Healing Our Hearts

by Grace Roberts

  “I don’t think this is a good idea, Kathy. But perhaps I could ask Aunt Josie to come and check on you until we’ve arranged everything. Then we can come back later on tomorrow,” she said after a moment. I nodded. Although I wasn’t happy to have my aunt come and visit, if it was what it took to have my mum go home and rest I’d endure it.

  So in the end, after a little more consideration and doubtful talks, they decided they’d better drive back before it got too dark. My father gave me a quick peck on the brow and stroked my hair lovingly, the same way he used to when I was a child and he wanted to comfort me. He smiled at me and made a joke about me being strong, because I was his daughter and I had his DNA. I nodded and squeezed his hand, holding on to him a little longer. His rough carpenter palm felt comforting and warm, reminding me how I loved holding hands with him when I was younger. He waited by the door for my mum to say goodbye, his hands deep in the pockets of his coat and a deep worry line creasing his brow.

  My heart broke at the sight of my sweet, cheerful dad looking so old and broken. My mum hugged me lightly, not sure if she was hurting me, and reminded me to call Aunt Josie if I needed anything while they were away. I nodded, and she kissed me on the brow before walking out.

  When I was finally alone, the whole thing hit me hard. This would be the toughest challenge of my life—and, without my brother, I didn’t know if I could tackle it.

  Chapter 4

  Colin

  January 6

  The morning passed quickly. I’d been busy with regular patients, so I was quite relieved when I checked my appointment schedule and noticed I would be free for a few hours before my next one. My stomach grumbled and a quick glance at the clock told me it was lunch time.

  On my way to the cafeteria I decided to stop by Kathleen’s room to check how she was feeling and talk about our therapy program. I’d spoken to Gerard again early this morning and he’d told me she’d have a CAT scan later today so I could start my therapy program with her whenever I was free. I wondered if she’d be allowed to leave the hospital and go home for her brother’s funeral, or if he’d be opposed to that. Gerard was very strict when it came to rules and, although he was a great doctor, sensitivity wasn’t one of his traits.

  When I reached Kathleen’s room, she was sitting upright in her bed, staring straight ahead at the white wall. She looked sad, lonely and… hollow, just like I’d looked back then.

  “Good morning, Kathleen!” I greeted, cheerfully. She winced and turned to look at me, her eyes blank. “Colin Byrne, remember?”

  She stared at me for a moment, then her shoulders seemed to relax, although that sad look in her eyes didn’t go away.

  “Hi,” she said, and she looked down at her clasped hands.

  Uh oh. Body language sign: leave me alone. It was as clear as the light of day. Sorry, Kathleen; can’t do that.

  I approached her bed and pulled up a chair, sitting down. She stared at me with a quirked eyebrow. I was sure she was wondering why I couldn’t simply get out of her room, but the last thing she needed was to be left alone with her painful thoughts and memories.

  “How are you feeling today? It’s a beautiful rainy day outside, veeeery cold. You wouldn’t want to be out there anyway,” I said with a grin, but her lips didn’t even twitch. Okay, my first attempt at making her smile had failed miserably. Great job, Colin.

  “I spoke to Dr. O’Donnell yesterday.” I tried changing the subject and hoping she’d respond. “He said we’ll have to work together, you and I, while we carry out more tests. There is no spinal or brain damage, which is good news, but we need to understand why you still can’t feel your legs.”

  I scrutinized her face while she stared at the wall. Breaking through her wall was going to be harder than I’d thought. I wouldn’t be able to help her if she didn’t even want to try and let me.

  “The funeral’s tomorrow,” she said out of the blue, and I couldn’t understand if she was talking to me or herself. “They’ve taken him back to Galway. They didn’t even let me see him one last time.”

  I remembered how it felt and understood her pain. I hadn’t been allowed to see my parents either, and it had crushed me. Gran said it had been better that way because I would want to remember them happy and alive, and after a while, I’d understood she was right; though at the time it had really driven me crazy.

