Remediations

I made a sketch.  :)

I also wrote a flash fiction.-----





            My heart pounded in my chest.  With every beat, it felt like it would crash through my sternum and burst out of me.  The ticking of the clock was nearly drowned out by my heart.  I was sure the doctor could hear it, knew that I was terrified.  He sat on a swivel chair in front of me, one hand placed gently on my knee.  I was sure that the touch was a sign of compassion, something to let me know that I wasn’t alone in this.

           The paper I was sitting on crunched as I shifted, removing his hand from my knee.  “Is it terminal?”

            The doctor’s eyes gave me the story.  Tears threatened to erupt from my eyes and I swiped them with the back of my hand.  Dr. Mancheld held back his own tears, “I know that it will be tough to get through this.  I can recommend a good therapist.”

            My body convulsed as I thought about expressing my feeling about this death sentence.  “I don’t know how you could ever know anything about what I’m going through, but you’re right, it will be tough.  Especially on Marie.”

            The doctor shrank in his seat a little.  Marie was my wife.  And she was carrying our first child, due in a month.  I covered my face with my hands when I realized I would not be around for Lilly to grow up.  I would not be there when she took her first steps, went to her first day of school, had her heart broken for the first time.  Nor would I be there when she graduated high school or college.  I wouldn’t be there to walk her down the aisle, or hold my first grandchild.  I wouldn’t be there to- to be there for her.

            Marie wouldn’t be able to handle the news.  Her brother, my best friend, had passed away a few years ago due to cancer.  I don’t think she’d be able to handle another death so soon.

            “Doc?”  I eyed the man, as he stood and placed his hand on my shoulder, trying to offer more condolences.  “How long do I have?”

            The doc sagged.  I’m assuming he was hoping for a different question.  He looked away when he finally answered, “A few years at best.”

Lilly had been born two weeks after I had been diagnosed.  She was the love of my life, and while Marie went to work every day, in order to pay for my medical bills, I spent the entire day caring for my baby.

            Every night, after laying Lilly down for bed, I would watch as the sunset over the horizon, and waited for the first of the stars to appear.  As soon as the first one appeared, I’d wish with all my heart.  Every day my wish was different.  Sometimes I wished to live, to be able to watch Lilly grow up.  Others, I would simply wish that Lilly had the best life she could, and remember that I always loved her.  When I was angry, though, I would wish that I had never met Marie, that she would be happily married with another man and Lilly would never have to suffer the pain of not having a father.  I didn’t usually wish for that, though.

I thought a lot about death over the time leading to my own.  Jesse, Marie’s brother, had been diagnosed much too late.  He went to the doctor due to a cough.  All he wanted was a prescription for medicine and, instead, he got a death sentence.  He passed away within a few months of his diagnosis.

            Of course, my story wasn’t too much different.  I went in to make sure I was fit to play on a bar league softball team.  Needless to say, I wasn’t cut out for playing.

            Jesse only had a few months to live, whereas I had a couple years.  Jesse had the most to live for.  He had two kids at home and his wife didn’t work.  It was heartbreaking to see the family fall apart.  We took the family in shortly before Jesse’s death.  The kids were so innocent and a huge part of their lives had been wrenched away from them.  I will never forget the looks on their faces when they watched their father fade away.  It haunts me in my dreams and I never want Lilly to feel that way.

Exactly two years after my diagnosis, I lay alone in a hospital room.  A clock hung on the wall, ticking away the time that I had left.  A TV was mounted in the corner but I hadn’t watched a thing since the day that I was diagnosed.  TV seemed like such trivial thing compared to my imposing death, as did my job.  I had opted to spend every moment of my time left to be with my family.

            The door opened and I turned to see my visitor.

            Howie’s face was pale as a ghost but his eyes lit up when I walked in the room, holding our little girl in my arms.

            “Daddy!” she exclaimed.  She reached her hands out at him and I set her in his arms.

            “Hello, Lilly-bug!”  His face seemed to gain color with every laugh from her as he tickled her endlessly.

            The evening went on like this.  I rarely spoke, only absorbed the sheer joy experienced by Howie and Lilly.  When the evening was over, my mother came to collect Lilly.

            Howie was exhausted.  He sighed loudly and shuddered with the pain from it.  I walked to his side and clutched his hand to my chest.  “Howie?”

            After a second, he turned his head to gaze.  My breath caught in my throat when I saw his eyes, glazed over in pain.  He forced a smile to his face, “I’m fine, Marie.  Go home.”

            “Are you sure?”

            He nodded, so I hugged him and told him I loved him.  Then I left.

            Howie lay alone in the hospital room, his breathing slow and steady, heart monitor beeping quietly.  A candle flickered on the night stand. Wind rattled Howie’s window causing the shadows around the room to dance violently with the candle’s flame.  Suddenly, Howie gasped, his eyes wide.  His heart rate increased dramatically and the window flew open, blowing out the candle.  A low continuous beep filled the room.