Where the Stars Fall

41| Treasured memories

SCANNING THE ROOM, my father flicks his eyes from one side to the other. "Where's the tool case, Son? They usually send an Allen key, but we may still need a screwdriver."

I help him put his legs up to rest on the cushioned footstool. "Is that better? Want me to get you a pillow?"

"I'm fine. Where's the white wooden box I brought?"

"Maybe you left it in the living-room? I'll go check–"

"It's on the dresser, behind that bag. Give it to me."

 I get it for him, but first I give a quick read to the inscription on the lid,

〰️

'Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you.'

SHANNON L. ALDER

〰️

I know this is meant for my children, that this box carries memories he'd share with them himself if he'd been given the opportunity.

We all know our time together is coming to an end. He's leaving us soon, and we're trying our best to accept the inevitable and cherish every moment we still have, either by keeping company and comforting him, listening to his endless tales or simply laughing along as we watch his favourite films together. Because nobody enjoys a good laugh more than he does. Even now.

The last couple of days have been particularly difficult; he's been feeling very weak. But this afternoon, he mustered all his strength to come and accomplish another of his end-of-life plans. Of course, in normal circumstances there'd be plenty of time for this, as the babies shouldn't be here before April or May, but my father has always put together all his other grandchildren's beds. Mine should be no exception.

"No, Son! That's the footboard. Get the headboard first and lay it there. The side facing inwards up," he recommends when I'm still struggling to take some parts out of the huge carton packing.

"Not seeing any instructions," I mutter, impatient.

"We don't need one. Get the key and attach the latch brackets to the headboard first."

I nod in agreement and follow his instruction. Then, "Hey, you? Want to watch the game together? We're so going top of the Premier League! Aston Villa doesn't stand a chance."

"Yeah, let's do that! Next, you attach the rails. That one is the drop rail, it has to go to the front," he says as he opens the white wooden box on his lap. "It's a shame Liv can't be here."

I pretend I'm focused on what I'm doing and remain silent.

"But where is she?"

"Excuse me?" I dodge.

"Olivia. Where's she? At Evie's?"

"Mm-hmm, resting. Another crazy weekend at work. On call this afternoon, a double shift tomorrow. She's covering for a colleague."

"Poor kid. Isn't that too much?"

"But are these even the right bolts?" I ask in a slightly irritated tone.

In truth, my problem is neither the bolts nor the whole intricate project here. My problem is what happened earlier this morning. I'm so strung out I can barely get it together.

"Let me take a look." He glances over the rim of his glasses. "No, those are for the wheels. Take the large ones."

I nod silently.