I nod, not at all surprised. “Okay.”
“There’s some paperwork to fill out, information we’ll need from you… her PPO, HMO, life insurance—”
“I have no idea what any of that means. My son and I are covered through my team, but…”
Martin scoffs.
I glare at him.
Mom says, “I’ll take care of all that. Don’t worry.”
“Look,” Martin says, finally stopping his useless, mind-numbing back and forth pacing. “She needs to go to a facility where they can take adequate care of her, right? That’s what this is all about. So how much is this going to cost?”
I clear my throat and step behind Becca and Mom and speak directly to the doctor. “The cost does not matter. I’ll cover it. But I really don’t like the idea of her being in a home. It just doesn’t sit right with me.” I think about all the things that came to mind last night while I was watching Chaz sleep, her breaths even, her body peaceful. I thought of all the moments she’s encouraged me, pushed me to be a better person, a better son, a better father. I swallow the lump in my throat and add, “She’ll just be a patient there, not a person. And what about her garden? She loves her garden. And her TV shows. And church? Can she even still go to church?”
Silence falls, just for a moment before Mom surprises me by saying, “I agree with Josh. What about in-home care?”
“That’s a possibility?” I ask the doctor, hope kicking in for the first time in days.
Dr. Richards leans back in his leather chair and crosses his legs. “It’s a lot pricier.”
“I don’t care.”
Martin scoffs. Again. And I crack. “What the hell is your problem?”
“Josh,” Mom warns.
Becca stands, her hand on my chest, her back to her father. She shakes her head, another warning—only hers is silent. I inhale a calming breath and force myself to ignore him the way he’s ignored me.
Dr. Richards answers, “I’m concerned. I think it’s important for her to socialize and be around people who understand what’s going on with her. As we all know, she’s alone the majority of the time. In a facility, she’ll be around—”
“Other people like her?” I interrupt. “She has friends. She has a life, and she’ll continue to do so outside of this disease. I’ll make sure of it.” The words fall from my lips, rushed and unapologetic.
The doctor seems to concede. “A live-in nurse is an option. I can gather some files and résumés for you to go through.”
“Yeah, let’s do that.” I turn to Becca. “Is that good with you, Becs?”
She nods.
“And immediate care until then? What does she need?” I’m glad Mom asks because all I seem to be doing is shoving my opinions and demands in people’s faces.
“She can be discharged soon. A nurse will come by the house and make sure she has everything she needs. She’ll also speak to you all so you can make sure she takes her meds on time, every day, until she’s comfortable with the routine.”
Martin clears his throat. I don’t look at him when he says, “I have to be back at work in a couple days, so…”
So… Good.
“I can stay at the house, or drop by and check in on things. At least until Josh starts skating again and we’re comfortable with whoever we choose,” Mom says, lifting some weight off my shoulders.
Becca types away on her phone. “I don’t have classes for another week and a half. I’d be a lot more comfortable going back if we could get it done before then.” And the weight returns, only now it’s doubled, crushing my insides. Because she’s leaving. I knew she would be—but not this soon, and having her actually say it makes the countdown real. She looks over at me before going back to her phone. “Will that be okay, Josh? If we do it together, that should give us enough time, right?”
And at her words, I remind myself that a week and a half with Becca is better than no Becca at all. “It’s perfect, Becs.”
17
—Joshua—
My mom goes back home, back to work, back to making phone calls and excuses for me, while the rest of us go back to the hospital. None of us seem to know what to do, how to act, so we sit in silence and watch Chazarae sleep. She sleeps a lot. Apparently this is the new normal. At some point, I fall asleep, too, sitting on the chair next to her bed with her hand in mine. That’s when Rob and Kim show up with Tommy, their quiet voices waking me. Becca introduces them to her dad while Tommy sits on my lap, a frown on his lips as he holds Chaz’s fingers. “Is she going to be okay like last time?” he asks me. I stare at my son and I try to think of the right words—words that will shelter him from the pain and the heartbreak of life. But he’s older now than he was when I went through this with my dad, so I give him the truth, because he deserves nothing less. “She’s not going to be the same, bud.”
