Installment Twenty

When we got to the hospital it was a while before we were allowed to go see him.  Shanna and the baby went first, and when she came out about fifteen minutes later she said he had drifted out of it again.  The sadness in her features was too much for me, and I couldn’t even bare to look at her.  I knew how she felt, in a more familial type of love or sense, whereas she was feeling the pain of knowing she was losing the only man she could ever love this much, the man she married, the man she shared a child with… My brother.  The rest of us stayed in the waiting room when mom and dad went to see him; it was just starting to become evening, the sun setting to the west side of the hospital ward, allow a golden glow envelope everything it could touch within its reach – it didn’t touch anywhere near Taylor’s room.  I couldn’t help but feel, then, that there was some meaning in that.

I think, to be honest, we were all afraid to see Taylor, afraid to see him sick again, to see him suffering again.  But this time it would be different for all of us; it had been almost four months since he’d stopped all treatment, and like I mentioned before, he had hair again – short, but soft, and enough to run your fingers through…  I needed to see him, I knew at least that much.  I got up and turned to the rest of the family, Zoë sitting on Isaac’s lap and Mac leaning against Zac – Zac’s arm around him.  Jessica was sitting beside Shanna, watching baby Jordan sleep in his mother’s arms, and Rachel on the opposite side of Zac.

“I need to go see Taylor,” I said softly.  They all looked at me, obviously doubting I could handle it.

“I don’t know, Avie…” Ike said quietly.

“Maybe you should wait a little bit longer,” Zac added.

“I can’t,” I said quietly, shaking my head.  “I really need to see him…” They looked at one another, and back at me, one nodding and then the other.  “I’ll tell him you all love him.” Shanna started to cry, turning her head into Jessica’s shoulder.

I opened the room door, immediately greeted with the familiar sound of a heart monitor’s steady, even beeping.  Mom and dad were sitting beside his bed, chairs as close together as possible, holding hands; they weren’t speaking, or even really moving much, they were just sitting there watching him sleep, the lights in the room off.  It was like it was some wonder, just to see him breathing, I mean, and really… I guess it was.  They sat there, their heads rested against each other’s, and I moved closer.

“How is he?” I whispered; I was afraid I would wake him, afraid that maybe speaking in a normal volume would hurt him or something.  Mom turned first, and then dad.  I think maybe they had fallen asleep.

“Avie…” mom whispered, obviously not expecting to see me.

“How is he?” I whispered again.  She looked back at him; he was pale, and he had an oxygen tube under his nose again.  He almost looked peaceful, lying there motionless, sleeping so softly… but the telltale sadness on his face was heartbreaking, disturbing the peace I had envisioned in my mind for him.

“Dr. Peterson doesn’t think Taylor has much time…” she was speaking very quietly, unable to look me in the eyes.  I think if she had there would have been tears, much like my own.  “If… If he sees the end of this month… he’ll be lucky.” His birthday was a week away – he’d be twenty-four – and the painful reality of it all hit me, and it was crushing me: It would be the last birthday he’d ever celebrate with us.

“Is… Is he in any pain?” I whispered, wiping at the tears that had started down my cheeks.

“I think, a little, yeah,” dad whispered back.  “He hasn’t said much…”

“What about his birthday?”

“Honey, he can’t leave the hospital,” mom said softly.

I nodded silently, watching as his chest rose and fell with the breaths he took.  He stirred a little, moving his hand, giving mom access to it; I watched her take his hand in hers, bending down and placing a soft kiss on the back of it.  “I’ll go…” I whispered, the tightness in my chest and throat hardly allowing me to speak.  I stepped out of the room, closing the door behind me and pressing my back against it.  No, no, no… I kept saying it over and over in my head.  Why is he dying?  I can’t lose my brother…

“Avie…?” I heard Isaac’s soft voice, but I merely shook my head in response, my eyes closed, my head hung.  “Avie, come ‘ere…” I shook my head again.

“I think we should all stop in and give him a kiss, and I think we should take the kids home,” Zac said to Isaac, who I also heard agree.