  “Maybe it’s better that way. You should remember him the way he was when he was alive,” I said, using the same words Gran had. She turned and stared at me for the first time since I’d walked in. Her eyes flared.

  “Dr. O’Donnell said he can’t release me, not even for the funeral. He said some stupid thing about suicidal mood or something, and that I should get a psychological consultation first to see if it’s safe to let me out of his sight.” She snorted and looked away, taking fistfuls of the sheets until her knuckles turned white. “I don’t want to be here; I want to be with my brother. I should be with him. Why can’t anyone understand?”

  Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard, trying to get in control again.

  There: just like I’d thought. Gerard had mentioned something about her behavior, but he obviously couldn’t understand that it didn’t have to mean she was suicidal. She’d just gone through the most painful and horrible of losses—it was obvious she’d feel down and would be opposed to any kind of psychiatric therapy. I’d been there and I’d been just as stubborn when they’d mentioned counseling. If Gerard didn’t want to be sympathetic with her, I would. It was something that seemed to come naturally to me.

  “You were badly hurt in the accident, Kathleen. You’re not fit to leave the hospital, yet.” I tried to be gentle although I could tell by her hard stare she would’ve bitten my head off, if only she could. “We need to get you back in shape before you can leave. We don’t want you to get worse.”

  “Worse? Ha!” She sneered. “How could I get worse? I can’t feel my legs, and I feel as if somebody has ripped my heart out of my chest. Now tell me, Dr. Byrne, how could I feel worse than this?”

  She had a point. She had a point feeling awful, hating me, hating the world. I’d been there and I knew how bad it hurt.

  So I did something stupid. Something I knew a doctor should never do. I made her a promise before I was sure I’d be able to keep it.

  “Maybe I can offer you a deal,” I said, crossing my legs casually and leaning against the backrest. “If you start cooperating and come down to the gym with me now for your first therapy, I’ll speak to Dr. O’Donnell and make sure he grants you the permission to go to the funeral.”

  She looked at me, scrutinizing my face and searching for a catch.

  “What kind of therapy?” she asked, suspiciously. “Will it hurt?”

  I smiled encouragingly, seeing a little girl hidden somewhere inside that young woman’s body. “No, it won’t. I can give you a neck massage, show you some exercises you can do while you’re stuck in here, and it should help you feel better soon.”

  “And then I can go to the funeral?”

  I nodded.

  Idiot.

  It would take a lot of convincing, if not begging, to get Gerard’s permission, but she deserved it. She was right: she had to say goodbye to her brother, and I was going to help her.

  “You’re not tricking me into this, are you Dr. Byrne?”

  I smiled at the expression on her face, one eyebrow raised, staring at me as if she could x-ray my brain.

  “No, I’m not. I never trick my patients into anything, Kathleen.” Her shoulders relaxed, and I thought I saw her exhale with relief. “And, by the way, don’t call me Dr. Byrne. I’m just Colin.” I stood up and took a step back. “I’ll call a nurse now. She’ll help you get dressed while I have a quick sandwich before I pass out. I’ll come and pick you up in half an hour, okay?”

  She nodded, and the creases in her brow disappeared. I looked at her one last time before walking out; she didn’t smile, but I wasn’t expecting her to. It was too soon�
��she still needed time. And I would make sure she had all the time she needed.

  Chapter 5

  Kathleen

  January 7

  The coffin in polished walnut wood lay in the middle of the aisle. A wreath of white roses sat on top of it and all around it on the floor were bunches of flowers. Galway Cathedral had never been so crowded. All our relatives had come, as well as Declan’s friends from university, and even some of his New York colleagues.

  Mum was devastated; every time we’d spoken on the phone over the past two days she’d always been sniffling and sobbing, and I hadn’t heard Dad utter a word more complex than “yes”, “no” and “thank you” to whatever question he was asked. I looked at David, who was holding Maggie tight, her shoulders shaking against his chest.

