended for us to help each other, even if it meant we’d never cross paths again.
We say goodbye and I return to where Canyon is sitting. He’s still in the same position with his head cradled in his hands. If he saw what happened between me and Cindy, he doesn’t question it, even though I wouldn’t mind explaining it if he did. We sit quietly for a little longer, lost in our own thoughts. It’s burning up outside but Canyon doesn’t seem to care. Actually, the longer he doesn’t speak, I start to get concerned.
“Canyon?” I touch his arm but jerk away when a strange noise escapes his mouth. It takes me a second to realize he’s crying, and I feel terrible for not noticing before.
“Hey,” I say softly, taking his face in my hands and forcing him to look at me. His cheeks are streaked with tears, his eyes red and bleary and the deep throated sobs escap
ing him have my stomach in knots and my soul writhing. I honestly don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen him like this and it kills me that I can’t take it away. So I do the only thing I can think of. I kiss him. His lips are wet and salty. They taste sad, so I try my best to kiss it away. I climb onto his lap and straddle him, not giving a damn that the people passing by are probably giving us weird looks. I kiss him one more time then wrap my arms around his neck and hold him tight enough so I’m there to catch all the pieces as he breaks. It might not be much, but at least when this is all over, I can attempt to put him back together. I can take all the broken parts and make something beautiful again. Maybe this is my chance to do what he did for me. Maybe this time, I can be the one to save him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Parker passes away two days later. We were all there in his last moments and even though it was the hardest way to see him go, it was also the best way. Gathered around his bed. Holding his hand. Telling him how much we love him. He almost looked happy but that’s Parker. Always happy. As hard as losing him has been, there’s a sense of comfort in knowing he’s in a better place. A place where he isn’t suffering and the bad no longer exists. That doesn’t mean I miss him any less. I’m going to miss him every second of every day for the rest of my life. But knowing he’s no longer in pain makes losing him a little less hard because he deserves to be happy and healthy and full of life. And I know he is now.
Mom and I have been at the hospital for three days straight, but today we’re going home. It’s bittersweet because I’m ready to leave this place but it will be hard going home without Parker. To an empty house. His empty room filled with memories that can never amount to the real thing. Nothing can bring him back, but I’m thankful I have something to hold onto. Once we have our overnight bag packed, mom goes to pull the car around out front. Whitney brought the bag over last night then spent hours sitting with us, sharing stories and telling Parker how much she’s going to miss him. She wasn’t here when he passed, but I’m glad she got to say goodbye.
“You ready?” Whitney asks, grabbing her purse. She came back early this morning for support, which I greatly needed since today is the day Canyon goes in for his surgery. They took him back about an hour ago and he should be out later this evening. To say I’m nervous is an understatement. I’m terrified at the thought of his chest being sliced open and his heart gutted out. I’m trying to stay positive. I seriously am. But negative thoughts keep seeping to my brain. Like what if something goes wrong? What if they can’t get the heart to start beating again? What if he bleeds to death or the doctor drops a scalpel in his chest and sews him back up? I’m paranoid. I realize that. But having Canyon go in for surgery less than twenty-four hours after Parker passed away is almost more than I can handle. I’m worried and for good reason. But I have faith that Parker’s heart is going to save Canyon. And right now, that’s all I have to cling to.
I scoot off Parker’s empty bed and take her outstretched hand. “Yea, I’m ready.”
Once we exit the building, I let out a deep breath, cleansing my body of the onslaught of grueling emotions I’ve gone through these last few days. Whitney hugs me goodbye, and I climb into the passenger seat of mom’s car. As we drive off, I say a silent prayer that Canyon will be okay. I hate leaving him, but he insisted that I go home, and honestly, I don’t think I can stand another second in that hospital. Home might not be much better, but at least I’m surrounded by things that remind me of Parker’s life instead of his death. Mom and I don’t speak on the drive home and when we get to the house, I can tell we’re both hesitant to go in.
“Come on, sweetie. We can do this.” She squeezes my hand before climbing out of the car. I follow her, keeping my distance as she unlocks the front door. Standing here like this feels familiar and I realize it’s so similar to how I felt two months ago when I first got here. Reluctant and scared. My heart aching. When we step through the door, it hits me hard. Life hits me hard. And everything that’s felt so surreal, like a nightmare I’ve been waiting to wake up from, becomes a reality.
Parker's gone. And this house mourns his death. The empty space in the living room right in front of the T.V. The empty table by the door that always held his hat and wallet. The silence. I’m still standing in the doorway, oblivious that mom has disappeared somewhere. I shut the door and kick off my shoes then walk over to the T.V and turn it on. I grab the remote and turn the volume up, trying to drown out the quiet, but it’s an endless void and the noise gets lost somewhere at the bottom. Tossing the remote across the room, I sink to the ground and curl up on my side. And then I close my eyes.
“Elaine?”
