desperation clings to me like dust to a well-worn vanity
inching up my insides
slithering through my ribs
tracing every centimeter of hope
whispering defeat into every breath
in one moment of exhilarating depression
i give up.
take one breath.
and live on.
February 16, 2015
For the rest of the drive, I continue to share anecdotes about Gramps. I feel as if I am giving his eulogy, saying goodbye the only way I know how. Every memory of him comes flashing back: teaching me to ride a bike, kissing me on the cheek on my first day of school, blowing a kazoo at my high school graduation. He has always been a part of my life, but I know that whether he passes away tonight, or in a month, or even a year, his time is short.
Josh silently listens as I share glimpses of my past with him. I almost forget that he's there as I give way to my memories. Every so often, when my voice grows ragged, he silently reaches over and squeezes my hand.
"Rach, we're almost there," Josh says eventually, and I see the glowing blue icon of the hospital against the black of night.
He parks the car quickly and rushes to my door to help me out. My fatigue flees with the realization that Gramps is just inside these doors. Pulling Josh's jacket around me, I sprint through the cold towards the sliding glass doors. We rush into the first floor waiting room and are redirected to the cancer unit on the fourth floor. I ignore the elevator and run for the stairs, dashing up them two at a time.
By the time we reach the fourth floor, I am panting and frazzled. I swing open the man door and race to the waiting room. Inside, I see the pallid, worried faces of Mom and Dad, and I fall into their embraces, ignoring all else. Dad's hug is reassuring while Mom squeezes me breathless. The tears have returned, and I'm so relieve to be here when they need me and I need them.
"Where is he?" I ask pleadingly. "Is he okay? What's going on?"
Mom and Dad exchange a glance, and Dad says, "You just missed him, sweet pea. He went into surgery a few minutes ago."
Dad goes on to explain that they're doing surgery on one of his lungs, but I don't understand any of it. All I know is that I was too late to say goodbye. My shoulders sag at the realization that I've missed my second chance at goodbye.
I whisper hoarsely, "Do they think he'll live through the surgery?"
Dad takes my hand and squeezes it. "We don't know."
All of my anticipation and worry releases me, and I suddenly feel incredibly weary. My shoulders sag and I feel as if I have aged ten years in just one night. Though I am disappointed that I can't see Gramps, at least I'm here, where I belong.
"Um, hello, Mr. and Mrs. Evans," Josh says, moving to stand beside me.
In my worry, I completely forgot about Josh. He awkwardly shifts from foot to foot and glances at me anxiously.
"Oh, uh, sorry. Mom, Dad, this is Josh Hunter. He's a friend from school who gave me a ride tonight." I flash Josh a grateful smile.
Mom eyes him critically, but Dad shakes his hand. "Thank you so much for being willing to help Rachel out when she needed you. We all appreciate it," Dad says.
I can see in Dad's knowing gaze that he realizes that Josh is the boy I'm in love with, and I'm appreciative of the way he's greeting Josh with such kindness despite everything.
Mom motions to the sterile plastic chairs in the waiting room. "You might as well get comfortable. It's going to be a long night. There are a bathroom and a vending machine down the hall if you need them."
YOU ARE READING
The Definition of Time
Roman d'amourA Wattpad Featured Story! "We were together. I forget the rest." - Walt Whitman He defined time. Every event in my life is now defined by the time we spent together - the Before and the After. I still remember the day we met, freshmen in college, al...
