Take My Breath Away

by Wendy L. Wilson

  “Hey guys.” I look up at the sound of Andrea’s voice and panic sets in.

  My hands grip the arms of my chair in fear right as my ears tune into the familiar squealing of two rambunctious little boys. My nephews both run to Mom, wrapping her in tiny bear hugs.

  “Greg came by for a bit so he could sit with Dad and we both thought the boys would be a nice distraction for you.” Relief drowns out my panic as soon as I know my brother in law is with Dad. I really would rather one of us always be present.

  “We can’t stay long, because I need to give the kids baths and get them to bed, but I’ll be back in the morning sometime,” Andrea goes on and then takes a seat by Mom.

  She ended up being right, too; my nephews offer a nice diversion for our minds and give us a reason to laugh and smile.

  Hours later, I stare vacantly at the clock on the wall as it strikes 5:00 in the evening and, right on schedule, Abby comes into the waiting room.

  “Alyssa, you’re up.” Abby drags herself past me to sit with Mom while I quietly walk into the ICU.

  I stop at the entrance and follow the rules posted on a sign to scrub down your hands and arms to the elbow with the antibacterial soap provided for you at two wide sinks. After drying my hands, I make my way to Dad’s room.

  Once the sliding glass door is open, I peek in, careful to not make any noise in case Dad is resting.

  He is lying on his back with cords hanging off to all sides and a clear, fogged up mask stretched over his mouth and nose. All the color is drained from his thin face and he looks so frail and weak. How did I miss him going downhill so fast these past few weeks? I knew he had been getting weaker, thinner and losing his appetite, but for some reason I still viewed him as the same strong, healthy, happy go lucky man I have seen for years. Now I get why he didn’t want us to know how bad the cancer had gotten. I guess knowing someone is sick or sicker can somehow alter your perception of the situation.

  Letting the door snap shut behind me, I sneak over to the chair sitting beside the bed.

  As soon as I am comfortably seated, I reach up and grasp Dad’s hand. I lower my forehead down and rest it against the back of his hand and say a silent prayer. Please don’t let my father be in pain. Please give us all the strength we need to face this and please, please let me know when I need to say goodbye.

  My eyes well up with tears as I think over what I really want to pray or more like beg. Please let my dad get better! Please send me a miracle and please don’t take my Daddy away from me! As bad as I want to shout those words up into the heavens, I know Dad would not want me to pray for that. He has told me on several occasions that he has made peace with this.

  I turn my face and rub the back of his hand across my cheek, feeling the strong hands that have guided me through life since I was born.

  “I love you, Daddy.” I whisper as I look up at his ghostly white face.

  I sit silently for a long while and watch him. I watch as his oxygen mask fogs up with each breath. I watch as his chest rises and falls as I squeeze his hand in mine. The whole time, I force my mind to not think of the present, but to remember the past.

  Finally, I open my mouth and decide to speak.

  “Remember that big snow we got back when I was about seven. You took us up to that hill behind our house and we spent the entire day sledding. You hopped on the sleigh behind each of us, shielding us from falling off.” My mind replays the memory and I can nearly feel the wind zipping across my face as we blazed down the hill.

  I revisit my first day of eighth grade when I had finally taken shop class and I brought home my first project, so proud to show him. It was just a simple flat piece of wood that I had etched my name into with a scroll saw, but I was super pumped to brag about it. The memory of his praise over my work makes me laugh and as if the echoes of my laughter breaks through the fortress of his sickness, at that moment Dad’s hand squeezes mine in return. His eyes flutter, but remain closed and the corners of his mouth twitch as though he’s trying to smile.

  I go on with story after story, knowing Dad is listening and reliving each moment right along with me. I don’t talk about his pneumonia or his cancer. I don’t ask if he is in pain and I don’t tell him I’m scared, but I do tell him many times how much I love him and how much he means to me, because even if he wasn’t sick those are things I always want him to know.

  It doesn’t take long for three hours to speed by and a nurse comes in to check on Dad. This signals me that it is time for Mom to take my place.

  I walk down the hallway to the waiting area, feeling as though Dad and I had just gone on an adventure. It’s as if we just spent hours sledding, laughing, working in his shop, talking, fishing and being together from the images that played in my mind as I told him story after story. My heart still aches, but the weight somehow feels a bit lighter.

  When I reach the waiting area, Mom stands and embraces me in a hug.

  “Are you ok?”

  All this is happening to her as well, yet she is so concerned about all of us. I have no idea how my mom has the strength to worry about us and deal with this at the same time.

  I smile at her and nod my head. “I’m good. I told him stories and he even squeezed my hand.”

  She smiles back at me and brushes my hair out of my face.

  “You go home and rest. You look exhausted.”

  We had all agreed that it would be best for Mom to take the entire evening shifts so that if something would happen she would be with him. It scares the heck out of me to not be in there for this long, but I know that is Mom’s place; by his side.

  I can’t help but think of Judd’s drunken words from last night, saying he wants me in his arms when he draws his last breath in this world. I know that is no longer likely, but I want that for my mom and dad, even though it causes a deep pain in my heart to even think it.

