How to Save a Life

by Kristin Harmel

  She blinks a few times. “I guess maybe I do that. But that’s no reason to walk out.”

  “I agree. But do you want to cry about it? Or do you want to get him back?”

  “I want to get him back. But look at me, Jill. I’m not like you. I’ve put on thirty pounds in the last decade. I’ve got gray hair that wasn’t there before. I’m old and stubborn. No wonder he doesn’t want to be with me.”

  “He wants to be with you,” I say firmly. “He just doesn’t believe you want to be with him anymore.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “I just know.” My phone beeps then, reminding me of the appointment I have with Dr. Frost. I’ve set it fifteen minutes later than on the first today, both to avoid Jamie in the lobby and to lessen my thirty-five-minute wait. “Listen, I have to go. But I need you to do something for me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “That doctor’s appointment across the street.”

  “For your headaches. Geez, Jill, I forgot. But you’re going to be fine.”

  “I know.” I force a smile. “But here’s what I need you to do. At exactly 11:55, there will be an old man on the bench outside Atlanta Memorial. His name is Merel Friedl, and he gives the best advice of anyone I know when it comes to love. I need you to get someone to cover the desk for twenty minutes so that you can go out and talk with him, okay? He’s been married for seventy years, and his wife is in surgery today, so it’ll be a nice distraction for him. Tell him your story and let him help you. Okay?”

  She nods slowly. “Okay. Should I tell him you sent me?”

  I smile. “No. He hasn’t met me yet.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Just tell him you need some advice. He’ll help. But listen, I’ve got to go. See you in a bit, okay?”

  I DROP IN briefly to see Logan, who smiles at me sadly and wishes me good luck with Dr. Frost.

  “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll go swimmingly,” I tell him.

  “We both know how it’ll go,” he says. “I just mean good luck dealing with it. It’s still never easy to hear you’re going to die, even if you already know it.”

  I nod. “I’ll be back in an hour, okay?”

  I make it through the lobby without seeing Jamie, which makes me feel a bit wistful, although I’m deliberately avoiding him. I receive the news in Dr. Frost’s office stoically, and then I make my way back across the street to Children’s, passing Sheila, who doesn’t notice me, as I head inside. I stand near the front windows of the lobby and watch as she sits down beside Merel. After a few minutes of speaking with him, I can see her crying, and him rubbing her back comfortingly. I smile and hurry toward the elevator, confident that he’s helping her with her problems and that she’s making him feel useful.

  “How did it go?” Logan asks as I reappear in his room.

  I shrug. “Same as always. I’m dying. My tumor’s inoperable. Blah, blah, blah.”

  He smiles. “You sound like you’re a pro at getting a terminal diagnosis.”

  “Maybe I am after all this time.” I sigh. “It’s still terrible to hear, isn’t it? But I think I’ve adjusted to the idea by now. Anyhow, how are you?”

  He shrugs. “So-so. I’m glad you’re here, anyways. But don’t you have to go see your dad?”

  I nod. “Not for a little while, though. What do you say we hang out for a bit?”

  He grins. “Cool.”

  By the time I head back out to the nursing station an hour later, Sheila is back, and there’s a huge bouquet of red roses on the desk in front of her. “From Darrell?” I ask, nodding at the flowers.

  She beams. “You were right. Merel really helped. I called Darrell and apologized, and he’s coming home tonight.”

  “I’m so glad. Just remember to be good to each other in the future, okay? I won’t always be around to remind you. Neither will Merel.”

  Something in her expression flickers. “Wait, how did your doctor’s appointment go?”

  I take a deep breath, bracing myself. Now’s as good a time as any to give her the news. “Not well, I’m afraid.”

  “But you’ll be fine, right?”

  I shake my head. “I have an inoperable brain tumor, Sheila.”

  She stares at me for a moment before her eyes fill with tears. “No. Absolutely not. I refuse to believe it. You’re fine. You’re standing right here, and you’re fine.”