When I felt someone’s soft hand on my arm, I knew it was Isaac, and I shook him off.  “Don’t,” I whispered.  “Please don’t…  I need to be alone right now.” I started away, unable to look at them, unable to look back at that room, that place… it was just a death box to me.  It was the last place my brother would see before he died; it was where my brother was going to die…

“Avery,” I heard Zac’s strong voice.  “Where are you going?”

“I’ll be in the car.” I took the stairs down – I never liked elevators – and sat down on the bottom step, knowing they would be at least ten minutes.  I sat down, and I cried.  I had no choice to accept this now; it was in front of us, right on our damn doorstep – these were our last times together, our last memories with Taylor, and I knew it – I could feel it.

Visiting hours were over at nine, and mom and dad got home around nine-thirty; they looked exhausted.  All of us were ready for bed as well, but Shanna was particularly upset by this, and she had every right to be.  As soon as mom had changed her own clothes, she called Shanna upstairs, I assume to comfort her and help with whatever she needed help with.  When I finally made my own way upstairs, heading for bed, Taylor’s door was open and Shanna was lying with her head in my mom’s lap, crying; mom was gently stroking her hair, like she did for me, or Jess, or Zoë – or any of us kids, really – when we were upset and she was trying to soothe us.  I didn’t say goodnight to anyone, I just went to my room and went to bed, not that it did much good, because I slept fitfully that night.

It was late when I woke up the next morning; I didn’t smell any food cooking, and everything seemed to be eerily silent.  There were still “children” in the house, so I didn’t understand how it could have been that quiet, unless of course they really understood what was going on, what was going to happen.  When I came out of my room the door hinges squeaked and I heard mom call my name.  I made my way down to her bedroom; I don’t know where dad was, but he wasn’t in there with her.  “I wanted to show you something,” she said.

“Hmm?” I stood there for a moment, waiting for her to give me some direction on what she wanted me to do.

“Come here for a minute,” she said quietly.  “I want to show you something.” I came into her room, glancing at the clock and realizing it was after noon.  I went over to where she was sitting on the floor, pictures spread out all around her.  I knew that mom had kept an individual baby album for each of us kids, right on up through our childhoods.  Taylor was always so photogenic, and not to mention a ham, that his album was undoubtedly the thickest.  I went over and sat down beside her, looking at the hundreds of pictures, and thought for a moment that she had completely lost her mind.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

“Just going through some things,” she said quietly.  “Look at this,” she said, turning a family photo album toward me; Taylor was sitting on a chair in the hospital, holding a pink little bundle in his small arms – he had to have been around eight years old.

“I’ve never seen this before,” I said quietly, touching the picture carefully.  I saw her smile thoughtfully out of the corner of my eye.

“That was about seven hours after you were born,” she said softly.

“That’s me?” I asked.  I had never seen this picture before, and the fact that it was Taylor holding me made it all that much more special.

“Mmm-hmm,” she replied.  “He was so fascinated with you…” she said, obviously losing herself in thought for a moment.  “He always wanted to be around, always wanted to help me out with you.” I looked at her and smiled a little.  “Look at this one,” she said, handing me another picture.  It was Taylor again, holding me, but this time with a bottle on the couch at the old house.  He looked so… in awe, or proud, or… something…

“Can I look at Taylor’s baby book?” I asked quietly.  I looked at her, seeing her eyes darken slightly with sadness.

“I’ve been doing that a lot lately,” she said softly, “looking through his baby book.”

She picked up the thickest album and carefully handed it over to me.  I was anxious to look at it.  When I opened the first page, on the inside cover, his birth certificate had been returned to its proper place.  There were so many memories in that book that I had never even known about, never seen…  I sat with her for hours go over pictures, and apparently, she had taken her turn with each of her children to show them pictures of themselves with Taylor, and this album.