  I plop down in one of the stiff chairs and see that Abby hasn’t went home. Mom had offered for her to take her car, but I guess Abby refuses to leave as well. No way am I leaving tonight. They may have to force me to go at some point, but right now, this is where my bed will be.

  Abby looks up from her phone and sighs. “Can I ask you what happened now?”

  She knows better than to ask if I am ok, because neither of us are, so to discuss it would be useless. Discussing my issues with Judd would probably get both our minds off the current situation, but for me, it will only make it sting more. For one, I want him here; I want him holding my hand through this like he promised he would. I also want him to be able to say goodbye to my dad. Most of all, I want this whole morning to just go away. I want to rewind and start new, so I can be back in his arms, listening to him whisper how he wants me his whole life.

  “I don’t know if I can talk about it yet,” I tell her as calmly as possible without breaking into tears.

  Honestly, I really don’t know what to say; I don’t know what to believe. I saw it with my own eyes, but it just doesn’t add up.

  “When you’re ready, I’m here. I couldn’t help but hear a little of what is going on and I know it is still fresh, but right now you don’t need to be shouldering all this on your own. I think it might help if you talk about it,” Abby looks at me with complete understanding in her eyes.

  “I’ll talk when I’m ready, but just give me at least a day to let it all sink in. I’m still trying to figure it out myself. Actually, no, I’m just trying to not think about it.”

  I know she is right and I may very well explode if I don’t talk about it, soon, but it is all just too much right now.

  She nods with a soft smile. “Ok, I’m here though.” Grabbing her belly, she looks around with a scrunched up face. “Come on, let’s go get some food.”

  Deciding that the waiting room is a tad bit chillier than we’d like, we walk out to my car to get a blanket from the trunk then back inside to the café, grabbing two cups of coffee, some yogurt and two huge blueberry muffins. Given everything that is weighing on
my mind, you would think I would not have an appetite at all, but I am actually starving.

  The waiting room is vacant except for a nurse sitting at a reception area in the corner. We find a small couch near the back of the room, under a wall of windows and we snuggle up close together with the blanket draped over both our legs. I devour my muffin and yogurt in no time, savoring the combination of sweet and tangy, mixed with the creamy flavor of mocha flavored coffee.

  “So, I start interning in January. I’m excited but a little nervous,” Abby makes small talk to steer our thoughts in a different direction. “Oh, hey, did I tell you that Hayden asked me on a date for this Friday?”

  I smile, letting her know I’m listening, because right now, focusing on chewing my muffin is the only thing keeping me from falling to pieces.

  “I doubt I’ll go, though,” she adds with a shaky voice.

  I know what she is thinking and I do not even want to go there right now. I refuse to think it.

  “You should call him tomorrow. Let him know what is going on and then reschedule for when Dad is released.” I flash an encouraging smile that is doubtfully going to convince either of us that everything is going to end well.

  The next few days go similar to the first with not much of a change in Dad’s health. Mom gave the doctors the ok to administer antibiotics for the pneumonia and pain meds for the cancer. At this point, the doctors feel the best they can do is keep him comfortable.

  On day two, Dad is more coherent. He is able to nod his head when we ask him questions, smile and squeeze our hands, although he gets worn down quickly.

  They move him out of ICU and into a room on the third floor in a wing reserved for advanced cancer patients. That should be comforting, but it makes me sadder. If Dad could walk around this wing, I think it would upset him that his last moments might be here. I still keep hope in my heart that he will be able to come back home, where he would be happier, but as the days pass by with little change, it takes a small chunk of that hope along with it.

  DAD GETS SETTLED INTO HIS room late Tuesday night and finally, all of us are able to visit him at one time. We were initially going to keep our arrangements of Mom staying with him for the night, but Abby and I just couldn’t make ourselves go home. Wandering into the room later that evening, we curl up in a worn out looking recliner side by side and fall fast asleep from complete and utter exhaustion.

  This morning marks the fourth day since Dad has been in the hospital. It depresses me being here, so I can only imagine what this is doing to his spirits. I’ve sat through three full days of listening to monitors go off, three full days of nurses coming and going, three full days of watching Dad get weaker, and three whole days since I have felt the comfort of Judd’s arms.

  Sitting up, I bow my back and extend my arms, trying desperately to work out the kink in my back from sleeping all night wedged between the arm of the recliner and Abby’s bony hips. As I look around, I notice Mom lying on the bed beside Dad.

  The clock above the door reads a little past midnight, so I get up and sneak into the hall, careful not to make any noise.

  After I take the elevator to the first floor, I make my way outside and get in my car.

  When we got to the hospital on Sunday morning, I made it a point to leave my cell phone in my car. Everyone that I want to talk to is already here with me, and everyone that isn’t here with me, are the ones that I don’t care to talk to right now.

  I definitely don’t want to ever talk to Bethany again. What she did, not once, but twice, is unforgivable. I have no desire to talk to Kyle, given he never mentioned that my best friend, the girl I decided to room with, was the one he cheated on me with. If I had known, the decision to room with her would have gone a hell of a lot differently.

  Then, there is Judd. As much as I would love to hear his voice and have him hold me, I know I can’t. I don’t understand how he could tell me he loves me so much and then sleep with someone else. I don’t care how it happened; he should have known she was not me.

