Vance shakes me awake this time. “Dad’s breathing sounds really messed up.”
I wipe the drool from my cheek and sit up. I hear it right away. It’s thick and choppy. Almost like he’s congested. “How long has he been doing that?” I ask.
“I’ve been awake for over an hour, but it just started. Two minutes maybe.”
We both go to lift the sheet at the same time. I pull back. Vance raises it and squints. “Oh shit, his skin looks gray.”
“We need Peggy.”
Vance’s eyes bulge. “What did you just say?”
I’m already to the door so I answer him over my shoulder. “The nurse. We need her.” He’s obviously repeating my reaction to her name. No doubt Vance is missing Mom too right now.
Peggy isn’t at the rolling nurse’s cart so I jog down the hall. Most of the patient doors are closed, for which I’m thankful. I’m too full of my own pain to absorb anyone else’s. The top of Peggy’s head is visible as I approach the nurse’s station. She looks up.
“My dad is breathing really weird, and his legs look awful.” I’m out of breath from my sprint down the hall.
“Is it a rattling sound?”
I nod.
Peggy puts down her pen and stands. “I’ll walk back with you.”
Vance is holding Dad’s hand when we walk in. “His fingernails are blue!” Another messy breath rattles from Dad’s lungs.
Peggy stands at the foot of his bed. “If you haven’t said what you need to say to your dad, boys, now is the time.”
Her words sink into my skin. I’m so heavy.
She asks us if we’d like to say our good-bye alone or together. My lips are made of lead. They’re too dense to move.
Vance answers her. “Alone.”
I walk out and head to the Common Room. Peggy says from behind, “Oscar, don’t go too far. I’d wait right here.” She points to a wall just outside Dad’s door. I turn on my heels and stand where she told me to.
Peggy says she’ll be back. That’s all she says. She doesn’t say she’ll be back after he dies, which is what she means. She just says she’ll be back. I close my eyes and slide down the wall. I am a solid block of agony.
I honestly don’t know how much time passes before my brother emerges and tells me it’s my turn. Minutes, hours, days? I’m sinking into the tan carpet. When I make no move to stand, Vance reaches down and helps me up. His eyes are red, his cheeks flushed. When I’m standing, he goes to walk away. I repeat what Peggy said, and he takes my spot against the wall.
Dad’s rattling breath greets me as I enter his room. I study his face, taking in every line and angle. I want to remember him clearly, even this part. The bed dips as I sit on the edge. “Dad, I want to believe that you can hear me right now. I have to believe it. I’ve been thinking about what I want to say to you, but I don’t know. I’m not sure which death I hate more, Mom’s when we had no warning, or yours when we had too long of a warning.”
I take his hand into mine. “This is h-hard.” I stumble as the tears come. Everything shakes. My stomach. My shoulders. My head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the son you wanted.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I pause. Wait. Am I sorry?
I shake my head with enough zest that tears fly from my cheeks.
I am not sorry.
I can’t let my last words to my father be untrue.
A wave of indignation suddenly bubbles to the surface. “No, Dad, I’m really not sorry about who I am. I wish you had accepted me. I wish you had encouraged me to be the best me possible instead of constantly trying to squeeze me into your predetermined frame.”
Wait, I scream in my head. That’s not how I want to end things either!
“W-what will we do, Dad? What are we going to do w-without you?” I squeeze his hand. Stop asking him questions! Say something that matters! I swallow air, spit, pain.
I blubber, “I’d give anything to have more time with you. I swear we could’ve worked stuff out. Oh God. I’m sorry I wasted the time we had. I’m sorry I wanted you to die when we first got here. But you understand why, right? I was so angry at you. I was always so mad at you.”
I squeeze his hand.
“I do love you.”
I close my eyes and conjure up Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 27. I need beauty. Calm. I need something peaceful right now. My thumb rubs along Dad’s pointer finger with each lift and sway of the music in my head.
Joey and Bill said he was proud of us. He must’ve liked being a father, even my father…sometimes. The music stops, my brain goes silent, and I study him. “Why did you have such a hard time? What were you so afraid of, Dad? Was it me? Was it getting sober?”
Just before his car accident, I remember Dad announcing at dinner that he was going to try and reel it in. He meant his drinking. Vance and I knew that. This wasn’t his first announcement. But this time felt different, like, maybe he actually meant it. I’d asked if he was going to AA—because everyone knows it’s almost unheard of to stop drinking without help—and in true Dad form, he freaked out on me. He accused me of not having faith in him. Vance joined in, agreeing with him, naturally, and I remember leaving the table about as defeated as ever.
In the two-against-one scenario, it sucks to be the one.
You know what else sucks? His version of reeling it in consisted of him only drinking half the bottle of vodka, not the whole thing. That scenario only lasted two nights. Then it was game on again. Cue the car accident. Cue the end.
“We really all fell apart after we lost Mom, didn’t we? You with your vodka, Vance with his knee, and me…me with…” My voice trails off. I drop my chin. Me? I was never together. Mom’s death made me retreat more. I had always been hunched down, unresponsive, separate.
“Oh, God, Dad. I-I—” I stutter and stop to grab a tissue. “I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be alone.”
I repeat that sentence in my head and stare at him for a while. “I-I love you, Dad. I hope you find peace.” His breathing suddenly sounds even worse so I go get Vance. We’re both past caring about crying in front of each other, which is weird because I don’t even remember him crying at Mom’s funeral. “H-he doesn’t sound good, Vance.”
Vance follows me back in, and we each take a chair. Neither of us has any words left so we just stare at him. I grab one of Dad’s hands and Vance takes his other. An especially long and labored breath leaves his body. I wait for the next.
It never comes.