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“No, pops, Cedar isn’t here.”
He grunted, and my heart went out to him. Shaking my head, I dropped my hand and inhaled a breath of courage, the ripeness of the air stinging my nostrils. Slowly, I turned around and slipped into the room.
Everest’s eyes lit up, and he gave me a slight nod. “Aspen made it though, pops. If you open your eyes, you’ll see her.”
He pointed to the side of the bed where he wanted me to stand.
I inched over and couldn’t help but stare.
There were no machines, nothing to indicate whether Franklin was still on Earth. No recorded pulse. No breathing apparatus. Just an unnatural smell of death hung in the space. And the stench had only become more pungent.
On the bed, my once strong father had deteriorated into skin and bones, half the size he used to be, his skeletal form outlined by the thin blanket covering his body. His full head of hair was thinned to nothing more than a few strands, yet his face was full of white and grey whiskers. Slowly, he cracked open his eyes, the light and glimmer that used to be there had gone, replaced by a darkness and hollowness I’ll never forget.
“Baby girl.”
“Hey, Daddy.”
With some effort, his fingers waved, and I reached for his hand, scared to do anything more than allow his cool fingertips to rest upon mine.
All the years of anger I’d been holding onto flashed away in a heartbeat, replaced by a deep understanding of knowing it was better this way – to let the past go. My father had done the best with what he was capable of, as had I. Neither of us was perfect, far from it, in fact. As that realisation dawned, my heart broke. I was losing my father, and had missed out on a couple of years because I was pig-headed and stubborn; a family trait.
“Daddy, I’m so sorry. For everything.”
His fingers tightened around mine, but no words struggled past his pale lips.
Occasionally, I glanced at Everest, but mostly I listened to the shallow breathing and watched as his chest moved up and down, slowly. The distance between each breath widening.
At the front of the house, the screen door banged shut and a quiet shushing echoed down the hall.
A presence entered the room and from the corner of my eye, a masculine figure approached the other side of the bed. Juniper had arrived, bearing more resemblance to the father I remembered than the father laying before me.
The three of us stood there, frozen in time. Frozen in any moment beyond the swishing of blinks and the painful gulp of a muted swallow. Every sound was heightened, like the tires on the country road in front of the house as a vehicle passed, and then again when another drove on by. Or the footprints in the hall as the hospice worker tiptoed around.
The bright sunshine faded. The darkness settled in.
We wondered. We waited. We watched.
There was no sound when Dad slipped away, no gurgling, no fighting for breath. In fact, it took us a bit to realise he’d even gone. Juniper reached out and placed a hand over Dad’s chest, and Everest followed.
“He’s gone.”
Just like that.
And Cedar didn’t make it.
Everest sniffed and the bed shook from his sobs. Juniper wailed.
A sadness I wasn’t anticipating washed over me as I watched my brothers break. It was hard to be around them, and feeling my own tightness, I rolled up out of the uncomfortable position I’d been in for God knows how long. I didn’t need to explain my urge to leave to anyone, and I stepped into the hall.
I halted in surprise. Sitting on the couch, in the waiting room, was Cedar.
“Did it, did he?” The final word hung in the air.
Unsure if I had the strength to answer, I simply nodded.
“I’m so sorry.” She rose and tiptoed over to me.
“You could’ve come in.”
