Page 58 of You Loved Me Once

Page List

Font Size:

John’s hand goes to the back of his head and he squeezes. “I have regrets that a few days can’t solve.”

The fixer in me is screaming to tell him that what he’s doing now won’t help things, but I stay silent. “Well, I’m sure you made her day being here today.”

“Hopefully I can come again in a few days with the girls.”

I give him a soft smile. “I really hope so too. I know she’d love to see them.”

He nods once and then starts to walk away. When I’m right at the door he calls my name.

“I know you think I’m a shitty son for not being here, and I’m sure I am. She talks about you all the time and how much time you spend in her room. Whether or not we’re here, I’m glad she’s had you.”

I think about my brother and how he’s handled losing my mother. I want to tell John all of it, but I’m not sure if I should. How many times did we tell him to go more and he didn’t? Countless times. Fuck propriety. If I can stop anyone from spiraling like Everton, I’m going to do it. “I lost my mother to cancer,” I say. “I know the pain of watching someone you love die, but she’s going to die, John, and I promise, you’ll wish for the time you’re squandering now. You’ll want to reach for the phone or just sit beside her and you won’t be able to. Come back with the girls because I promise if you don’t, you’ll regret it and never be able to fix it.”

He doesn’t say anything as he walks away.

I turn, take a few deep breaths and plaster a smile on my face. “How’s my favorite patient?” I ask as I walk into Mrs. Whitley’s room.

“Tired,” she croaks. “Lots of pain today.”

I look at the chart, noticing that her vitals aren’t strong either. A nurse walks in and I write some notes. “Up her fluids and let’s give her another dose of morphine for the pain.”

Mrs. Whitley is starting to fade. I’m not ready to say goodbye to her. I need her in my life more than ever. Part of me hates myself for getting attached to her. It was never a surprise she had cancer, I’m the one that diagnosed her. But each day I find myself more drawn to her.

“John came today,” she tells me as I sit beside her.

“He did?” I smile, wanting to let her have this moment so I pretend I don’t know.

“He . . . he sat here and told me about the girls.” She coughs.

“When did the cough start?”

She ignores me. “I saw pictures.”

That’s great, but I’m worried about her lungs. I stand, put my stethoscope on and listen to her lungs. Her breathing is shallow, but she sounds clear. “Tell me about the cough.”

Mrs. Whitley takes my hand. “Let me tell you about John.”

I sit on the edge of her bed and realize she doesn’t want Dr. Adams right now, she needs a friend. Her days are filled with a lot of nothing, unless we visit with her. Today, she wants to tell the story, and I want to listen.

“Okay.” I smile and place my hand over hers. “Did John show you pictures?”

Immediately, her face brightens. “He did—they’re getting so big. I hoped he’d bring them, but they were on a video on the phone. He said they’d come again soon.”

She speaks and I listen, offering my happiness when she pauses. You can see the weight lift off her shoulders as she relays the information about her grandchildren and son. John stayed for just under an hour, but it made her entire day.

Even with her health deteriorating, her spirit has definitely taken a turn for the better. We talk about the trial, but mostly I just enjoy listening to her.

I imagine if my mother were still alive, this is what she would’ve been like. Whenever we visited her, she was happy, feeling like she could beat the odds. I hear the hope in Mrs. Whitley’s voice, and I pray that she’ll get more days like this and I hope John returns tomorrow.

“It’s nearing, isn’t it?” she asks me after about twenty minutes into my visit.

“What is?”

She looks at me with knowing eyes. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“No, you’re having a small setback, but we’re all going to do what we can.”

Her hand touches mine. “Tell me about your doctor.”