Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
My spot in this room is beside Aiden. Once Boone realized I wouldn’t leave, even if the hospital caught fire, he hasn’t tried to change my mind. Instead, he showed up with Hendrix one day and carted in a comfortable chair with nice cushioning and placed it beside Aiden’s bed. Since he’s not on any supportive IVs, the chair’s not really in the way. When nurses or doctors come in to check on him, it’s for quick vitals and I merely stand and push the chair back until they’re done and then I’m back at his side.
Is this healthy? I have no clue, but it feels right.
Boone is at the hospital for the most part, although he’ll leave to get a workout in. This is at my insistence and I love that he’s taking time to get away for a bit. I don’t expect anyone to keep the same vigil as me.
But he’s there every night, same as my dad. Those two split time between the recliner and I’ll sometimes sleep in the bed with Aiden. There’s no doubt in my mind once he’s gone, all three of us will crash hard.
My dad needs to go back to rehab. He’s been drinking, although I haven’t seen it. He’s not getting drunk, but I can smell it.
He disappears here and there. Sometimes it’s to go to an AA meeting, but sometimes he just says, “I’m going out for a bit and I’ll be back.”
Boone and I don’t say a word about it to him. He’s dealing the best he can and that’s all any of us can do.
Glancing at my watch, I note we’re getting close to Aiden’s next dose of morphine. He’s not in a lot of pain as far as I can tell. He doesn’t wake up that much anymore but when he does, his biggest problem is shortness of breath. The liquid morphine given under his tongue curbs that discomfort, but it means he does nothing but sleep. While I miss precious moments I get with him where we can talk for a bit, I know he’s more peaceful under the effects of the opiate.
I stand from the chair and Boone is there, his hands on my shoulders to give me a quick massage. He’d been drawing on his iPad for the last few hours, quietly leaving me to the grieving process I started on the day we learned Aiden wasn’t going to make it.
I cover his hands with mine and lean back into his strength. I glance over at the recliner. Dad’s napping, and much the way Boone drew me that one time, he’s on his side and has his arm stretched out so he can touch his son. His fingertips rest on Aiden’s shoulder and somehow in slumber, Aiden scooted closer to my dad so he’s near the edge of the bed.
I can’t help but smile as I watch them, both sleeping but drawn to each other through the bonds of love.
“Want me to get you anything?” Boone asks, bending to the side to kiss my neck.
It’s a touch lacking in sexual suggestion, but it’s an intimate move that’s as reassuring as his hugs or shoulder rubs. I turn to press my body into his, inhaling his scent as I rest my cheek on his chest. “I wouldn’t say no to an extra-large cappuccino.”
“Your wish is my command,” Boone says and kisses the top of my head before releasing me.
Just as he starts to pull away, Aiden rolls over in the bed toward us and moans. He then takes in what might be considered a deep breath by his standards but is quite shallow. He starts to cough and it wakes him up.
As he wheezes, I move with practiced efficiency to the ice water on the table. While Aiden’s not taking much in the way of liquids, he sips here and there to wet his mouth or to ease a cough. He pulls away from the straw, leaving droplets of icy water on his chin that I wipe away with a cloth.
“You good?” I ask as he takes in another short breath and lets it out.
“Yeah… was having a weird dream,” he rasps, his voice paper-thin, but this is the most alert he’s been in two long days.
“About what?” Boone asks as he comes to sit on the arm of my chair, his hand resting on the back of it.
Aiden’s head rolls toward the recliner and sees our dad still sleeping with his hand limp on the bed. He grabs it and tugs. “Dad… wake up.”
Dad grunts but comes awake quickly, wiping at his eyes. He pushes the recliner into an upright position. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just had this weird dream.” We all settle in, leaning forward to hear the story. In my heart of hearts, I know this is most likely the last we’ll get. “We were all at the deli, even Boone. He was working there, but he was still a hockey player. It was weird.” Aiden’s hand slaps at the control on the bed rail and he pushes the button that raises the top portion a bit more. I try not to read anything into that other than he’s feeling a burst of energy right now. Maria told us patients can get a rebound of strength before they die. “And Lilly… you were making a macaroni salad but you didn’t have any macaroni, so you were trying to come up with a substitute, and even though we had pasta shells, you insisted on using mini marshmallows. Dad was trying to tell you that would ruin the recipe because mini marshmallows didn’t go with the brand of mayonnaise we had in stock.”