And he had missed her so much, healwaysmissed her so much, that seeing her at all, hospital bed or not, made him collapse into the bedside chair like a crumpled up Culver’s wrapper.
He didn’t cry. But he scooted the chair as close as he could. Rested his head next to hers, the only place there was space, chin on her shoulder.
And within a few minutes, he was asleep.
* * *
“Lots of good news here,” Dr. Collins said, an uncertain number of hours later. Georgia was still asleep. “Because of how quickly she got to us, we were able to restore blood flow to the brain using the least invasive treatment possible. We’ll do another CT scan soon to make sure things are still stabilized and there isn’t any excess intracerebral bleeding. In terms of her recovery, we’ll be doing plenty of tests in the coming days and weeks, but our initial monitoring over the last few hours has been very positive. Her motor and sensory skills seem minorly impaired, and she was able to swallow some water, which is great. She is suffering from aphasia, which might make it difficult for her to speak with you when she wakes up. It’s common after a stroke, but hopefully the effects of that will also lessen over time. Neuroplasticity is an amazing thing. What we’ll be focusing on for now…”
Dell prided himself on being pretty good at retention of information, but something in his own brain failed him here. Because about the time Dr. Collins saidshe was able to swallow some waterlike it was a minor miracle, he had a hard time comprehending anything else.
He had thought, after he’d almost died, that he did a good job at appreciating being alive. At least, he tried his best. Even immediately after a trigger, when he was shaky and weak, he was always grateful to still be alive. To still be surrounded by trees and water and sky, to have his dogs and his house.
But being grateful for the ability to swallow was something that didn’t much cross his mind.
He hated that it had to now.
“The most important thing to know, in general, with strokes,” Dr. Collins was saying, “is that there’s an increased possibility of stroke patients having another one, especially within the first year. I’m hoping your mother’s physical recovery from this one will be relatively smooth, but in addition to rehabilitation, we’ll work in the coming weeks on a plan for what we call secondary prevention, to make sure Georgia’s as healthy as possible in the aftermath. So that hopefully, we’ll never have to have this conversation again.”
Dr. Collins gave Dell a reassuring smile. Dell attempted to receive it.
Rehabilitation. A plan. Prevention.Dr. Collins had a plan. Georgia was safe. Everything was okay.
Dell swallowed.
“Okay,” he said. “Thank you.”
But after she’d left, all Dell could remember were the other phrases she’d said.In the coming weeks. Especially within the first year.
Dell had built her an ADU. He had tried to get her to come to him, but he must not have tried hard enough, and now?—
What if she hadn’t been at the grocery store? What if she wasn’t, the next time? Someone needed tobewith her.
He needed to convince her.
But for now, Georgia had won. Dell was back in Michigan. And only as he watched the sun slowly break through the darkness outside her hospital window did he fully realize that he had no idea how long he’d be here.
He hoped CSNY would forgive him.
He reached out, again, to squeeze his mom’s hand.
He hoped Bay Books would, too.
* * *
When Mae was a kid, she always envisioned your forties as being the age you really got old. Jodi and Felix, in her memory, were perpetually in their forties throughout her entire childhood. Even though she knew it wasn’t the case, she halfway imagined they were still in their forties now.
But as she stocked her shelves that first week Dell was gone, as she worked on her final project for her small business class, as she made tea and spreadsheets and folded laundry, thinking about Georgia all the while, she understood the truth of your forties. As she had understood when Steve passed away, when Jesus followed.
Your forties weren’t really about being old at all.
They were about watching the people you loved most actually grow old.
They were about starting to lose people.
And being utterly unable to stop it.
After almost forty-eight hours of radio silence during which Mae drove to Lincoln City for a matcha latte, and then to Shelly’s for French toast, and then to Newport for a walk along the beach with Jodi and Felix, and then to the sea lion caves, to spend some time with other fat and noisy creatures, and pretty much anything else she could do to keep her sanity—Dell did call. As the days stretched, he continued to call, occasionally. To let Mae know he and Georgia were still alive.
