Grace.
I smile just thinking her name.
My child.
My daughter.
My baby.
The living embodiment of the love my husband and I have for each other. I’d have given almost anything to be able to live long enough to see her grow up. Or even to see her walk and hear her first words. But I know in my gut that it isn’t going to work out that way.
It isn’t that I have no hope. It’s that I simply have a certainty about things, about the outcome. I’ve seen it happen with dozens and dozens of terminal patients. They seem to have a supernatural sense about their death. Now I can understand it. I know I’m going to die, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.
Except face it.
Head-on.
Try to make it as easy for my loved ones as I possibly can. So that’s what I intend to do.
While Grace is sleeping and Nate is gone, I go in search of my phone. I can’t remember where I had it last.
I search the bedroom, the bathroom, the living room, and, finally, make my way into the kitchen.
I gasp when I see Nissa sitting at the island, sipping a cup of coffee, scrolling through something on her iPad.
“Hi,” she says brightly when she hears my gasp.
“You scared me. I didn’t expect to see you sitting there.” I’d have to be blind and stupid to miss the look of sadness that flits across my best friend’s face. And I’m neither. I can only guess at what it means, but I guess right. “How long have you been here?”
“A couple of hours,” Nissa answers in a strangled voice.
“I’m guessing I’ve already seen you then?”
Nissa’s eyes fill with tears, and she nods, silent.
I sigh deeply and come to sit on the stool beside my long-time confidante. I drape an arm over her shoulders and rest my head against Nissa’s. I feel the tremor in my friend’s muscles, and I know that she’s holding back sobs.
“It won’t be long now,” I tell her.
I don’t have to explain; Nissa knows what I’m referring to. She makes no sound as she begins to weep, but I can feel it. Nissa’s upper body is shaking uncontrollably, heaving as grief gushes from her in great waves. They quake through me, too, where I sit beside her.
Never having been one to give empty words of solace, not even to my patients, I know now is not the time to start. It won’t help anyone. Not really. I’m simply going to stay. I’m going to sit with my best friend in the world while she comes to terms with what lies ahead, while she exorcises the anguish. I only hope staying is enough.
“I’m sorry,” Nissa finally says, sniffing loudly, her words cracked and broken.
“Don’t be. I love you. I wish I could make this easier, but I can’t.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asks in mock anger. “I’m supposed to be the one wanting to make things easier for you.”
“I’m sure you want to. It’s human nature to want to take away hurt from those we love. And you love me. I know that because I love you just as much.”
Nissa’s crying is renewed, so I pull her close and wait. Grieving is a process. One cry won’t get it out. For some, it takes weeks or months of crying.
When Nissa seems to settle again, I continue. “Nate loves you, too. And Grace will. I want for you three to take care of each other. For me. Do it for me. I’ll feel much better if I know that Nate won’t be in this alone. And that my daughter will have a wonderful woman in her life. Promise me.”
Nissa nods as she wipes at her eyes. “I promise.”
Knowing what kind of reaction my announcement will incite, I wait for a couple of minutes before I tell Nissa my plans. And when I do, she starts to sniffle again, as I suspected she might. Hospice is a dirty word, a painful word. And they all know what it means. I don’t have to explain it.
“I’m going to call hospice today. I want to do it before Nate gets back. It will kill him. I know it will, but it’ll help him, too. More than he realizes.”
“It’ll help you, too,” Nissa insists.
“It’ll help me, too, yes.” My own comfort is far down the list. I’m more worried about those I love. “Nissa, I…I…”
I’m not quite sure how to continue.
“What?” she prompts when I don’t finish my sentence.
“I don’t want you to stop coming around. No matter how hard it gets to watch, don’t let Nate go through this alone. Please.”
Tears bite sharply at my eyes, but I will myself not to cry. For me, the time for grieving is over. My fate is sealed. It’s pointless to spend my last days mourning the future. Or what it might hold.
“I’ll be here. Every day.”
I nod and we sit in silence for a minute more before I reach for my phone. I smile as I hold it in my palm. The kitchen. I left it in the kitchen, probably when Nissa arrived earlier, which is something I have no recollection of.
My fingers tremble for a moment as an intense pang of regret lances through me. It’s sharp and cutting, more like a jagged piece of metal than something smooth and well-honed.