  I smile sadly and tap my head. “And yet this brain here is betraying me.”

  “How much time?” she whispers.

  “Not long, I’m afraid.”

  “You can get a second opinion, Jill. You need a second opinion.”

  “I’ve already gotten one.” I ignore her confused expression. “I have an aggressive glioblastoma, and apparently, it has already spread. There’s no treatment that will work at this point.”

  “Dear God,” she whispers. “Jill, I—”

  “It’s okay,” I soothe.

  “No, it’s not, Jill,” she says through tears. “You’re one of the best people I know. If you’re dying, well, there’s nothing fair left in the world.”

  “Believe me when I say that things are fairer than you know,” I say. “I’m okay with this, Sheila. I am. Dying’s just a part of life. You and I should know that better than anyone, right? We see it every day.”

  She pulls me into a hug and tells me to take all the time I need. I tell her I’ll be in sporadically over the next few days, but that I can’t possibly stay away from this place. “I love the kids,” I add. “And I love you. You’re all my family, and I need my family at a time like this.”

  “Of course, Jill,” she says, drying her tears. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”

  MY NEXT STOP is the cemetery, where I sit down beside my mother’s headstone and talk to her for a bit. I believe in heaven, so I know I’ll be seeing her soon, but there’s something about spending time with her during my last days on earth that’s comforting nonetheless. Afterward, I head to the funeral home that handled my mom’s burial to purchase a cemetery plot for myself and one for Logan—both beside my mom—and to prepay for all the funeral arrangements.

  “But of course you won’t be using these plots for many, many years,” the middle-aged woman behind the desk says as she pushes the paperwork toward me and hands me a pen.

  “Actually, I’ll be using mine next week,” I say brightly. “And Logan shouldn’t be far behind.”

  Her mouth opens into a tiny O, and I can see her calculating whether she should call 911.

  “Cancer. Both of us,” I add, and her forehead creases with sympathy.

  “Oh. I’m so sorry,” she says.

  “Yeah, I am too.”

  I head next to my father’s house, where I know I’ll catch him before he’s gone. Still, Sharon answers the door with a sour expression on her face and tells me, “We were just heading out.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” I say, although it’s clear she’s just being unpleasant. “But I need to talk to my dad, please.”

  “Can’t you come back tomorrow, Jill? This is a huge inconvenience.”

  “As a matter of fact, I’d prefer to talk to him now, since I only have five days left to live. Thanks.” I squeeze past her as she gapes at me, and I call out, “Dad?” from the base of the stairs.

  He appears a moment later on the landing, a bit of shaving cream still clinging to his neck. “Jill, are you okay? What are you doing here?”

  “She says she’s dying or something,” Sharon blurts out before I can say anything.

  “What?” My father looks confused. “Jill, what’s she talking about?”

  “Dad, I—” I begin, but Sharon cuts me off.

  “What is this, Jill? Do you need to borrow money? Is that it?” Sharon is glaring at me.

  I turn on
her. “No, Sharon. I don’t need money. I’ve never asked for money. And before you say anything, I realize that my father helped pay my college tuition, but there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Well, you certainly haven’t acted very grateful,” she says with a snort.

  “If I haven’t appeared grateful, I’m sorry.” I look at my dad. “I really am sorry for that. I let all of this get in the way,” I say, gesturing to Sharon. “And that was wrong. Our relationship was supposed to be about me and you, not about me, you, and Sharon. And that’s where we screwed up. You and me both.”

  “Honey—” my father says.

  “Let me finish,” I say, turning to Sharon, who has turned as red as a tomato and is currently sputtering. “I understand you now,” I tell her. “I know you feel threatened by me. My father loves me, and you’re worried that this will somehow diminish the way he feels about you. But he loves you, and he’s chosen you, okay? This isn’t a competition. It never was. But regardless, he’s all yours now. I’ll be dead before the end of the week, and then you never have to worry about me again.”

  She stares at me as my father approaches, his face ashen.

  “Honey, what are you talking about?” he says.

