Page 17 of Daddy's Little Drummer Boy
“So so high!”
We paraded through the club together, stopping to greet some friends at the conversation area before continuing on to the little room. It wasn’t a special event day, but of course the room was still decorated and everything going on was holiday themed. Chained even had a set of holiday blocks, which Bobby immediately ran to.
We spent a good part of the evening playing with blocks but also visited the coloring table and other games and crafts. It was the best evening I’d ever had at Chained. Maybe anywhere.
Chapter Thirteen
Bobby
I’d been doing so well this holiday season. Even before Nick came into my life, I’d been holding my own. Sure, I’d been working a lot, and that distracted me from things, but it was more than that. I didn’t wake up every day with a weight on me like I normally did. And the sorrow that usually came with this time of year hadn’t seeped in.
That was until this morning.
When I woke up, my alarm when off as normal. I grabbed it and shut it off, just like every other day, but as I went to put it back down, I saw the date across the front of it. It was like a slap to the face. Suddenly all of the pain and sorrow that surrounded Daddy’s death came hurling back at me.
I grabbed Rooney, curled into a ball, and sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed.
It was the anniversary of the day Daddy died—the day I sat in the hospital room with him, holding his hand, watching him take his last breath as all the monitors started to beep and the nurses rushed in. And then I had to do the most difficult thing I ever had. I stopped them from trying to save him, reminding them that he had an order in place to just let him go.
It was what he wanted. And even if they had managed to restart his breathing and his heart, it wouldn’t have saved him. Not really. His diagnosis was terminal. Full. Stop.
Even knowing that, the guilt of those few moments still came back to haunt me. Not every day like they used to. But once in a while, like this morning, it would come barreling back to me and turn me useless.
I missed him. I did. And part of me always would. My mourning no longer took up most of my life, but it would alwaysbe there to some extent. It wasn’t as painful as it had been in those early days, or even during those years when I was numb and living a half-life.
But the thing was, today wasn’t just about missing him. This was about replaying those last two weeks—watching him in pain, suffering, scared. Remembering those last minutes when I did what I had to, even if my heart hated it.
It was too much for me and I gave myself over to the tears, letting my body physically try and sort it all out. Was that the healthiest way to handle it? Probably not, but it was the best I was going to be able to do.
I eventually pulled myself together enough to call in sick. My boss must have remembered what day it was because he didn’t ask me what was wrong, how many days I’d be gone, or the ever-popular,Did you go to the doctor?All he said was, “I hope tomorrow is better.”
I hoped so too.
Holding Roonie close, I cried until I didn’t have any tears left then struggled to get myself ready and out the door. A couple of times, I’d considered calling Nick. He’d be there for me. I had no doubt about that.
We’d talked about Daddy and how hard it was to lose him. I didn’t hold back. That time in my life shaped who I was now, and pretending it didn’t happen wasn’t good for either of us. And it wasn’t like I wasn’t ready to move on. This wasn’t about that. Sometimes memories hurt. That’s all there was to it.
In the end, I decided not to bother him. It was a workday for him and it was asking a lot to have him call in so he could help me. Maybe if we’d been together longer, but we hadn’t. We were still really new and, while I felt really great about us and saw us having a future together, that didn’t mean we had a commitment.
Instead, I attempted to deal with the pain on my own. And I handled it, but it sucked. I felt like I’d run a marathon instead of staying in bed for hours.
Every year on this day, I brought greenery to the grave, usually in the form of a grave blanket or a wreath, depending on what looked best. I wasn’t sure why I bothered—it wasn’t like he was there to enjoy them—but for whatever reason, it made me feel like maybe, just maybe, he was getting some Christmas joy too.
I barely got to my car when the phone rang. I answered it, assuming it was my boss asking something about a project I was working on, but it wasn’t. It was Nick.
“Hey, I wanted to catch you during your break. Did I time it right?”
My company was one of those places where everyone had the same breaks at the same time. In theory, I understood why that might work, but in practice, it was awful. You always had to wait for the bathroom, the microwave, and the coffeepot. Staggered breaks made the most sense, but when did big business ever decide to make sense? One thing it was good for was that Nick knew when he could best reach me. But more importantly than that, he wanted to know when that window was. The man was such a green flag.
“I didn’t go to work today.”
“Are you not feeling well? I could bring you chicken soup or take you to the doctor, or—”
I cut him off. “It’s the anniversary of the day…the one where…” I was already choking up. There was no way I was going to get the entire sentence out. Thankfully, I didn’t need to. He knew what I meant.
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
I was so glad he didn’t press for details. I wasn’t sure I was strong enough for that. No. That was a lie. I knew unequivocallythat I wasn’t. Not today anyway. I was barely holding on as it was.
