My dad got me to promise to always look after my mom, and even told me that he hoped she’d find love again one day.
Finally, he reminded me to live my life with honor, kindness, and integrity. We talked for forty minutes, a non-stop and welcome diatribe of parental advice from a dying man to his son, condensed down for time management.
Thinking about it now, I hope I never forget a word of what he said, or a minute of that time when I sat there holding his hand.
Before he nodded off to sleep, I told him something that I thought was necessary for him to understand. “Dad...Mom and I are going to be all right. I don’t want you to worry about us. You need to move on from this life, knowing that we will survive, strong in your memory, and bound by your love. Don’t hang on, Dad. Let go and be at peace.”
And he had.
Blinking away the memory, I return to the present, not sure how long I stand there, clutching my dad’s cold hand. He’s not here anymore. Not really.
Eventually, I let it go and move to my mom’s side. I squat by her chair and gently shake her by the shoulder. The minute her eyes open and land on mine, understanding filters in, and she starts to cry. I fold her in my arms and hold her for a very long time.
There’s nothing but the two of us in our grief until I sense that it’s not just the two of us anymore.
I pull back from my mom, who sniffles hard and looks over my shoulder as I straighten.
Calliope is standing there, her eyes pinned on my father. I didn’t even hear the front door open.
Slowly, her gaze drags over to me, and her words stun me. “I just woke up and...felt that you needed me.”
I take her in. She’s in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, and her hair is a mess. Her feet are stuffed into unlaced tennis shoes, and it’s clear she hurried out of her apartment.
Of course she felt like I needed her. Because I did. I do. It speaks to our bond, and no words are necessary to explain it.
Without hesitation, she moves past the foot of my dad’s bed and launches herself into my arms. Calliope presses her face into my chest, and I can feel her body shake as she cries, mourning the loss of my father and perhaps expelling her grief for me as well.
She shifts, tipping her head back. “I’m so sorry he’s gone, Rafe. And also...I love you very much.”Chapter 14CalliopeRafe doesn’t say, “I love you” back, but that’s okay. I didn’t expect him to.
Don’t need him to.
Just like when he first told me he loved me while pushing me on the tire swing and he knew the truth of how I felt in return already. Like then, I’m confident in how he feels now. Even though it took me a few days to voice it to him—to work up the courage and the guts to admit my feelings aloud—I never once worried that he would waver or decide I wasn’t worth waiting for. I had faith in him, still do, and that says a lot.
Currently, I’m sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea while Rafe and Brenda sit by Jim’s bed. I called the hospice nurse, and she came out to the house right away. As required by law, she verified that Jim did, in fact, pass on, and she made the call to the funeral home the family chose. She then collected the remaining narcotic pain medications—as also required by law—to dispose of them for the family.
Once she finishes, Brenda, Rafe, and I spend time talking quietly. Brenda and I hug frequently, and she cries most of the time. Periodically, Rafe slides his hand against mine until our fingers are laced, and that’s enough for the moment.
The funeral home folks arrive. Brenda has to sign a bunch of paperwork, and I stand by Rafe’s side as they discreetly place a blanket over Jim’s body and move him to a gurney that will be placed directly in the hearse. Brenda, Rafe, and I follow them out of the house. We stand quietly on the porch, our arms around each other’s waists, and watch as they load Jim up into the back of the funeral home’s vehicle.
After they leave, there’s no time to sit around. I make calls to my parents, and then I help Brenda make calls to their family members. Rafe calls his coach to tell him that he won’t be there for the game tonight. It was a call the team had likely been expecting at some point, and I imagine there are plans in place to compensate. Jim had tried to get Rafe to promise him that he wouldn’t miss a game no matter what, and Rafe had sternly but gently told his father that it wasn’t his decision to make.