“But you said Ma’am wasn’t going to be deaded like Pa.”
“And she’s not, but her memory is fading and she might not always act the same as you remember her. When she wakes up, she might not know you.”
“But I’m Thomas Joshua,” he says, beaming up at me. “Ma’am loves me. She’ll remember.”
I look over at Becs, her eyes as sad as I feel, and after a moment, she sits down on the couch next to her dad. She types something on her phone and he reads it, his eyes moving from side to side. Then he sighs, wraps an arm around her and brings her into him, kisses her forehead, making it impossible for me to dislike him as much as I had been.
The room fills with silence again, only for a few minutes before a nurse comes in, her eyes lighting up when she sees everybody in the room. “Young Chazarae must be very popular,” she sings. It shouldn’t annoy me that she’s so happy, so immune to what’s happening, but it does. “I just spoke to Dr. Richards. I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you like first?”
“This isn’t a game,” I mumble.
“Josh,” Kim says, placing her hand on my shoulder. I’m getting real fucking tired of the way people say my name like I don’t have a right to speak.
The nurse sits on the end of Chaz’s bed, completely clueless to my reaction. “The good news is Chazarae can go home today.”
“That’s great,” I say, at the same time Becca stands and moves toward me. “So what’s the bad?”
“The bad news is that her body’s taken quite a beating. She’ll need some help moving around. She’ll be able to walk, but not for extended periods of time, and she might need a wheelchair long term. She’ll need rails in the bathroom, little visuals around the house that remind her of her routine, signs on walls, things like that. Stairs might be a problem, too, so I don’t know what her house is like—”
“I’ll take care of it. Give me a couple hours.” I stand quickly and turn for the door, but Becca stops me. She types on her phone before showing it to me. Do you need any help?
I shake my head and point to Rob who’s already saying goodbye to Kim. “I got it,” I tell Becca. “Can you stay here until she wakes up and bring her home when she’s ready. Just um…” I take a calming breath. “Just please make sure she knows I’m at home waiting for her, okay?”
“There’s some paperwork to fill out, information we’ll need from you… her PPO, HMO, life insurance—”
“I have no idea what any of that means. My son and I are covered through my team, but…”
Martin scoffs.
I glare at him.
Mom says, “I’ll take care of all that. Don’t worry.”
“Look,” Martin says, finally stopping his useless, mind-numbing back and forth pacing. “She needs to go to a facility where they can take adequate care of her, right? That’s what this is all about. So how much is this going to cost?”
I clear my throat and step behind Becca and Mom and speak directly to the doctor. “The cost does not matter. I’ll cover it. But I really don’t like the idea of her being in a home. It just doesn’t sit right with me.” I think about all the things that came to mind last night while I was watching Chaz sleep, her breaths even, her body peaceful. I thought of all the moments she’s encouraged me, pushed me to be a better person, a better son, a better father. I swallow the lump in my throat and add, “She’ll just be a patient there, not a person. And what about her garden? She loves her garden. And her TV shows. And church? Can she even still go to church?”
Silence falls, just for a moment before Mom surprises me by saying, “I agree with Josh. What about in-home care?”
“That’s a possibility?” I ask the doctor, hope kicking in for the first time in days.
Dr. Richards leans back in his leather chair and crosses his legs. “It’s a lot pricier.”
“I don’t care.”
Martin scoffs. Again. And I crack. “What the hell is your problem?”
“Josh,” Mom warns.
Becca stands, her hand on my chest, her back to her father. She shakes her head, another warning—only hers is silent. I inhale a calming breath and force myself to ignore him the way he’s ignored me.
Dr. Richards answers, “I’m concerned. I think it’s important for her to socialize and be around people who understand what’s going on with her. As we all know, she’s alone the majority of the time. In a facility, she’ll be around—”
“Other people like her?” I interrupt. “She has friends. She has a life, and she’ll continue to do so outside of this disease. I’ll make sure of it.” The words fall from my lips, rushed and unapologetic.
