“I get it,” I assure him. I peek over my shoulder and see that Melanie has disappeared from the kitchen. “I think I fucked up, Bray.”
It’s not often that I admit to doing something wrong, probably because I’m normally anal about thinking over every situation before acting. Except when it comes to Melanie. If I wasn’t so consumed with everything going on in my life, the stunned look on his face would be amusing.
“Then fix it,” he says matter-of-factly. What he doesn’t know is that is exactly how I put myself where I am now. I tried to fix something that, in retrospect, wasn’t as broken as I thought and now it is. I spend the next half hour going through everything Melanie and I talked about in the café, needing the wisdom of my best friend and brother, as much as I tried telling him to mind his own business. He’s the one person who understands that Melanie Erickson is my kryptonite.
It’s almost time.
I blink my eyes open to see who is talking to me, only to find that I’m alone in my room. When I try to sit up, I curse my body because not only does it hurt like hell, it leaves me winded. There’s no reason sitting up should be considered physical exertion, but my body is shutting down.
The words that haunted my dreams are on a constant loop in my mind. They were so clear, I would have sworn someone had been sitting in the chair next to the bed, whispering directly into my ear. I reach for my cell phone and text Melanie to let her know I’m awake. It’s more civilized than yelling for her, which I’m not sure I have the energy to do at this point. She peeks her head around the door, quickly masking the pity with a plastered on smile.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” she asks cautiously, grabbing my next dose of pain medication off the dresser.
“Like I’m dying,” I sigh, knowing it’s not an expression at this point. It’s almost time. That fucking voice is starting to annoy me. “Can you sit with me for a while?”
I’ve come to terms with the fact that the rest of my life can be measured in days or maybe even hours, not weeks or months at this point. There’s nothing I can do to change it and in case there really is a heaven, I figure cursing God now won’t earn me any brownie points. I’m not sure you can ever be ready to die, but seeing as it’s inevitable, I cried until there were no more tears. With that out of my system, I promised to do what I can to make life after I’m gone easier on my husband and son. I can’t put off talking to Melanie any longer.
“I need to ask you for a huge favor,” I say, my voice barely audible thanks to the crushing weight that has taken up residence on my chest.
Melanie leans in, encasing my hand in both of hers. This woman’s strength amazes me. Even if I thought, at any time, that I could do her job, situations like this would send me running for the hills. How can she walk into a family’s home, knowing that they will be suffering when she leaves? How can she remain detached from the patients she sits with day in and day out?
“Only if you stop joking about death,” she replies, her tone serious.
“No can do,” I laugh weakly. “Unless, of course, you can figure out a way to make it so I’ll live until I’m eighty.”
Melanie closes her eyes and I know she’s trying to hold back her tears. It amazes me how this woman, who I have only known a few months is so affected by my condition. Again, I find myself wondering how she goes through this repeatedly and can still be a functioning adult. I would be a full-blown alcoholic if I were in her shoes, using the drinks as a way to dull the pain every day.
“Okay, we need to be serious for a minute.” She opens her eyes and scoots her chair closer to me, nodding once she’s comfortable.
Before I get to the scary part of our discussion, I reach beside the bed, pulling up a shoe box filled with letters and cards. I’ve spent the better part of two weeks writing notes to my son for each birthday that I will miss, his high school and college graduations, his wedding day and the day he becomes a father. Pouring my heart out to him, imagining the man that he will grow into was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but he needs to know that I love him and even death can’t change that. Next, I grab a teddy bear that I plan to give Jacob later this afternoon.
It’s almost time.
When I try to tell her that I’m going to let Jacob know that this is his magical bear that will allow him to talk to me, even when I’m not here, I fall apart. Melanie hands me a tissue to wipe my nose when my sobs turn into a full-blown ugly cry.