𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝, guy germaine

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 | the last song

An excerpt from For Better Or Worse: Chapter Fourteen - The Last Song
Fall 2006

     I SHOT UP FROM my sleep, breathing heavy and terrified. Opal wasn't next to me, and it was complete daylight. Glancing over at the alarm clock, it was off, and unplugged from the wall entirely. What happened?

I got out of bed and slid on my shoes, quickly searching the house, searching to hear anything that would signify she was up and around.

For the last week, Opal had been extremely sick. Genevieve came home from school with the flu and had passed it to Sawyer, and then I started to get it. As soon as Gen had it, she insisted on helping her feel better even though she knew it could kill her. By the time Sawyer was sick, she was bedridden. I could take care of myself and the kids, but having her completely out for the count was no help.

That's why it was utterly terrifying that she wasn't in bed, wasn't audibly moving around the house. And the alarm clock?

In the kitchen, I could see Genevieve and Sawyer, thick as thieves, pouring their own cereal and milk into bowls for breakfast.

"Have you seen mommy?" I asked them.
"No, but she left this." Genevieve slid the note across the granite counter to me. "I didn't read it because it's for you."

Guy,
I'm feeling a lot better so I'm out in the studio recording that song I was writing. I have a good feeling about it. I wanted you to sleep in with the kids, so I unplugged the alarm clock.
Love you the most, always.
Opal.

I sighed in relief knowing that she was okay. She used to run out to the studio in our backyard at random times to record when she was inspired, it just hadn't happened in a while, and never so early in the morning. The clock above our oven read 9:35.

I supervised the kids as they ate their breakfast, cleaning up the bowls and milk and cereal boxes. Then I got changed up for the day, brewing two identical cups of coffee - one for my wife and one for me.

I made the trudge through our grass to the shed along the back fence, where the building bordered woods and a lake. She had a little light above the door that would let me know it was safe to enter, and it was off, so I walked in with the two cups of coffee.

She was sprawled out on the floor, unconscious like she fell out of her rolling chair. Her guitar was hung on the wall, her instruments tidied, and the computer looping a track she had just finished - the song fully layered and mastered to the extent that she knew how.

I threw the coffee cups out the door, knowing I didn't have time to care for them as I knelt down beside her. She was gone and I knew it, but that didn't make anything easier.

"Opal, please..." I lifted her head into my lap, shaking her shoulders and tapping her face. "Please, not now..."
I let my fingers settle on her pulse, noticing her skin was cold and not feeling her heartbeat under my fingertips.

She looked scarily alive in death, like she had just gone to sleep. Maybe that was just a sign of how sick she really was.

I cried as I listened to her song loop, looking down on her and trying to grasp how this could be real.

"I love you... I love you more than anything." I spoke to her, letting her head back to the floor gently before standing and trudging to the old phone we kept in the corner of the studio. I dialed 911 on the rotary, still haunted by her voice.

"911, what's your emergency?"
"My wife is dead."

They eventually let me hang up the phone, and I walked back to the house. The wind felt colder than before, the sky dark for a Saturday morning. It was like she had taken all the warmth out with her.

How was one supposed to tell their children that their mother had passed away?

The kids were sitting on the couch, watching Blues Clues under a blanket.

"Just tell them I went to Heaven, they'll know what you mean." I recalled her telling me once long ago. "When I had to tell my brothers about my mama, that's what I said."

So I sat down beside them, and what do you know, our overly emotionally intelligent children knew something was wrong.

"Why are you crying, daddy? Did you get a boo-boo?" Sawyer asked.
"No, honey." I looked in their faces for affirmation that they were listening. "You know how mommy has been very sick?" I reminded them first.

The two of them nodded slow. They no doubt recalled her flu, but they knew she was sick longer than that.

"Well, your mama went to heaven. She finished her song, and God called her up."
"M-mommy's dead?" Sawyer asked. I just nodded slowly, pulling both of them into my chest.

The sirens came, the lights in the windows. The kids wouldn't let go of my pant legs, and I didn't want them to.

"Breaking news: Opal Starr Germaine, 26-year-old country musician, has passed away after a decade-long battle with HIV/AIDS. She leaves behind her devoted husband, Guy, and two children, Genevieve and Sawyer..."

❛ ━━･❪ ♥ ❫ ･━━ ❜

riles' honkytonk and saloon
921 words

the moment no one wanted to see.

but it had to happen.

sobbing in the airport writing this.

the kids </3

guy's reaction omfg pain

this is too long i'm sorry

thank you so much for reading! comments and votes motivate me a lot so i really appreciate them :)