Thursday, October 2, 2014
“Hey, sunshine,” my dad greeted me when I entered the kitchen, enjoying the smell of the home cooked breakfast that had been wafting up the stairs.
It was still early and Malaika was due to arrive any moment, but I’d been up for hours and had already taken a bath, gotten my makeup and hair done by Elly, and dressed for the day. I’d carefully picked out my outfit—a comfy, form fitting tee shirt under an open sweater I loved pulling tighter around me, like a blanket. My favorite white linen pants and a pair of colorful ballet flats finished my look.
It was strange deciding what I was going to wear to die in.
A shiver ran up my spine and I shook it from my shoulders. The truth was, I was nervous. I knew I was doing the right thing, and I knew this was coming whether by my choice or not. I’d accepted that. I had cancer. I was newly twenty-nine years old, and had a tumor in my brain that had spread…everywhere. Conceptually, I had come to terms with it all.
But the moment was literally hours away and I was…scared.
I didn’t know what was waiting for me, or what would come after I closed my eyes for the last time. I didn’t know if it would hurt, or if I’d be aware of what was happening, or if there was anything after. It was so unknown, a chilling reality. But it was just that—reality.
I leaned against the cane for a moment, then made my way to the kitchen table and sat down, already winded. Inhaling deeply, I felt the air enter my lungs, pushing back out just as fast.
“Hey, Daddy.” I was, and always would be, a Daddy’s Girl.
He beamed and stood taller. “You look beautiful, sunshine. Radiant, even. Want an omelet?”
Elly’s makeup was definitely a key factor in my ‘radiance,’ but I also did feel surprisingly…better? I had a bit more energy the last few days, and felt a little more alive. Ironic, I know, and it messed with my head a bit. It made me wonder if this didn’t have to be the end, if I could get better, and this would all have been a terrible nightmare.
I knew the cancer hadn’t changed, and I’d spoken to my doctor who had assured me this was common—albeit cruel. A small burst of energy, a psychological moment where the body has one last hurrah.
“Thanks, and yes, please. I’d love an omelet.” My mouth was already salivating despite my lackluster taste buds. “Cheese?”
“Of course, and extra,” he declared. “The Barnes family loves cheese.”
I laughed, knowing full well of his obsession with cheese. It must be genetic, since I was just as infatuated. He and I often spent snacks squabbling over perfect cracker-to-cheese ratio. He’d carefully divide the cheese up, enough for each cracker, and God forbid if someone swiped an extra piece of cheese and threw his count off.
Beast barked at the glass door that led out to the patio. I leaned over and slid open the door enough for him to run out. My dad cracked eggs into a bowl while simultaneously turning bacon in a pan on the stove. The bacon must have been what I was smelling upstairs, because my stomach growled at the reminder.
“That smells amazing, Dad,” I volunteered, filling the heaviness that blanketed the room.
“Bacon.” He grunted like a caveman and pounded one fist to his chest. “Good.”
I snorted, laughing as he brought me a fresh cup of coffee. I tipped the mug up to my lips and tasted the delicious, bitter flavor, relishing the way it made my bones shiver with excitement. I swear even my taste buds have been improving the last two days. I’m not sure if that’s part of this last hurrah, and it’s certainly not back to what it was before I became sick, but it’s still amazing to taste anything at all. The boldest flavors tasted the best—the nitrate-filled bacon, the sugar-filled cake, the bitter coffee—I was enjoying every second of it.
“I just got off the phone with the priest Father Jack in Chicago recommended,” my dad said, busying himself with flipping the eggs. “He confirmed for three o’clock. Oh, and I spoke to that reporter, Marley? She says she’s going to help Kyle with the press side of everything. The article’s still popular, and it’s mostly positive responses now. The charity you made that video with, the one you’re donating part of the book proceedings to? They’re working on the legal side, lobbying for the act with your case study and all that.”
I nodded my head. “Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate it.”
Not only was my book being bid on by several publishers, but my new agent had guaranteed a portion of its profits would be going to a non-profit charity working to raise awareness of the Death with Dignity Act, as well as lobbying for it federally. I’d filmed a small YouTube video for them, detailing my story and what I thought about the Act, and hundreds of thousands of people had viewed it. I was proud, glad that maybe all I’ve gone through could make a difference for other people.
But in the grand scheme of things, it was a very minor part of my life. I didn’t want to be a media sensation. I didn’t want to do interviews. I didn’t want to be famous. With so little time left, none of that mattered and I had only promised my time to family and loved ones. I did the video, the article, and I finished the book. That’s all the world would get from me, and I had to hope it was enough.
“Malaika should be here any minute. She has the papers we need to sign, and she’ll call the funeral home to come pick up…” He swallowed hard, and cleared his throat. “To come pick up the body. They’ll do whatever is needed to ship…” He cleared his throat again. “To Chicago. The cemetery has already been notified and the family plot prepared.”
