The hospital hasn’t changed. Same beige walls. Same antiseptic tang. Same dread clinging to the air. Time seems to stand still here between the ticking of a clock and the hum of the harsh fluorescent lights.
As we leave the receptionist’s desk, the air conditioning hits me and I shiver. Brooks notices, his hand hovering just above the small of my back, ready to catch me if I stumble.
"You ready?" he asks, low and concerned.
"Yeah," I reply, although I’m not entirely sure if that’s true. My mind is in a fog and I’m struggling to keep up with everything that’s happening. "Let’s just get this over with."
He nods, understanding in his eyes, and we make our way over to the elevator. The ride up to the ICU is charged, the few floors we pass marked by a dull ding that echoes in the enclosed space. When the doors finally slide open, I’m hit with a wave of memories. Of the last time I was here. It was so long ago. I was just a child. When everything was different. When Dad was still… Dad.
The ICU is quiet, too quiet, and the tension in the air is almost suffocating. We walk past closed doors, my heart is pounding as each step brings me closer to a truth I’m not ready to face.
Brooks stops in front of room 312 and faces me. "Do you want me to go in with you?"
I hesitate, looking at the door that’s about to shatter reality. Part of me wants to say yes, to have him by my side as I face whatever is on the other side of that door. But another part of me knows this is something I have to do on my own.
"I’ll be okay," I say. "Just… wait out here?"
He nods, and there’s something in his expression. Something I can’t quite decipher, but it makes me feel less afraid. Less alone. "I’ll be right here if you need me."
I take a deep breath and push the door open. The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the window on the far wall. The sound of machines fills the space, a steady, rhythmic beeping that matches the roaring of my heart.
And there in bed is Dad.
He looks like someone else. Smaller. Fragile. As if life has already started slipping through the spaces between his fingers. The strong, stoic man who raised me is barely recognizable beneath the tubes and wires.
I take a step closer, my legs trembling, and I can’t help the tears that well in my eyes.
"Dad," I whisper, my voice cracking. But there’s no response. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the machines doing the work his body is no longer able to.
I sink into the chair beside the bed, the gravity of the situation pressing down on me. It’s like a dam has broken inside me, and all the emotions I’ve been holding back are racing to the surface.
I reach out and take his hand, his skin cool beneath my fingers. He doesn’t squeeze back, doesn’t even twitch, and it’s like a knife to my heart.
"I’m sorry," I choke out, the words spilling from me in a rush. "I’m so sorry, Dad. I should have been here. I should have…"
My words trail off because what’s the point? Apologies won’t bring back the time I lost. The timewelost.
"I don’t know if you can hear me," I mutter barely more than a whisper. "But I’m here now, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere."
I sit there for what feels like a lifetime, just holding his hand and letting the silence fill the space between us. My mind races with memories, flashes of moments from my childhood: Dad teaching me to ride a bike, his hand steady on my back as I wobbled down the street; the way he’d clap the loudest at my school plays, even when I only had one line; and the times he’d sit with me on the porch, the silence both comforting and reassuring.
Tears blur my vision, and I have to blink them away to keep from losing it. I lean forward, resting my forehead against his hand, and let the tears fall. I cry for the time we lost, for the man lying in this bed, for the family I left behind when I ran off to chase my dreams. Shallow, filtered dreams.
Grief feels like failure. Like every second I wasn’t here added another wire to this bed. But maybe showing up counts for something.
I lift my head, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, and take a deep breath.
"I’m going to make this right, Dad," I decide, feeling stronger now, more determined. "I don’t know how, but I’m going to fix this. I’m going to be here for you, Mom and Jasper. I promise."
I stand on shaking knees, and press a kiss to his forehead. "I love you."
Then, I turn and walk out of the room, my heart heavy but my resolve firm. As I step back into the hallway, Brooks is there just like he said he’d be. He takes one look at me and knows—somehow—that something has changed.
Without a word, he steps forward and wraps his arms around me. I sink into his warm chest, letting him hold me up, letting him be the strength I don’t have right now.
He doesn’t say anything right away. Just holds me. Just breathes. My hands clutch the fabric of his shirt.
We stand like that for a long time, until the weight of everything I’ve just experienced starts to shift a little.