  “I have an inoperable brain tumor, Dad. I’m dying. Do you think we could sit down and have a chat?”

  “Jill, I . . .” he says, his voice trailing off as he begins to cry.

  I put my hand on his back and steer him toward the den. “Let’s sit down and talk. It’s all going to be okay.”

  We walk away, shutting the door as Sharon stares after us.

  WHEN I RETURN to Logan’s hospital room later that afternoon, Frankie and Katelyn are sitting in the corner, holding hands, and the three of them are watching Cars on DVD.

  “Logan’s choice,” Frankie says, pointing to the screen. “We’re just being nice.”

  “Don’t lie,” Katelyn says, smiling and nudging him. “You’ve laughed out loud at least twenty times since the movie started.”

  Frankie shrugs and mutters something about being too old for movies like this, but he’s smiling.

  “Are you guys supposed to be in here?” I ask Frankie and Katelyn.

  “Of course not,” Frankie says with a shrug. “But we’re all dying, so it’s not like anyone’s going to kick us out. They feel sorry for us.”

  “Good point,” I say.

  “Join us,” Katelyn says, gesturing to an empty chair in the corner.

  “How’d it go with your dad?” Logan asks as I sit down.

  “Pretty well, actually. I think I’ll try to go see him a few more times before it’s all over.”

  Logan nods. “Good.”

  “So how into this movie are we?” I ask. “Because if you’re not completely fixated, I was thinking a full-scale Scrabble tournament.”

  Logan looks delighted, and Frankie shrugs and uses the remote to pause the movie. “Let’s do it,” he says.

  We spend the next two hours talking, laughing, and trotting out ridiculous words that I have to double-check in the dictionary for accuracy. For all of Logan’s Scrabble prowess, Frankie has a huge vocabulary too, which surprises me until I recall that he’s used the bulk of his extra days to catch up on all the literary classics. The Scrabble match ends with Logan ahead of Frankie by five points, trailed distantly by Katelyn and me.

  Frankie and Logan high-five, and as Frankie drifts over to Katelyn and begins whispering something to her that makes her giggle, Logan helps me put away the Scrabble board and tiles. “Better luck next time, Jill,” he says, but his smile fades after a few seconds. “Wait, there is going to be a next time, isn’t there? Like, we can play again tomorrow?”

  I slide the rest of the game back into the box and reach for his hands. “Logan, I’ll be here every day until the end. And we can play Scrabble, or talk, or watch movies, or sit in silence, or whatever you want to do. There’s no one I’d rather spend my final days with.”

  “But what about Jamie?” he asks.

  “We talked about this. It’s better if I just stay away from him.”

  Logan frowns. “That’s up to you, I guess.”

  I sigh. “I love him, Logan, and I don’t want to hurt him.”

  “Shouldn’t that be his choice?”

  I shake my head, but there’s nothing more to say.

  LATER, AFTER SPENDING some time with Sheila, I head out to wait for Merel on the bench. I arrive five minutes before he does, and I smile as he approaches. “Hi, Merel,” I say.

  He squints at me. “Have we met?” I can see tears in his eyes as he sits down beside me.

  I shake my head. “Um, we met briefly in the past,” I say. “I’m Jill.”

  He looks dazed. “Nice to see you.”

  “Are you okay?” I already know the answer.

  “No, Jill, I’m not.” He sighs and wipes his eyes. “It’s my wife. Ernestine. I—I lost her. She was in surgery today, and they told me it was going well. But she died, Jill, right there on the operating table.”

  I pull him into a hug. “Merel, I’m so sorry.”

  “How am I supposed to live without her?” he asks as he sobs into my shoulder. “She was my everything.”

  “She was your heart,” I say, remembering what he told me the first time we had this conversation. “I know. It’s going to be okay.”

  “How? My Ernestine is gone forever.”

  I hesitate. I’m not sure what to say for a moment. Would a person want to know, in a situation like this, that he’s about to die? Will that bring comfort or fear? So instead of answering, I ask a question of my own. “Do you regret anything, Merel? Do you regret being this deeply in love with Ernestine?”

