“I never looked at it like that.” I played with the sleeve of my sweater, pulling it down over my hand. “That’s ... that’s helpful, Jacey.”
“Lots of times, moms would come in and tell me that they were too scared, that they didn’t think they could be strong enough to get through what they knew was coming. But each and every one was strong enough and did get through. And so will you.” She squeezed my hand. “Thinking about it ahead of time won’t help. But being prepared might. Read the booklet, and let me know if you have any questions. Oh, and make Sheri read it, too. If it helps, tell her I said she had to.” Jacey’s voice was dry. She hadn’t made any secret of her exasperation about Nate’s mother.
“I will.”
“And call me if you need anything at all. Otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She stood up and drew me into a hug. “Hang in there, sweetie pie. You can do this.”
After that, we began to measure time in days and hours rather than weeks. This season of the year particularly, there were landmarks: when we made it through first Christmas Eve and then Christmas, those were two milestones. Sheri was pathetically grateful to have one more holiday with her son, even if he was asleep most of it, and I didn’t begrudge her that sentiment in the least.
My mother came down to the shore on Christmas Eve and stayed until the day after Christmas. She asked me if I needed her to hang around longer, but I shook my head. This was not her journey, not the way it was mine.
Leo called two days after Christmas. He was at home in Eatonboro, and he wanted to know if he should come down.
I hesitated. “You can if you want, Leo,” I replied carefully. “But Nate ... he might not wake up while you’re here. I hate for you to drive down and not get to talk to him.”
“It wouldn’t be for Nate.” His voice was rough with emotion. “I already said good-bye to him.”
“You did?” I frowned. “When?” I’d been surprised when Leo hadn’t come to see us at Thanksgiving, even though I knew he was only home for hours, on his way to a Sunday game in New England. I’d been tempted to text and remind him of his promise to see Nate one more time, but I hadn’t wanted to push the issue.
“Back last summer. I flew up and came to see him while you were at work one day. We ... we said our good-byes then. If I came down now, it would be for you.”
That settled it, then. “It’s better you don’t. I’m all right, but if I see you, I might not be. I’m holding it together, and I owe Nate that much.”
There was a sound like snorting on the other end of the phone. “Sorry, Mia, but I don’t think you owe Nate any more than what you’ve already given him, which is everything.”
“I owe him the privilege of a peaceful passing,” I whispered. “And I don’t want him to think ... even if he’s not fully aware ... that you and I ... that anything is going on. I want him to be at peace, Leo. He deserves that.”
Leo was quiet for a minute. “Okay. I suppose I can understand that. But if you need anything, you call me, you got that? I can be there fast.”
“I appreciate that. Thanks, Leo.” I paused. “Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah. Happy New Year, Mia.”
Zelda and Gia called me frequently, and they both offered to visit or at least to come sit with Nate and Sheri so that I could get out of the house for a while, but the truth was that I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to miss one precious second with Nate while he was still here; I didn’t want to stop holding his hand any longer than was absolutely necessary. Jacey was right, I’d realized. This was a privilege.
When my dad had died, it had happened so suddenly, so much in the midst of life, that we hadn’t been able to say good-bye. The last time I’d spoken to him, it had been about Chinese food and my graduation the day before and other inconsequential things that had been raised to importance only later, when I’d realized that those trivial things had made up our final conversation. There hadn’t been time for handholding or one final kiss or a word I’d needed to say.
But with Nate, I could treasure these moments. I’d read the booklet that Jacey had given me, and I watched for signs. I traced the bluish veins on the back of his hands and forearms. And when three days after Christmas, he began to mumble conversations with people I couldn’t see, I knew we were nearer.
Sitting across the room from me, Sheri gave a half-sob, half-laugh. “I think ... he sounds like he’s talking to my dad. He died when Nate was about seven. But I could’ve sworn Nate just said PopPop.”
I smiled. “It sounded like that to me, too.” I paused. “Does it make you feel better to think that Nate can see him? Or worse because ... it’s closer?”
Sheri sucked in a deep breath and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I’ve been losing this boy by centimeters since he was born, Quinn. You know that. We’ve talked about it. How many times were we told this was the end? He defied the odds so many times. I’ve been preparing myself for saying good-bye for twenty-three years. Now that it’s here ... if my daddy’s on the other side, talking to my son about taking him over the river, I can only feel comfort.”
Mark was with us all the time now, or at least, he was at the house. He came to sit with Nate for about an hour every morning, and by tacit agreement, Sheri and I left the room and gave him that time alone with his son. He didn’t seem to want more than that, and he rarely came in while Sheri and I kept vigil, unless it was to bring us food or make us come out to eat.
By the thirtieth of December, Sheri had begun sleeping in the room with Nate and me. We’d rigged up a recliner, piled it with pillows and blankets, and joked with Nate and each other that we were having a giant slumber party. Nate didn’t open his eyes, but I swore I saw the edge of his lips twitch.
The last day of the year dawned clear, sunny and crisply cold. I curled under the blankets, listening to the gentle snores coming from Sheri’s chair and the slow breath sounds from Nate. I’d become so attuned to those, to counting them as I fell asleep or as I read. They were slower this morning, I realized. Significantly so.
Turning in my bed, I sat up and reached for his hand. It was cool to my touch, and there were purplish blotches on the back. My heartbeat sped up as I recognized another sign. We were getting closer to the end.
Jacey stopped by mid-morning. Sheri’s face was drawn and anxious as she watched the nurse listen to Nate’s chest and take his pulse.
“I think ... I think today.” She draped an arm around Sheri’s shoulders, drawing the older woman into a hug. “He’s nearing the end. He’s very peaceful, and he’s not in any discomfort.”
Sheri nodded, her head jerking against Jacey’s white coat as tears flowed down her cheeks.