I wake up to the sound of someone saying my name. Parker? His name flickers through my mind but quickly dies out. Of course it wasn’t. I don’t remember falling asleep but it’s clear from the hair plastered to my partially wet cheeks that I did just that. I rub the soreness from my eyes and lift my head. Mom is kneeling beside me, dressed in a new pair of clothes, her hair pulled away from her face. She looks somewhat better, but I feel like I’ve just got tossed through the wringer for the hundredth time.
“What time is it?” I ask groggily. My head is pounding furiously and I fell nauseous as I sit up.
“It’s five. You’ve been asleep most of the day.”
I start to frown but it’s probably a good thing I fell asleep. I needed the rest and at least it kept my mind off things.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, peeling the sticky hair away from my face. “I was thinking about ordering a pizza.”
I nod, even though I’m not hungry. “Yea, that sounds good.”
She stands up and offers to help me up. “Okay, I’ll call and order one. You should go take a shower. It made me feel a lot better.”
The thought of a hot shower sounds like the best thing in the world to my aching muscles and I only wish it could do the same wonders to my heart. “Yea, I think I’ll do that.”
A shower is just what I needed. I use up all the hot water and take my time getting dressed, enjoying the steam filled bathroom. I wrap a towel around my body and head to my room, taking out my favorite cat panties and baggy t-shirt that doubles as a nightgown. As I’m getting dressed, I notice something laying on the table beside my bed. A single white envelope with my name written across the front. I recognize it as Parker’s handwriting, but I don’t know how it would’ve gotten here. Since I’m pretty sure Parker isn’t a ghost, I assume mom placed it here. At least, that’s the only logical explanation. Picking it up, I sit down on the bed, my hands fumbling to open the folded up piece of paper inside. Blinking past the tears, I start to read.
Elaine,
If you’re reading this, I hate that you are. Writing this letter was without a doubt the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do but I guess that’s the thing about saying goodbye. It’s never easy, especially when it’s forever. I bet you’re wondering why I wrote this letter instead of telling you myself. And I wish I had a better answer other than it wasn’t the right time. Maybe if the circumstances had been different I could have told you sooner and in person. But things were so fucked up with Canyon being sick that I couldn’t bring myself to tell you I was dying too. No heart should have to endure that kind of torment and I sure as hell didn’t want be the one to do it. No one did. Canyon. Mom. Maybe it was wrong of us to keep everything a secret but the idea of causing you anymore pain was unbearable.
We knew you would eventually find out. We knew one of us would have to fess up. The problem was that none of us wanted to do it. And I can safely speak for all three of us when I say I’m sorry. But I don’t want this letter to dwell on the past or what could’ve been done differently, because like I’ve told you before, you can’t change it. What’s done is done and even though I know it’s going to be difficult, I want you to look towards the future. I know you’re going to be sad. You’re going to be angry and wonder why the hell life keeps throwing blows at you. That’s okay. You have every right to be
sad. To be angry at life. What you don’t have is the right to let those emotions control you. Don’t let the bad dictate your life, Elaine. If I’ve learned anything from all of this, from being paralyzed, it’s not to let the difficult things determine your outlook on life. Don’t be so focused on the past that you get blindsided for what’s in your future. And you have one. You have so much potential. So much to live for. It’s not always going to be easy, and we’ve both learned firsthand that it’s normally harder than not.
But that’s okay. I think life is meant to scar us because those scars make us stronger. They’re a reminder that we survived all the shit it dished out on us and sometimes we need those reminders to be thankful for all the good. If you don’t take anything else from this letter, just remember that. To be thankful for the good. Because even if the bad outweighs it, the good is still there and it’s worth embracing. I love you, Elaine. Don’t ever forget that. You and mom will always be the most important people in my life. And I know it sounds corny as hell, but I’m still in your heart. In mom’s heart. Remind her of that often. Take care of her. Take care of each other. I’m really proud of you, Elaine. You overcame a lot this summer and I know this is a shitty way to end it but keep fighting and you’ll get through it. I love you. And I expect you to visit me at my grave on a regular basis and update me on how the Packers do this season. I’m holding you to it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Three days later we bury Parker. It’s the hottest day of summer so far, one reason I’m glad I asked mom if we could have people wear white instead of black. Everyone willingly obliged, except for the minister who is somehow suffering through wearing a black suit. When mom and I discussed the funeral plans, we decided to call Parker’s burial a Celebration of Life. It’s what he would’ve wanted. A ceremony focused on his life instead of his passing. Somehow the term makes this a litter easier, thinking of this as a time to commemorate his life instead of mourning his death. I requested that guests wear white, a color that symbolizes life, peace, and a new beginning and gathered mementos from Parker’s life to place around the casket. A few days ago, mom and I had been planning to cremate, the only option in our budget but before we could make any arrangements, Canyon called and told us he’d already paid for a plot and casket and promised he’d be at the burial even though he’s still in recovery from his surgery. This of course, made me and mom twice as emotional and even though mom called Canyon about ten times trying to convince him he’d done too much, I know she’s thankful for what he did. For all he’s done.