He nods. “First they told her it was early menopause. Then I think they went with allergies. They prescribed her a sleeping pill, told her to exercise more, to eat better, stay away from animals. By the time it all came to light and she got a realdiagnosis, it had spread everywhere. They gave her roughly three months to live, and she made it two.”
Holy hell.
My head falls back, and I feel the fresh tears form in my eyes. For Jim, for his mom, for our failed healthcare system and the people it affects.
“I was so mad at her.”
My head snaps back up at his confession.
“I was a brand new doctor, cocky. I hadn’t seen a lot of loss in my career yet, so at first I drug her to every specialist I could think of. I got second and third and fourth opinions. I found a naturopath across the country who was willing to assess her virtually. I brought her to acupuncturists, to a homeopathic nutritionist, to every type of provider I could think of.
At first, she went with me, listened to what they had to say and tried anything they suggested, until one day I went to pick her up for an appointment. She sat me down, held my hand, and told me she was done. She was ready for hospice and to give up the fight, and all I could think was that I was so mad at her for giving up.”
He sets his keys and jacket back on the counter with a thud, raking his hands through his blonde locks, the memories angering him all over again.
“Grief is an ugly bitch. When she got really sick, when she got to those final days, I secretly wished it was all over with. I wanted my phone to ring, and for my dad to tell me that she died. I wanted to stop waiting on pins and needles to hear news that I knew was inevitable.”
I hate that I know exactly what he means. I wanted my sister, but I wanted her to be living the life she wanted. I wanted herhappyandlaughingandtalking.I wanted to see her dancing while she painted and to feel the sloppy kisses she’d leave on my cheek when I was annoyed with her. I didn’t want her living in astate of limbo. I didn’t want her to be miserable and suffering. I hated the feeling of every single phone call making your stomach drop, of anticipating each day is going to be the day you get the call with awful news.
“And then the day the call came, I instantly regretted it. I wondered if I had done enough, if I tried enough, if I pushed her to try enough.” His voice cracks as his eyes flood. “Did she know how much I loved her? Or how awesome of a mom she was? Or was I too angry to show that? I can’t remember in those final weeks if I ever told her how much I loved her. Instead my focus was on how it affectedme, how she wouldn’t get to seemeexcel at my career, to meet the love of my life and get married, to have kids of my own. I focused on how hard it was formewhen I wish I had focused more on her.”
He accentuates each angry word with a finger pointing to his chest.
I furiously swipe at the tears streaking down my face, unable to stop their flow.
“Every story is a little different,” he says, his voice dangerously soft. “I may not have lost my sister, but I lost my mom. So if you want someone who understands what it’s like to have that anger gnawing at your insides like a fucking parasite, or to have all of the self-doubt constantly eating away at you? If you ever question yourself, or your choices, know that you have me to turn to.”
His words aren’t all out when I rush to him, ugly, obnoxious sobs escaping from my throat. I reach his arms the moment my legs give out, and he catches me, holding me tightly as we crash against the side of the fridge. The rattle of condiments inside sounds as we nearly collapse, but he adjusts his grasp, holding my entire weight up before letting us both slump to the ground.
I burrow my face in his throat, hands grasping at his shirt, his shoulders, my body wishing to physically imbed itself in his.“She never saw Jackson play T-ball,” I choke out. “I promised her, and I didn’t do it.”
When Jim broke the news to me that night on my bedroom floor, that’s the first stupid thought that came to mind. How there was really one thing she would have wanted to see, how in the whole realm of life it was a really fucking easy thing to arrange, and I didn’t do it.
I was too focused on how busy my days were, on the stress that was nearly killing me that I didn’t stop to think about how empty her life must have been. Was she sad? Scared? Did she miss us when we weren’t there?
Jim tightens his grip on me. “You did the best you could, and your best was great. There isn’t a shroud of doubt in my mind that you did everything you could to support her.”
I grip the collar of his dress shirt so tightly my knuckles blanch, pulling him to me so I can bury my face against his skin. “That’s the first thing anyone has said,” I choke out before trying again. “That’s the first thing anyone has said since her accident that’s made me feel even remotely better.” As soon as the words are out, I feel the damn burst. I let it all out, the time spent mourning the loss of who my sister was, the anger and frustration, the loss of control, of stress from lack of sleep, from the financial strain, and the gnawing worry in my stomach of how this will affect Jackson.
Jim holds me in his lap, pulling my legs up to cradle them across his thigh. He rubs my back, murmuring soothing words against my head as he rocks me, letting me release every pent-up emotion I’ve held onto with clenched fists for the last few years. Hell, for my entire life.
He holds me until my sobs turn to hiccups, from hiccups to normal breaths. I’m half-dozing against his chest when I pull back, chuckling when I see the mess of mascara and snot smeared across his dress shirt. He reaches a hand to my face,palm wiping the drying tears as he smooths my matted hair back.
“I’m sorry about your mom.” I whisper.
“I’m sorry about your sister.”
“When does it get better?”
He gives a sad laugh as he leans his head back against the fridge. “Well, I’m forty, so it’s been twelve years since she’s been gone. Some days she crosses my mind and I think of her with good feelings. Some days it’s like I forget, my phone will ring and I half expect it to be her name on the screen, asking when I’m coming over for dinner. Or something really cool will happen and my first thought will be I want to call her and tell her. There are still some days I beat myself up, wondering if she knew how much I loved her. So I’m not sure if I can say it ever gets better, you just learn to adapt to the difference.”
“I hope Marrisa knew I loved her.”
He ushers me to turn towards him, grabbing both sides of my face with his hands. “You did more for her than most people would for someone they loved. You sacrificed more than most people are even capable of understanding. Everything you did took guts. Even if you never said the words ‘I love you’ to her, your actions said it louder. I know she saw it. Jackson sees it. I see it.”
I puff out my cheeks, nodding to his statement. “What do I do now?
“You keep moving forward. You might feel okay tonight since you cried it out. But tomorrow when you wake, you have to remember it all over again. And you’ll be sad. It might be like that for a while. That’s what grief does to you. But there will come a day where you can talk about her, bring up memories of her, funny things she used to do. And you’ll laugh about it instead of cry. And that’s how you know you’ve made it.”