He ticked off everything like he was reciting a list of groceries we needed. I appreciated his efficiency because these things needed to happen, and I needed to know someone was taking care of it. Kyle was the last person I wanted to have to deal with this, and Elly was way too fragile. My father was loving—so, so loving—but he was also practical, objective, and non-emotional most of the time. I could trust him to get these things done without falling apart.
I took another sip of my coffee. “Will I be near Mom?”
“Not directly next to her. You’re on the other side of my plot, and there’s a few feet of space between. You’ve been there, do you remember?”
I nodded. I remembered.
I’d visited my mother’s grave many times, and I knew our family plot well. Some distant relatives were there, my grandparents, and my mother. There was a space beside her for my father, and several other spaces set aside for me, Elly, and our future generations.
I’d already told Kyle the spot next to me would always be open to him if he wanted it, but if he remarried and wanted to be buried with his second wife, I wouldn’t hold any hard feelings. I’d already be around my family, and I’d be okay. The rest was just dirt and ashes.
I don’t know exactly what happens after death, or where you go, but I don’t think you sit around chained to a box under six feet of dirt. I think you’re around the people you love, watching out for them, guiding them, and making sure they feel loved.
I’d never seen a ghost, but I believed they existed in some form. I’d felt my mother dozens of times over the years. I’d just known somehow that she was nearby, and felt a love and warmth from her presence. I want to be that same comfort for the people I’m leaving behind.
“Is that spot okay?” My dad glanced at me then flipped an omelet onto a plate and stacked bacon next to it.
“It’s perfect,” I said, because honestly, it was.
He’d taken care of everything, and I felt the weight of responsibility lifted from my shoulders. He’d always been my rock, ever since I was a little girl. He’d been my protector, my provider, and the one I sought out for advice when life got hard.
He was everything to two little girls who had no one else.
My eyes welled up at the memories and I wondered if there was any way to properly express how grateful I was.
“You okay, sunshine?” He positioned the plate of delicious smelling food in front of me, and sat in the chair caddy corner from me.
I nodded my head, then shook it no, then nodded yes again. I didn’t know if I was okay, all I knew was I loved the big, gruff man in front of me. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“You’re welcome, but you should taste it before you thank me,” he teased, pointing to the plate of food.
“No, not about the food.” I grabbed his hand, holding it in mine on the table top. “Thank you for getting the little things taken care of so none of us have to worry. Thanks for…being my Dad.”
“Don’t mention it, Tessa.” He squeezed my hand. “It’s no big deal. I like to stay busy, you know?”
I smiled at him, not at all surprised he’d deflected my compliment. “I love you, Daddy.”
He looked down at our hands, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “I love you, too, Sunshine on a Cloudy Day,” he repeated the famous lyric that had created the nickname he’d called me all my life. “I just, uh…” He exhaled sharply and looked up at me. “I’m going to miss you, baby girl.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.” No parent should have to bury a child, and here he was preparing to do just that. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I could see the glimmer of tears in the corner of his eyes, but he blinked them away quickly. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, Tessa. I’m the one who is sorry,” he replied, shaking his head emphatically, his brows furrowed. “I wish there was something I could do. I wish I could fix this.”
“Dad…” I began to say.
“No, Tessa.” He shook his head one more time, exhaling loudly. “I wish it could be me.”
I didn’t say anything, the lump in my throat making it impossible to speak. He stood and grabbed a napkin off the counter, handing it to me so I could clean the tears from my face. I blew my nose into it, not caring how gross I sounded.
When I was done, my dad leaned down and wrapped his thick arms around me. I hugged him back, my tears soaking his shoulder. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I’m going to miss you, little girl,” he said again. “I’m going to miss your shine.”
Scraping glass suddenly pierced the room and we both startled, twitching at the jarring sound we felt down to our bones. An onslaught of barking quickly followed as Beast scratched at on the glass pane door to come in.
“That damn dog,” my dad cursed under his breath before letting him in.
“He’s a beast,” I laughed, wiping at my tears.
The moment the door opened a crack, the dog ran straight at me, slamming into my legs and then twisting this way and that, his tail wagging a million miles an hour. I tried to pick him up, but he was like a floppy fish on land and wouldn’t hold still. “Beast, calm down!”
“He’s going to miss you, too,” my dad said.
My heart felt heavy when I finally held Beast and kissed his wet nose, then snuck him a piece of my bacon. I wondered how he’d handle this afternoon, and if he’d know what was happening. I knew he could already sense something inside me—the way he’d scratched at my head before I was diagnosed, or the way he barked to warn me about oncoming seizures now.
I was going to leave him, and he wouldn’t understand why. He’d just know I’d promised to love him forever, and then I’d left.
I squeezed him closer against my chest and gave him a second, then a third, slice of bacon, and buried my face in his fur one more time.