His birthday came quickly, and just as quickly his health was failing.  He was just in this rapid spiral downward, and to be honest, it was scary as hell.  I had my gift for him all set and ready to go the night before, and was more than ready when we left the house at ten o’clock the next morning to see him.  March fourteenth was his big day, and though I wished he didn’t have to spend it in a hospital bed, I knew he would appreciate us being there and whatever we gave him no matter what.  Part of his present included a picture I had found in the dozens and dozens scattered on mom’s floor.  It was of Taylor and I; he was about sixteen, post-haircut and pre-jerk days, and we were outside, by the swing set.  There was an absolutely perfect burst of bright sunlight behind us, and we had the smiles to match.  It was a great picture of the two of us, and I knew he’d love it…

Everyone took a turn going to see him, but I wanted to be last; I wanted to save my gift for him for last, maybe because I wanted him to remember mine the most.  I came into his room, my footsteps sounding on the cold tiled floor.  He looked over at me, his eyes glassy from tears, and forced a small smile.

“Hey there,” he whispered.

“Hi,” I whispered back.  “How do you feel?”

“Lonely,” he said softly.  “…And scared…”

“Don’t worry about any of that stuff right now, son,” dad said softly.  “It’s your birthday; just try to enjoy what you can.”

“I… I brought you something,” I said, coming to his bed side.  He tapped his fingers on the empty space beside him and carefully sat down; I think I was afraid I would break him.

“You didn’t have to bring me anything.”

“I know that, but… I really wanted to give you this,” I said.  I took out the picture first.  “This is the first part of it.” I handed him the picture and watched him inspect it.

“Avie… it’s beautiful,” he whispered.

“And… I want you to have this; it always used to make me feel safe, and I always knew I was loved…” I quietly handed over Maggie, placing her gently on his chest as he brought his hands up to hold onto her gently.

“Avie…” he whispered.  I could tell he was fighting tears; I looked at mom and dad and they had tears in their eyes as well, and so did I.

“I wanted you to have her, Tay.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he said quietly, trying to force his tears back.  “Avery… this is the second best gift I’ve ever gotten in my life; nothing, except my son, has ever meant this much to me…”

“I love you,” I said, “and I wanted to make sure you had a little piece of home, and me, with you; maybe you won’t feel so lonely anymore…”

“I love you,” he said.

“Get some rest ok?” I said softly.  “You look like you need it.”

He shrugged a little.  “I don’t get much sleep here,” he said softly, almost inaudibly.

“How come?” I asked, frowning, not understanding how he couldn’t get a lot of sleep in a quiet hospital.

“I kind of toss and turn all night; I wake up a lot in the night,” he said.  “I have a hard time sleeping…”

“Why?”

“Because, Avie… I’m afraid when I close my eyes at night… that I won’t open them again…”

“Oh Jordan,” mom said softly, reaching out and gently caressing his cheek.

“I know I’m dying,” he said quietly, looking at the three of us with enormous tears standing on his eyelashes.  “I’m just not so sure when it’s gonna happen, and it kinda scares me; I’m afraid that… that I won’t get to say goodbye or something…”

“Promise me you won’t ever say goodbye?”

“What?” My comment caught him off guard; he didn’t understand what I meant, and I don’t think our parents did either at that moment.

“Promise me you won’t ever say goodbye?”

“Why…?”

“Because Taylor,” I said softly, feeling the tears run down my cheeks.  “Goodbye is so… so final… If you say goodbye, then I have to let you go…” I looked down at my hands, “and I don’t think I can do that.”

We were all in tears, and it only hit me that moment after how profound something like that was coming from a fifteen year old, almost sixteen year old.  He squeezed my hand, and through our tears he promised me.  Mom and dad let me stay and just sit with him until he finally fell asleep for a little while.  We all knew he wasn’t doing well at all anymore; he was unbelievably sick, but he pretended to be so strong in front of all of us.  I couldn’t help but think that after we all left, when visiting hours were over each night, that Taylor stayed here alone and cried to no one in the dark.  The thought of him being so alone, with no one to calm his fears, no one to ease the pain at night, no one to hush his crying, it made me ache somewhere deep inside.

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