AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“No, they’re not, but...” There was something she didn’t want to tell me.
“What is it, Decca? What do you know that I don’t?”
“He’s not seeking curative care, Gus.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your dad’s on hospice.”
The breath left my body with the word. Suddenly, I was back in the chair, unsure of how I’d gotten there. I couldn’t remember sitting down. Couldn’t remember moving.
“Many people live months, even years, on hospice. This doesn’t really mean much—except to your father, who’ll be a lot more comfortable. He’s still very active. He can still go places. Granny was on hospice for over a year. I’ve helped people cross over who’d been receiving palliative care for five years. This is a good thing. For Jim. For all of us.”
“Decca, don’t.” I shook my head. “Don’t try to put a positive spin on giving up. There are still treatment options.”
“That he’s denied.”
“No. He promised he’d try. He promised he’d do everything. I just... I haven’t been there enough. I haven’t...” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. Still, the heat rose behind my eyes, scratching at the back of my vocal cords as I swallowed down my ineptitudeat being a son, a nurse, a friend. “Haven’t found what’s going to help him yet. We’ll cure this thing. I can do it. I can find some experimental…acupuncture. You’ll come up with ancient herbal tea that’ll be the exact right thing for his body and—“
“Gus, this is his choice.”
“It’s not the right choice. I can’t let him do this.”
Decca moved to the side of the chair as my head sank between my knees. She stroked my hair.
“Gus—”
I shook my head. I didn’t want comfort. I wanted to lick my wounds. Maybe if I cleared all the scabs away, I’d find a way to be useful again.
“Go inside, Decca.” It came out too harsh, but it was better that way. I wasn’t any good for her tonight.
“I don’t want to leave you alone with this.”
“Now you don’t want...? When was this decided? How did they tell you and not me? Did everyone at that table tonight know my father decided to give up on life? When were they going to tell me? Why wasn’t I part of that decision?”
“Because you’re acting like this, Gus.” Her raised voice drew my attention. My head jerked up. Standing there, her hands on her hips, the compassion on her face replaced with fury, she looked even smaller than usual. But stronger. She was beautiful with her anger ablaze. She’d never lit that fire before. Not around me. She’d tiptoed around the house. She’d spoken in whispers, so she didn’t take up too much space. She existed in the smallest ways. All to avoid me.
Thiswas my Decca. My Crow. Unafraid to speak and live and feel at a high volume.
“You act like this when you, of all people, as a priest, as someone who administers lastrites—”
“That’s Catholic.”
“Whatever. You go to the bedsides of the dying and do something for them. You counsel parishioners dealing with the hardest things in life. You’ve witnessed countless funerals and inurnments and celebrations of life. Surely you realize by now there’s beauty in themomento mori.”
I picked at a splinter on the arm of the chair. Tomorrow, I’d get the sander out and smooth it down. The other chair could use refinishing too.
Decca’s shoulders dropped. She turned to the fire and picked up a branch to start breaking apart the logs.
They’d burn faster, then burn out. Maybe the fire had been a bad omen.
“I know it’s hard,” she said into the fire. “But he’s not choosing death, he’s choosing to live. You don’t have to accept that, but you do have to respect his wishes. In all my time working with the dying, I’ve never seen a hospice decision made in haste or regretted. He knows how painful this is for you. It’s even harder for him. Please don’t make him beg and plead with you to accept this.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “If you won’t even try to look at it from his perspective, you probably shouldn’t see him.”
She took a few slow steps toward the door, her boots clunking on the stones. I could tell she wanted to say more, but she didn’t need to reiterate what an ass I’d been about this.
I grabbed her wrist as she passed. She turned, and finally, my eyes rose to meet hers.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know why you didn’t tell me before. Why no one told me tonight. Because of the selfish mess I just made.” She reached to stroke my hair away from my face. Her hands smelled like the fire. Pulling her down to sit with me on the unsplinteredarm, we both gazed into the dying fire. “I’ve never had anyone die before.”