  He looks surprised as he pulls away from me. “Of course not. What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . you genuinely don’t want to live without her. What if you didn’t feel that way? Wouldn’t it be easier to move on?”

  “Yes, but then I would have missed the most beautiful moments of my life. As Alfred Lord Tennyson once said, ‘ ’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ ”

  “So no regrets?”

  “Not a single one,” he says. “Pleasure and pain are always intertwined. The greater the love, the greater the loss. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  I think of Jamie, but it’s not like it’s the same situation. Merel got to spend a lifetime with his love. I would have a mere five days with Jamie, and it doesn’t seem worth the risk to him.

  “Merel, would it make you feel better to know that it will all be over soon? That you’ll be with Ernestine again?”

  He studies me for a moment, understanding dawning on his face. “You know something I don’t,” he says.

  I hesitate. “What makes you say that?”

  He blinks a few times and looks into my eyes. “You’re dying.”

  I gasp. “How do you know?”

  He shrugs. “I—I’m not sure. But you are, aren’t you?”

  I nod.

  “And I am too?” he asks.

  “Yes. Does that make you sad?”

  “No. It makes me grateful. Grateful that I made the most of the time I had. Grateful that I’ll be with Ernestine again.” He pauses. “And you, my dear? Are you sad to be going?”

  I nod. “I am. I’m not ready yet, although I should be. It’s hard to explain, but I had extra time. It made this easier to grasp, and it brought me some peace, but I just have the feeling that I’m still not done.”

  “Have you fallen in love?”

  I nod. “Yes. With a man named Jamie.”

  He stares at me for a moment. “But you haven’t let him love you in return, have you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Merel smiles sadly. “Love is selfless, it’s true. And it’s possible to
love when that love is unrequited. But the strongest love in the universe is the kind that becomes part of a cycle. Loving and being loved in return, that’s one of life’s greatest gifts.”

  Merel reaches out to squeeze my hands, and he’s still smiling at me, still looking into my eyes, when he seizes, his body twitching and spasming unnaturally. My eyes fill with tears, and I hold on tight as he goes still, his breathing ragged.

  “It’s going to be okay, Merel,” I whisper. “You’re going home.”

  He’s still holding my hands as he takes his last breath and slips away.

  MY HEART IS heavy as I walk into Atlanta Memorial to alert the front desk staff about the man on the bench outside who appears to be deceased. I know I’ve done the right thing—I’ve let Merel go—but I’m still having trouble seeing death as a part of life when it feels like such an abrupt ending.

  I’m on my way back out of Atlanta Children’s after giving Logan a kiss good night when I spot Jamie sitting on the bench beneath the tree in the lobby. I consider bolting, but his eyes are already on mine, and he’s already standing up, as if he was expecting me. But that’s impossible, I remind myself. We haven’t met yet. I look away and pretend I haven’t noticed him, although to act like I don’t know him now actually causes me physical pain.

  I’m just passing the tree when I hear his voice. “Jill,” he says softly.

  I stop, breathing hard, and turn to him. “You don’t know me yet,” is all I can think to say.

  He smiles and closes the distance between us. “Yes, I do.” He touches my cheek.

  “No,” I whisper.

  “I remember,” he says softly.

  “But you can’t. I made sure to stay away from you so that—”

  He cuts me off. “I remember,” he repeats. He leans forward and kisses me before I have the chance to say anything else.

  “But . . . how?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. I dreamt of you last night, and when I came into the hospital this morning, I could hear the tree in the lobby whispering to me.”

  “You . . . heard the tree?”

  “Maybe this sounds crazy, but I think it was my daughter speaking. She was saying good-bye, and as she went silent, and I walked away, all I could see was you. I had all these memories of things that couldn’t possibly have happened—drinks with you, dinners with you, a birthday party on the cardiology floor, go-karting, falling asleep beside you—and I knew that somehow, they were real.”