The doctors are losing hope. There is no miracle, cure, or surgery to fix what he went through. He’s warm now, his heart steady and he’s responding, but he isn’t waking. No matter what they try.
I haven’t left the hospital, sometimes Ethan is with me, most often than not, he isn’t. He’s too young to understand and it breaks me every time he calls for daddy and frowns when he doesn’t wake. I wanted him to be here, just in case, but seeing those big eyes filling with tears when his dad doesn’t wake, even when he begs, shatters whatever is left of me. Perhaps it’s selfish, to not let him be here as often, but how do you make a two-year-old understand?
If I’ve slept in the past seventy-two hours, it’s been in this chair at Kolt’s bedside but most nights I’ve sat and spoke with him.I’ve told him stories from when Ethan was a baby, stories I didn’t manage to capture on video for him. I tell him the story of Diane and the pregnancy tests, how she helped me when I felt like I was drowning. I keep my voice low, but I hope he hears me, I hope he understands I won’t leave him. Ever.
I hope he understands how sorry I am.
But despite the long hours we spend alone in this hospital room, it still feels like I’ve lost him, and we are just prolonging the inevitable.
He isn’t going to survive this.
It’s way past visiting hours when my sister arrives. Ethan, Ruthie and Shawn in tow, and he passes me my son, my beautiful son that looks so much like his father.
“Hey sweet girl,” Ruthie greets me with a kiss to the head and a warm hug and my sister holds my hand, running her thumb up and down my fingers like she used to do when we were kids. Shawn hangs back but the way he winks at me gives me enough boost to know he is with me also. My family.
I stroke Kolt’s hand, “Everyone is here to see you, baby,” I whisper, “Did you know you’re so loved?”
For a minute nothing happens but then his finger twitches. Just a small move but I feel it. “Kolt?”
Another twitch.
“Get the doctor!” I order, clambering to my feet as I lean over him. “Kolt?”
Ethan cries out as I take Kolt’s face in my hands, cradling it as my thumbs stroke soft circles over his skin, “Baby, please.” I beg, “Be with me.”
Tentatively, my sister approaches the bed, a fussing Ethan fidgeting in her arms, “Trust me.” She says gently and then she places our son on the bed. He instantly shuffles up, closer to Kolt’s face and I move my hands away.
Wide eyed and full of fear, I watch as our son pokes and prods at Kolt, the big grin on his face never wavering. His little hands cradle his father’s face, much like mine just did.
“Daddy,” Ethan babbles, moving his hands on his face in a similar way to how he pets Pumpkin, like he’s trying to be gentle, but he just doesn’t have the motor control to keep his hands soft, “Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.”
My heart cracks in my chest.
“Daddy, wake up.” Ethan says, “Daddy, we gotta make some Lego.”
I slide my hands beneath his arms, ready to lift him up.
“It’s okay, baby,” I say to him, “Daddy’s just sleeping right now.” Sorrow weighs down my limbs but as I go to lift Ethan off the bed, something holds him down.
“Legos?” Kolten croaks, eyes still closed, “We gotta make Legos huh, buddy?”
“Yep!” Ethan pops the P.
My heart stops beating and then it starts to gallop, my knees shaking.
“You’re awake,” I breathe.
“Hello trouble,” His lids open and his dark eyes meet mine.
Chapter Forty-six
Hands push at my face, warm and clammy and noise battles through the fog inside my mind.
Something slaps down onto my face and there’s a weight restricting me from moving.
“Daddy.” The word slides through my mind. “Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.”
That little voice, I’d recognize it anywhere, and those hands on my face, the podgy fingers prodding me. Ethan. My boy.
