The afternoon sun spilled in through the window as I read on, the words of Thoreau on my lips, sinking into my heart.
* * *
And each may other help, and service do,
Drawing Love's bands more tight,
Service he ne'er shall rue
While one and one make two,
And two are one;
* * *
In such case only doth man fully prove
Fully as man can do,
What power there is in Love
His inmost soul to move
Resistlessly.
* * *
Two sturdy oaks I mean, which side by side,
Withstand the winter's storm,
And spite of wind and tide,
Grow up the meadow's pride,
For both are strong
* * *
Above they barely touch, but undermined
Down to their deepest source,
Admiring you shall find
Their roots are intertwined
Insep'rably.
* * *
Dad took a heavy breath and released it, and I watched him.
"Want me to keep going?"
He turned his head to smile at me, looking tired. "Lunch?"
Sophie stood from the couch. "I'll get you some. Mac and cheese?"
"Bacon?" he asked hopefully.
She laughed. "Is there any other way?"
He chuckled back, and Sadie got up too. "Let me help you," she said, and they left the room.
I closed the hardbound book. "Feeling okay?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Tired."
"Well, you should sleep after lunch. Once the nurse comes, it'll be impossible. All that poking and prodding."
"Like a science experiment." He smiled, swallowing before asking, "Know when Elliot's coming?"
I shook my head. "I think she's at work this morning. That's what Sophie said, at least," I added.
He nodded. "It's hard for you, with her here." It wasn't a question, but an observation, and I answered it honestly.
"It is. But it's all right. I'm all right."
"I know you'd never tell me otherwise." He reached for his water, glistening as the light shone through it, but it was just out of his reach. I stood and sat on the edge of the bed, picking up the water to bring the straw to his lips.
"You're probably right about that. But it's okay. It's getting easier."
"You still love each other."
My heart stopped painfully in my chest, restarting with a jolt. "I'm not who I was before, and neither is she."
"That's true. You've grown on your own, but Thoreau wrote: Above they barely touch, but undermined / Down to their deepest source, / Admiring you shall find / Their roots are intertwined / Insep'rably."
Emotion surfaced like an oil slick, slinking with every color. "You're right. But please, don't ask me to dig through that, not right now. It's … I don't know how to sort through her and me. One thing at a time."
He swallowed, gathering his strength to speak. "I won't ask, son. I won't force your hand. Just want you to know I understand. I see you, and her, and your pain."
His words trailed through that oily feeling again, the colors of my emotions swirling in their wake. "I don't want you to worry about me or Elliot."
He laid back, and I set the glass back down, moving the rolling tray close to his bed. "It's easier than thinking about myself."
We shared a silent moment, watching each other. I saw myself in him in large ways and small, counting every similarity as the clock on one of his shelves ticked incessantly.
"Are you afraid?" I asked quietly.
He nodded. "But there's nothing to be done, no way to fight. So, I'm resigned. I feel … feel myself letting go. But I don't worry about me. When I leave, you'll stay. I know … I …" He struggled with the words, frustrated, wanting to communicate, so I waited patiently for him to find his strength. "Fifteen years have passed, and sometimes the pain is as fresh as the second she left us." He closed his eyes briefly and opened them again, reaching for my hand. "These days are about saying goodbye, and the luxury is one I want to take advantage of. I'm grateful for it." The words were labored by the end, his energy waning from exertion.
"So are we." The words were solemn, and grief struck me again, regret washing over me alongside it. "I … I'm sorry I haven't been here. I'm sorry I wasn't the son I should have been. I should have come home more, been present, stopped … stopped running away."
His brow dropped, eyes soft and full of understanding. "Wade, you are everything I wished for. I am proud of you, and not once have I resented you for finding your way in this world. Not once."
"I thought I had more time." My voice cracked, and he squeezed my hand.
"So did I," he said gently. "We all did. But do not regret that. That is one thing I will ask of you. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, / The saddest are these: It might have been! Stop running away so you don't spend the rest of your life wondering. Whittier knew this, and so do I. So should you."
I was left without words as Sophie and Sadie brought lunch in on trays, so I sat at his side, his words settling into my mind as I fed him.
Stop running. I had no choice. I was here. She was here. But I didn't know how to face my past. I'd been running for seven years, and there could be no full stop. There would be no sixty-to-zero, not without slowing down first or my brakes would catch on fire. But I thought about that crack in the wall again, and looking through it, I found the smallest hope.
We talked about nothing and everything, taking every small second where we could. And when he was finished eating, he fell asleep. When we left the room, we stood in the hallway without purpose, as if the hours of the day had been reset to mark the times when we could be by his side.