  I’m beginning to think being drunk is a scapegoat for people that want to explore different options. No, I can’t even group Judd into a category like that, because I truly do not understand what happened. Maybe I do need to talk to Abby about the whole thing. I guess it would be one less thing weighing on my mind, plus it would give me a different perspective on the matter. I wonder if he has even tried to call me or wondered where I am.

  Once I am settled into the driver’s side of my car, I pick up my phone from the console between my seats. I push the button to bring it up, but the screen stays black. Shoot! It must have died.

  I pull my charger out of the glove box, plug my phone in and wait. It doesn’t take long for my screen to light up and a couple of chirps to sound off, letting me know I have missed calls and texts. Not nearly the astounding amount that I had received when Kyle and I broke up, but then again, Judd is nothing like Kyle. Well, I thought he wasn’t.

  There are six missed calls and twelve missed texts. Only three of the calls are from Judd along with three of the texts. My heart drops. I guess I have been hoping he would be fighting and begging and pleading with me not to leave him. Two of the calls are from Bethany and eight text messages, with the remaining call and text from Kyle. I don’t even care to hear what Bethany has to say.

  I decide to start easy and listen to Kyle’s voicemail first.

  “Alyssa, hey . . . it’s me. I ran into Piper this morning on the way over to pick up the keg from your apartment and she said your Dad is in the hospital. Give me a call or text and let me know how he is doing and how you’re doing. Let me know if your family needs anything at all.”

  The message is dated from Sunday at noon so he definitely hasn’t been brought up to speed on all the drama.

  Piper must have slept through the entire morning blowup or she would have filled him in.

  I move on to the first voicemail from Judd. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath before hitting the play button.

  “Lyssa . . . I know you’re not going to pick up and I know you need time, but please know that I am so confused about all of this. I have no memory of anything and I have no idea how this could’ve happened. I know you are hurt and you have every right, but please call me back. Please don’t end it like this! Let’s talk about it all and try to figure it out together. I . . . I know saying sorry isn’t good enough, but I will do anything and everything to fix this. You have to . . .”

  My voicemail beeps, cutting him off. My grip tightens on my phone as I push play on the next message.

  “Sorry. I guess I better make this a little shorter. Please call me, Lyssa. I love you. You have to know that! I know you need time and I know you are hurt so I will wait as long as I have to, but please call me. I can’t lose you. I love you. Bye.”

  A tear slides down my cheek and I take in a quivering breath as I look down at the time stamp: Sunday 7:42am. This message was left not even an hour after I drove off.

  I look down and click on the last voicemail from him, time-stamped for yesterday at 7:55am. He must have left this before he went to his Monday morning class.

  “It’s me. I know I said I would give you time to think, but I just wanted to call and say I love you and I’m here . . . you know, if you need me. I know it has only been two days since we’ve seen each other, but it seems like so much longer. I don’t even remember the last time we went more than a day without saying I love you to each other, so . . . I love you, Alyssa.”

  He hangs up abruptly and my heart climbs into my throat with the pain I hear in his voice. Does he even know how miserable I am, too?

  I brush through all the text messages from Bethany pleading with me to call her and apologizing. I hit delete as fast as I can, not even bothering to read each message through.

  I get to Kyle’s message and it is clear that he must have talked to Bethany when he picked up the keg.

  Kyle: I’m sure you are probably pretty pissed at me now, but I hope you
know how bad I wanted to tell you the truth. I was so ashamed that it was her and then after so long it just seemed it would be like throwing salt on a healing wound by telling you. I am so sorry and I understand if you’re mad. Just don’t stay mad forever . . . Please! I’m worried about you and your family. Call me if you need anything, please!!

  Kyle definitely is relentless, but I’m just glad he didn’t feel the need to blow up my phone again.

  I click on Judd’s name and scroll down to his three text messages.

  Judd: Just wanted to say I wish I was holding you right now!

  My eyes fall to the next message as my heartbeat picks up.

  I’m getting ready for bed and I wanted to say that I am thinking of you! I can’t stop thinking about you! I love you!

  Slowly sliding my fingertips across the words I love you, my heart aches with the need to feel him say those words against my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut for a minute and take a breath before looking at the final message from him.

  Another day without you and you’re all I think about! I’m here if you need me, I hope you know that! I love you!

  I look over the times of each text, the first stamped on Sunday at 9:22pm, the next on Monday at 10:01pm and the last only hours ago at 9:19pm. It makes my heart hurt, imagining him lying in bed each night thinking about me.

  As I close my eyes, I release all the air from my lungs on a heavy sigh and push my head against the stiff, cold leather headrest. All his messages and words twirl around in my head like a tornado and a part of me just wishes I could get pulled away with the storm. He has no idea how his words hit home. I do need him. I wish he was holding me, too.

  The passenger door creaks open and I look over to see Abby getting in. She gives me a weak smile and I automatically sweep my hand under my eyes to make sure my face isn’t streaked with tears.

  “You want to talk about it?” she asks in a sympathetic tone that finally breaks through the wall around my heart that I have constructed for the last three days.