She shook her head. “Here in these few days, sure, but before that is another story,” she said. “Obviously I haven’t been very attentive.”
“That’s because you’ve been busy living and mixed up with other feelings.”
She snorted. “Meaning that I’ve been too blind to see what was right in front of me.”
“Well, if you want to look at it that way, you can, but you sure don’t have to,” he said calmly. “A lot has been going on in your world, including a lot of mixed emotions,” he said. “Just leave it at that. Beating yourself up over it won’t help.”
She nodded slowly. “If I can, I will,” she said. “Because, right now, there’s more than enough to deal with, without adding more.”
“Exactly,” he said, “and right now it’s your father.”
She got up on that note and walked over and picked up her father’s hand. There was absolutely no response. No fingers moving or shifting, his hand just a dead weight. She reached up and placed two fingers against his neck. He was breathing, but it was shallow and not easy, and the pulse was very faint. She hitched up to half sit on the bed and to just stare down at him.,
She felt the emotions course through her from the days of her father being her absolute idol, kept on a pedestal all these years, to the clay version of the all-too-human man who fell to his crashing demise with his cheating—and then her anger and confusion after she had watched her parents get together again. She was happy that he at least had come to realize that it was her mother that he loved. But how unbelievable that it now appeared that both of them were likely to go.
She turned, looked at her mom, and asked, “How long?” She didn’t even know what to say to her mom. Her heart was just breaking for her father, and to find out her mother was dying, after all they’d been through, was just too much.
Her mother gave her a sad smile and said, “They said less than three months.”
She stared at her in shock. “Ninety days?”
“Well, that was almost four weeks ago now,” she said.
She closed her eyes and said, “Wow. How are you feeling?” she asked, her eyelids flying open, as she studied her mother’s color and general fatigue. It was so hard to know her mother’s state, when she was so wrecked with worry over her father on top of it.
“Oh, you know,” she said. “I can feel it getting worse, but I also know that there’ll be an end date, so I’m determined to enjoy what I can.”
Gizella smiled. “That sounds so much like you,” she said warmly. She looked over at her father and said, “And what about him?”
A kerfuffle came at the door just then. Her mom hopped to her feet as the doctor came in. The two conversed, while Gizella and Baylor stood off to the side.
She turned to look at her daughter and said, “He’s dying, honey. I’m sorry,” she said. And they just melted into each other’s arms.
“Meaning, he may not see the night?” She looked over at the doctor for confirmation, and he nodded.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
She took a long deep breath. “I’m glad I came then.” She looked at Baylor and smiled. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Sometimes what we really want can change, when we find out how different a situation is.”
“Meaning, I wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t realized he might be dying. Well, not far off,” she said. “And you’re also right in that it changes everything, now that I know he is going.” She sighed heavily. “There isn’t time to make up for all the stuff that I held against him. There isn’t time to forgive him. Just no time for anything,” she said. “Not even crying for you or him,” she said, looking back at her mother.
Her mother smiled. “You know what? It’s funny, but, since I know he’s dying too,” she said, “I’m at peace with going myself.”
Gizella shook her head, speechless. “How is that possible?”
“Because we’ve had a good life, and most married couples who love each other are quite happy to go together. I’ve seen this as some of our older friends have gone.”
Gizella frowned, as she stared down at her father’s hand. A good life? Of course she wanted to protest the fact that she would still be alive, and they would be leaving her. But that was often a complaint with children, despite the circumstances. “What if I’m not ready?” she asked softly.
“I think that, this time,” her mom said gently, “you can’t do anything about it.”
Gizella nodded quietly, as she stared out the window beside her father’s bed. She’d done everything she could to help her mom get through the chemo, to beat this, and to actually be one of the survivors and not one of the statistics. And now, here she was, right back at the same gate again. And even more powerless, more incapable of doing anything to help her mom. “It’s just so sad,” Gizella said. “We fought so hard.”
“And sometimes,” she said, “it’s just meant to be.”
“I don’t think that’s fair either,” she said.
At that, her mom burst out laughing. “You’ve always hated injustice, particularly when it was turned your way,” she said affectionately.
She gave her mom a lopsided grin. “You know it’s no different now.”
“I know,” she said, with a bright smile, “and I’m happy to see that you’ll keep on the good fight, no matter what it is.”
Gizella shrugged. “What a shitty way for all this to come about.”
“Yes, and again I agree with you, but again there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Maybe,” she said quietly. “It’s just also very sad and so very useless. At the end of the day, what did the kidnappers get out of this?”
“Well, they’ll