The doctor seems to concede. “A live-in nurse is an option. I can gather some files and résumés for you to go through.”
“Yeah, let’s do that.” I turn to Becca. “Is that good with you, Becs?”
She nods.
“And immediate care until then? What does she need?” I’m glad Mom asks because all I seem to be doing is shoving my opinions and demands in people’s faces.
“She can be discharged soon. A nurse will come by the house and make sure she has everything she needs. She’ll also speak to you all so you can make sure she takes her meds on time, every day, until she’s comfortable with the routine.”
Martin clears his throat. I don’t look at him when he says, “I have to be back at work in a couple days, so…”
So… Good.
“I can stay at the house, or drop by and check in on things. At least until Josh starts skating again and we’re comfortable with whoever we choose,” Mom says, lifting some weight off my shoulders.
Becca types away on her phone. “I don’t have classes for another week and a half. I’d be a lot more comfortable going back if we could get it done before then.” And the weight returns, only now it’s doubled, crushing my insides. Because she’s leaving. I knew she would be—but not this soon, and having her actually say it makes the countdown real. She looks over at me before going back to her phone. “Will that be okay, Josh? If we do it together, that should give us enough time, right?”
And at her words, I remind myself that a week and a half with Becca is better than no Becca at all. “It’s perfect, Becs.”
17
—Joshua—
My mom goes back home, back to work, back to making phone calls and excuses for me, while the rest of us go back to the hospital. None of us seem to know what to do, how to act, so we sit in silence and watch Chazarae sleep. She sleeps a lot. Apparently this is the new normal. At some point, I fall asleep, too, sitting on the chair next to her bed with her hand in mine. That’s when Rob and Kim show up with Tommy, their quiet voices waking me. Becca introduces them to her dad while Tommy sits on my lap, a frown on his lips as he holds Chaz’s fingers. “Is she going to be okay like last time?” he asks me. I stare at my son and I try to think of the right words—words that will shelter him from the pain and the heartbreak of life. But he’s older now than he was when I went through this with my dad, so I give him the truth, because he deserves nothing less. “She’s not going to be the same, bud.”
“But you said Ma’am wasn’t going to be deaded like Pa.”
“And she’s not, but her memory is fading and she might not always act the same as you remember her. When she wakes up, she might not know you.”
“But I’m Thomas Joshua,” he says, beaming up at me. “Ma’am loves me. She’ll remember.”
I look over at Becs, her eyes as sad as I feel, and after a moment, she sits down on the couch next to her dad. She types something on her phone and he reads it, his eyes moving from side to side. Then he sighs, wraps an arm around her and brings her into him, kisses her forehead, making it impossible for me to dislike him as much as I had been.
The room fills with silence again, only for a few minutes before a nurse comes in, her eyes lighting up when she sees everybody in the room. “Young Chazarae must be very popular,” she sings. It shouldn’t annoy me that she’s so happy, so immune to what’s happening, but it does. “I just spoke to Dr. Richards. I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you like first?”
“This isn’t a game,” I mumble.
“Josh,” Kim says, placing her hand on my shoulder. I’m getting real fucking tired of the way people say my name like I don’t have a right to speak.
The nurse sits on the end of Chaz’s bed, completely clueless to my reaction. “The good news is Chazarae can go home today.”
“That’s great,” I say, at the same time Becca stands and moves toward me. “So what’s the bad?”
“The bad news is that her body’s taken quite a beating. She’ll need some help moving around. She’ll be able to walk, but not for extended periods of time, and she might need a wheelchair long term. She’ll need rails in the bathroom, little visuals around the house that remind her of her routine, signs on walls, things like that. Stairs might be a problem, too, so I don’t know what her house is like—”
“I’ll take care of it. Give me a couple hours.” I stand quickly and turn for the door, but Becca stops me. She types on her phone before showing it to me. Do you need any help?
I shake my head and point to Rob who’s already saying goodbye to Kim. “I got it,” I tell Becca. “Can you stay here until she wakes up and bring her home when she’s ready. Just um…” I take a calming breath. “Just please make sure she knows I’m at home waiting for her, okay?”
