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I think I knew before I made it into the room what had happened, but seeing Dr. Franks cut the heart monitor off and unhook the ventilator put things into a graphic perspective that no one could be ready for. Six's screams had died off, Luis holding her against his body as his own sobs wracked his body.
There's something about seeing a man like that reduced to tears. Not that men can't cry, or that they shouldn't. But someone as stoic and strong as Luis, his tough outer shell and overall demeanor, kneeling on the ground and sobbing into the back of Six's shoulder—it's gutting.
My heart physically shredded, my face wet with tears, it was all I could do to maintain my composure and stay standing. The real, genuine pain came when Six climbed into the bed to lay next to Bennet's body, her head against his chest. We all did our best to give her space and let her grieve, although the urge to scoop her up and run far away was strong.
Jackson fell to his knees inside the doorway, his neck bent despondently towards the ground, a string of spit or snot trailing from his face. Mrs. Coolson finally made it to the room and stood behind Jackson with her hands over her mouth, eyes wide in sorrow and disbelief.
Micah backed away from his patient—his friend, his brother—and fell into a chair to cradle his head in his hands.
I looked at the man—the body of the man—that had become all those things to me as well, and felt…numb.
We all stood there in silence, watching Six sob, for what felt like hours.
Dr. Franks, perhaps realizing that I was the only person coherent enough to talk to, whispered his condolences and promised to check in on us the next day. He offered to bring a prescription to help Six cope and sleep. Through my haze of grief, I couldn’t forget Jackson, and it occurred to me we could use the doctor’s help before things got worse for him.
Gesturing him quietly into the hall, Dr. Franks and I reached to guide Jackson to stand. He complied easily enough, letting us lead him into the hallway with Mrs. Coolson behind us.
Not sure where to go—I didn't want to bring him into our room because it still looked like a sex bomb went off, and I didn't want to use Bennet's room for obvious reasons—I led everyone into Jackson's room, hoping he wouldn't mind the intrusion on his privacy.
The only way you could tell it was his room at all was his duffel bag thrown on the bed and a pair of shoes lined up near the door.
I gestured for everyone to come in and find somewhere to sit, and then awkwardly sat next to Jackson at the end of the bed.
“Dr. Franks, you mentioned a prescription to help Six cope and sleep? I'm wondering if you might have any ideas, or even any referrals, for Jackson. He's been struggling, which is understandable given recent events, but I think it might be more than just recent events. I'll leave you to talk,” I said, standing up to leave.
“I already have a prescription,” Jackson admitted. “In the craziness of running for our lives when Bennet was kidnapped,”—Mrs. Coolson gasped—“I left them behind or they got lost in the fray, but I'm not sure where they are. And there was so much to focus on, I didn't want to have a bottle of pills become a focus. I thought it'd be fine, but I also didn't expect all of this to happen.”
“Well, I'm happy to write you a refill or a new prescription if needed,” said Dr. Franks understandingly. “And I have referrals for therapists that deal with grief and trauma, although I have to admit I don't know that anyone's ever seen anything like this before.”
Jackson just nodded, texting over the information for the medication he takes.
“I'll bring it by tomorrow, along with something for Six if she needs help sleeping. Please, let me know if there's anything I can do for any of you. I'm so sorry we couldn't save him,” Dr. Franks says sadly.
I don't know why, but something about the tone of Dr. Frank's voice sounded more than just remorseful. Like he took it personally, or felt guilty, that he couldn't save Bennet. When he reached for a handshake on his way out, I pulled him in for a sort of half-hug, patting him on the shoulder.
“Thank you for everything, Dr. Franks. None of us would have made it this far without you. Your support from the very beginning has meant a lot. Bennet's death is not on you, it's on his father.”
Another gasp from Mrs. Coolson reminded me that all of this was probably quite shocking for her. I felt bad that I kept forgetting she was in the room and wasn't already privy to what we'd gone through.
After that, I left Mrs. Coolson and Jackson to talk and joined the rest of the guys in standing vigil over Six as she grieved. We watched the sunrise through the windows that surrounded the bed, and I thought about how unfair it was that life just kept moving on, despite the despair that surrounded us.
Jackson finally joined us, sitting next to me in pained silence. I caught his eye, searching for some sign that he would be alright.
He acknowledged me with a slow drop of his chin, his eyes cast downward.
I nodded back, giving him a little nudge with my arm that I hope was comforting. It's really hard to comfort people when you are grieving, too. Especially if you're already socially awkward. But Jackson never seemed to have an issue with understanding me before, so I hope he understood what I meant with my nudge. I'm here for you, man.
Jackson
I admit I was feeling low before, but the all-encompassing anguish I feel now is heavier. Like I'm wading through mud, my entire body feels the weight of my grief with every step or movement of my body.
The difference, right or wrong, is that this grief is almost easier to manage. Somehow, being surrounded by people who are also drowning helps me keep my head above water. This pain is tangible and has reason. It makes sense.
I'm not sure if I've dozed off or if I've been spaced out this entire time, but Micah standing to check Bennet's heartbeat jars me. Sitting up straighter, I notice trays of food and coffee that have long gone cold. None of us even noticed poor Mrs. C coming in and out.
She is sad too, for all of us, but also because she'd become attached to my big little family and had dreams of us living here permanently. It's what we discussed for a while before I came back to be with the rest of them. I appreciated that Mrs. C didn't hide her pain or sadness from me, or treat me like I'm fragile. It makes me feel more normal, even though I realize I'm a hypocrite because that's exactly what I do.
I thought she'd head home to tell Mr. C about what happened and spend some time grieving herself, but it's very much like Mrs. C to want to take care of everyone first. It's her own way of coping, and I can understand that.