  As for me, well, I hadn’t been able to cry yet. When Dr. Byrne told me about the accident I’d gone into shock and almost choked. When I’d woken up and seen Mum’s swollen eyes, I’d fought back the tears and decided right then and there I would have to be strong whenever they were around, if I wanted to help them get over it. Losing Declan had been enough of a tragedy for Mum and Dad; I didn’t want them to feel sorry for me, too.

  Somehow I knew Declan would’ve wanted me to be strong. He’d always said I was a strong woman, even when he left for New York and he’d seen me crying. He’d taken me in his arms and told me he was sure I’d be able to hold on until he came back and took me with him. I wondered if he’d really thought it was true because, right now, the last thing I felt was strong. I felt empty, lonely, betrayed by life, by my brother, and by God—by everything and everyone.

  I didn’t deserve it. Declan didn’t deserve it. My parents didn’t deserve it. Yet, here we were, saying our last goodbyes to a person who, in life, had been a true angel on Earth.

  No, he didn’t deserve to die. If somebody had to die in the accident it should’ve been me, not him. He still had so much to give, so much love, so much good. He made everyone happy. He was never cross, never mean, never rude to anyone. He just deserved to live.

  I had nothing left now. All my dreams had shattered in that car crash and I would be useless for the rest of my life, which I hoped wouldn’t last too long anyway.

  Why, why on Earth hadn’t God claimed my life instead of his? What did I have to offer now? My life was meaningless. I had no more dreams and no other plans. There was no option B in my agenda, only one definite plan: move to New York with Declan, work as his assistant at the newspaper and maybe find a little time to write a book.

  He’d always thought I would be a real writer one day. He used to love the short stories we wrote together when I was little. I would come up with the characters and the scenes and he would write them down for me. He’d always thought I had a great imagination and that one day I would make a living out of it. Now, together with my brother and my dream of a career in New York, I’d also lost my dream of being a writer. I’d never be anything but a miserable woman in a wheelchair who could have been someone, but had been forced to give up on her plan.

  Sitting in my wheelchair at the beginning of the row of pews, the coffin was an arm’s length from me: if I’d held out my hand, I’d be able to touch it. But I simply sat there, looking at the white roses I had chosen and at the polished wood, thinking Declan’s body was inside that coffin, lying still.

  When the Mass was over, Maggie came close to me and took my hand, her brown eyes still full of tears, her mascara smudged on her cheeks. Her sand-blond hair, usually frizzy and unruly, was combed back in a ponytail which made her look less like the annoying younger sister she’d always been and more like a young woman.

  “Here, let me push you, Kathy,” she said, sweetly. I didn’t recall her ever being kind to me in all her life. She’d always been the spoiled one, the little girl who had to get everything she wanted. We’d never had a great relationship, not even when we were little.

  I didn’t say a word, just nodded, and we followed the coffin being carried outside by David and a few of Declan’s friends.

  I wanted to cry, I wanted so much to scream and let loose all of my tears, to let that awful pain leave my body and feel better—but I couldn’t. I just didn’t have the strength to do it. Declan had taken all my strength with him leaving me in this wheelchair, unable to cry or get over it.

  At the cemetery, as Father O’Reilly pronounced the last prayers and blessings for Declan’s soul, I couldn’t stop looking at the coffin. In a few minutes Declan’s body would be buried under tons of earth and I would never see him again, never touch his hands, see his smile or hear his voice. I felt as if life was leaving my body in a puff while an overwhelming weight crushed my chest, making it hard to breathe.

  I looked away as the coffin was lowered into the hole in the ground and bit on my bottom lip, making it bleed while fighting back the tears. The metallic taste of blood in my mouth made me sick. If I hadn’t been in a wheelchair I probably would have passed out, falling into the hole on top of my brother’s coffin.

  Maybe that was exactly where I should have been: six feet under, with him.

