Page 69 of Second Go-Round

We’d been lucky—far more than over a dozen others hadn’t survived the tragedy. Neither Christine nor I had personally known any of those who’d perished, but we’d visited the site a week after her release from the hospital. Dozens of flowers had piled along the chain-link fence surrounding the location, and we added those we’d brought to honor those who’d perished.

Most of the debris had been removed, and the owner who’d been out of town at the time of the explosion planned to rebuild. Bigger and even better. He would live his gayness out loud regardless of the homophobic psycho who’d blown up his own body to help “cleanse” the world. The sick man had left a suicide note in his apartment declaring that fact.

Christine and I had been able to escape, and even though our subconscious sometimes took us back to the stifling darkness and the uncertainty of life, going to therapy helped. We’d sat together twice that week, hands clasped, sharing in yet another part of moving forward.

Every day was better than the one before.

And I couldn’t wait to see what all our future held.

My cell dinged, and I fished it from my pocket to find Wendy had texted me.

Doc: Mary Rose slipped into a coma this morning.

I’d been at her bedside the day before, checking her vitals, my heart heavy at how quickly she’d begun to fade. Much too quickly…

Eyes instantly stinging, I swallowed hard and responded that we would be there as soon as possible.

Christine hobbled out with her crutches a few minutes later, pulling me from darkness of a different sort.

I’d had many patients pass while under my care, but Mary Rose was beyond special. Her loss would affect so many people. I hoped it reminded those left behind to live life to the fullest. To accept good things when they came into their lives and hold on with all their strength because we never knew when we would breathe our last.

“What’s wrong?” Christine asked the second our gazes met.

I swallowed against the thickness again—and her face fell as though reading the truth in my eyes.

“She’s gone?” Christine whispered as I rose to my feet.

“Soon,” I rasped.

She reached for my hand, crutch propped beneath her armpit, emerald green eyes welling with wetness. I clasped hold, squeezing, never wanting to let go.

“Forget lunch—let’s go visit one last time.” Her voice cracked. A tear slipped down her cheek.

Unable to say a word, I nodded.

I kissed Mary Rose’s warm forehead, my lips lingering as I said my goodbyes in my mind.

Heaviness.

No other word described the feeling coursing through a man while he stood beside a deathbed. Adult, child, it didn’t matter.

The weight of the world, of reality, settled atop my shoulders in knowing that little Mary Rose wouldn’t escape that time. She would no longer have the freedom to smile, to giggle, to laugh.

To love.

I’d been lucky as a child—and I had so many things to be thankful for. Knowing her. Making her relax when she struggled through her pain. Hearing her positivity amidst an illness that couldn’t be cured for her.

Mary Rose would be missed—and I would never forget the joy she’d brought.

Stepping back, I motioned Christine forward to take the chair alongside Mary Rose’s hospital bed.

So much pain had littered the happiest times of my life the previous couple of weeks. But if not having sorrow meant not having its opposite, I would embrace both with open arms.

Christine sat beside Mary Rose, holding her thin hand.

Bradley and Sophie had given us a few moments alone with their granddaughter. Still unable to speak, I simply stood behind my lover while she whispered about their good memories, fun times playing dress up, and having tea parties.

She asked Mary Rose to wear her favorite pink dress and wait for us. One day, Christine promised, she would be there too in the same bubblegum-colored outfit, and they could be fabulous together.

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