Page 7 of Home for Justice
Sleep, if it came at all, would likely bring more restless dreams than comfort.
4
Tyler returned to the hospital after barely two hours of fitful sleep. Though it wasn’t nearly enough, he’d functioned on far less during missions overseas. At dawn, he’d stood quietly in his grandfather’s kitchen, spooning cereal mechanically into his mouth before stepping onto the back deck with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. There, enveloped by the cool, crisp mountain air, he’d let the peaceful majesty of the landscape soothe his heavy heart, at least for a moment.
Now, Tyler made his way through the quiet hallways, passing the empty family lobby on the cardiac floor, until he reached his grandfather’s room. Stepping inside, he found another nurse checking the monitors. She glanced up and offered a gentle smile, softly introducing herself.
“I understand Dr. Evans spoke with you last night.”
Tyler nodded absently, unable to tear his gaze from the frail figure in the bed. His grandfather looked even smaller today, the delicate network of wires and tubes a stark contrast against his pale skin. Tyler’s chest tightened painfully again, knowing most of these machines were only for monitoring, quietly counting down the moments left.
“Hospice will be in soon to speak with you,” the nurse continued softly, empathy clear in her gentle voice, before quietly leaving the room.
Tyler sank into the chair beside the bed, leaning forward slightly to clasp his grandfather’s thin, fragile hand in his own stronger, warmer one. “Gramps? I’m here. It’s Tyler,” he said quietly, voice roughened by exhaustion and grief. “I just want you to know you’re not alone.”
He began speaking again, softly sharing more memories, continuing their one-sided conversation from the night before. He wasn’t entirely sure whether his grandfather heard or understood, but the words helped ease his heartache, each gentle memory offering fleeting comfort.
A quiet knock on the door caused Tyler to glance up to see a middle-aged man standing respectfully in the doorway. Tyler’s gaze quickly shifted to the badge, which identified him as a hospice administrator. Carefully releasing his grandfather’s hand, Tyler stood, wanting to shield his grandfather from any conversation that might cause distress if he happened to overhear.
After a quiet introduction, Tyler followed the administrator into the hallway. He drew a slow breath, the persistent ache in his chest deepening as he steeled himself for what would inevitably follow.
In a calm, reassuring tone, Lawrence explained, “I’ve spoken to Dr. Evans, and I know your grandfather is now officially in palliative care. Our role is to make his remaining time as comfortable and pain-free as possible, to answer any questions you have, and to offer whatever emotional support you might need during this difficult time. Your grandfather had designated you as his medical and financial power of attorney, relieving him of those burdens in case he became incapacitated.”
Tyler nodded slowly, struggling with the weight of the words, even though he’d known this day might eventually arrive. Still, somehow, these decisions had always seemed abstract, safely distant, and easier to accept when his grandfather was strong and vibrant.
Lawrence seemed to sense Tyler’s conflicted thoughts and offered a gentle, understanding smile. “We always recommend people make these plans while they’re still in good health and fully capable of considering every possibility. That way, when these inevitable moments come, everything is already thoughtfully arranged. It takes away the pressure of difficult decisions at the hardest times.”
Tyler took a slow, deep breath and nodded again, his throat tight. “I want to honor whatever Gramps wanted.”
Lawrence handed him several forms, and Tyler signed them, allowing the hospital and hospice team to continue providing compassionate end-of-life care. Even as he scribbled his signature, he fought the sting of tears, the ache of grief rising sharply once again.
Midway through their quiet exchange, Marshall appeared, walking toward them. Tyler rose immediately, stepping forward to embrace the older man. Marshall returned the embrace warmly, his presence a calming reassurance Tyler desperately needed. Turning, Tyler introduced Marshall to Lawrence, who respectfully handed the attorney the papers Tyler had just signed.
Marshall glanced through the forms, giving Tyler an approving nod. “These are all standard and exactly what Charlie wanted. You’ve handled it well.”
Lawrence nodded politely and quietly excused himself, leaving Tyler and Marshall alone in the hospital corridor.
Marshall placed a comforting hand on Tyler’s shoulder, squeezing gently as though imparting strength through touchalone. “I just came from Charlie’s room. Said my goodbyes.” He paused, eyes filled with warmth and genuine sadness. “My wife and I want you to know that we’re here for you. For anything you need, anytime. You call me, day or night.”
Tyler felt a lump rise in his throat, nearly choking on the surge of emotion. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to maintain composure even as tears threatened. With a shaky nod, he said softly, “You mentioned the American Legion.”
“Yes,” Marshall said gently, giving Tyler another reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. “You’ll find in this paperwork that Charlie had already arranged and fully paid for his funeral. However, regarding the service itself and the reception afterward, here’s the contact information for the local American Legion chapter. They assist veteran families with funerals, and it’s my understanding that Charlie had already spoken to their member coordinator.”
Tyler accepted the papers quietly, his fingers briefly tightening around them, grateful his grandfather had once again thought ahead. For a long moment, neither spoke, the silence heavy yet comforting. Finally, with nothing more to say, Tyler thanked Marshall once more, shaking the older man’s hand before quietly returning to his grandfather’s room.
Hours slipped by, timeless and immeasurable. Tyler sat beside the bed, occasionally speaking softly and sharing gentle memories of their lives, before falling into calm stretches of silence. Thoughts and feelings moved slowly through him like the quiet rhythm of ocean waves, grief ebbing and flowing, memories bringing both smiles and tears.
Suddenly, movement drew Tyler’s gaze back to his grandfather’s face. Charlie’s eyes opened, clouded with confusion but holding a flicker of recognition.
Tyler immediately leaned forward, making sure his grandfather could see him clearly. “I’m here, Gramps. It’s Tyler.”
Charlie’s lips moved faintly, and with great effort, he whispered, “Love…you…boy.” His eyes fluttered closed again as he added softly, almost inaudibly, “I’m just waiting…to see my Cecile.”
Emotion tightened painfully in Tyler’s chest, his breath hitching softly. His grandmother had been gone for several years, and knowing they would soon be reunited was both comforting and deeply heartbreaking.
Charlie didn’t regain consciousness again, and in the quiet room, Tyler could hear the monitors marking each slow beat of his grandfather’s heart. Nearly an hour later, the steady rhythm gradually slowed, weakening with every passing moment. Two nurses entered swiftly and silently to check the monitors, their faces solemn yet kind. A moment later, Dr. Evans arrived, his expression confirming what Tyler already sensed.
Then, gently and peacefully, the heartbeat stopped altogether.