  Maggie’s hand squeezed my shoulder, and I looked up at her. She smiled, trying to console me, while tears were running down her cheeks. I touched her hand and squeezed it.

  Despite Maggie’s efforts, though, I understood at that very moment that nobody would ever be able to make me feel better; Declan had always been the only one who could soothe the pain, comfort me, make me smile. Nobody could ever take his place, nobody in the whole world.

  The now familiar weight crushed my heart again as the earth covered the coffin and, as I looked at the wreath of white roses on top of the earth bank, I understood right then and there that nothing in my life would ever be the same again. A part of me would always lie under that bank of earth in the polished walnut coffin with Declan and all the moments we spent together.

  While everyone around us hugged my parents and siblings I waited there, forgotten, next to the wreath of roses. I stretched out my hand and took one. I would never part from it, ever: it was the last thing I had left of Declan.

  The last connection I had with my brother, my best friend, my hero, was a rose on his grave.

  Chapter 6

  Colin

  January 7

  I was supposed to have a day off, but I swapped my shift with Tim because I knew Kathleen would be back from her brother’s funeral and she would be in pieces. I wanted to be there for her, to be the shoulder she could cry on, a friend she could talk to. I was quite sure she wouldn’t speak to anyone about her feelings; she would pretend she was strong, even when deep down she was falling apart. I’d seen her attitude with her parents when they’d come to visit the day before and to pick her up early this morning: she had shut out all emotion, refused to cry a single tear, and smiled fake smiles—I had been a master at that for years after my parents died, so I could spot it a mile off. I knew just too well how this behavior was going to hurt her even more in the long run.

  I waited for her to be back and when her mother left her room, just as my shift was coming to an end, I pretended I was passing by and popped my head in.

  “Hey! Here you are. Back to jail, huh?”

  Kathleen lifted her chin up and tried to smile, but it was obvious she didn’t have the strength. She’d probably been putting on fake smiles all day, and I was sure her muscles must be sore by now. So I turned on my “pest mode”, the chatterbox-slash-comedian act I put on with patients who didn’t want to get out of their shell; it always worked whenever I needed to put a smile on their faces, even if it was just a smile of exasperation.

  “Ugh, I was sure you wouldn’t come back. I bet Judith fifty Euros, and here you are now!” I said, getting closer to her bed with a mischievous grin on my face. “How about you sneak out the emergency exit and we share the money between us?”

  I laughed but she only gave me another of those sad smiles. Her big blue eyes were an ocean of unshed tears, and I could tell by the way she was l
ooking at me that she was praying for me to leave.

  I knew that look: I had given it to almost every person who’d wanted to comfort me after my parents died. Because of that, I knew I shouldn’t go.

  She needed to cry—yes.

  She needed to let it all out—yes.

  She needed to scream and throw things—yes.

  She needed to hit someone—yes.

  She needed to be alone—NO.

  If she wanted someone to hit, to scream at, to hold her while she was sobbing, well, I’d be that someone. I knew what she was going through better than anyone in the ward, and my job was to help people get back on their feet, after all, so that was exactly what I intended to do.

  “Colin, I appreciate you checking on me but… I’m pretty tired right now. I just need to sleep for a while; it’s been a long day.”

  “Don’t do it,” I said. She finally looked up at me, a frown creasing her brow. “Don’t keep it all inside, Kathleen. It won’t help.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, looking away.

  I pulled up a chair and sat down next to her bed, knowing she was going to hate me right now; but if that would help her get over the “I’m fine” pretense, I was ready to get screamed at or slapped in the face. The inner rage and despair would drive her crazy if she didn’t release it soon.

  “Your family is gone: there’s no need for you to keep up the pretense. You can let go, you can let it all out. I won’t tell them.”

  “I said I’m fine.” Her tone was firmer and a bit edgy now. She was getting there; it was working. If I could make her burst she’d be one step closer to healing.