Page 43 of Accidental Irish Daddy

“No, you won’t,” he says, raising his voice.

“Yes, I will,” I say, right back at him. “It’s been manky all day and you’re in no condition to drive that sports car on these slick roads.”

I turn and grab my jacket. Once it’s on, he tosses me the keys and we’re off.

***

I don’t know what kind of magic Mr. Duncan’s service has, but they got his mother from the house and to the hospital in a matter of minutes. By the time we got here, she was already admitted and seeing her doctor.

Now, we’re sitting outside her hospital room, waiting for the doctor to come back out.

Mr. Duncan is sitting next to me, his leg bouncing anxiously as we wait. I can’t imagine what he must be feeling right now. It must be awful. He’s been silent the entire way here, looking out the car window, deep in his own mind.

I haven’t said anything to him, either. I can’t offer any words of comfort right now. I know enough about what’s happening to know that the likelihood of getting any good news is low. With the kind of cancer that Mrs. Duncan has, this day was inevitable.

The door to the hospital room opens finally, and Mrs. Duncan’s doctor comes walking out. Mr. Duncan stands at once and the doctor walks over.

“You’re Mrs. Duncan’s son?”

He nods. “I am. How is she?”

“She’s in a coma,” the doctor informs him. “And given how her cancer has progressed…we don’t expect her to come out of it.”

Mr. Duncan’s face doesn’t change, but I can almost feel something break inside him. He looks away for a moment, then asks, “What do we do next? I don’t want to leave her here, hooked up to machines. She would hate that.”

“We’ll give her a few days. See how she does, then we’ll give her a breathing function test. If she passes, then we’ll talk about sending her home for the rest of her palliative care. If not…well, if not, then we’ll need to talk about other options.”

“What other options?” Grant says furiously. “Just tell it to me straight, doctor. Is she going to make it or not?”

The doctor pauses, and my stomach tightens. I know what’s coming.

“Mrs. Duncan’s cancer is terminal, but you already knew that,” the doctor says sorrowfully. “Whether she wakes up on her own or not is irrelevant to her survival. If you decide to terminate her life support today or wait until we perform a breathing function test…you shouldn’t expect her to live through the week. I’m sorry, Mr. Duncan.”

The doctor walks away. I reach for Grant’s hand, and he laces his fingers with mine as he lowers his head, visibly trying to stifle his tears.

I hug him and he wraps his arms around me, buries his head in my neck, and sobs.

13

Grant

She’s gone.

Helena Elizabeth Duncan passed away peacefully two days after the night she went into a coma. For all intents and purposes, she went to sleep and never woke.

Standing out here in this stupid, prissy rain, I wonder what the meaning of her life was. What had she ever done to deserve this end to her story? My ma was a vibrant, intelligent, beautiful woman…and now, because of a disease that she could never have avoided getting, her life is over.

The priest is presiding over her casket as we all look on. Da is standing next to me with his wife on the other side. Aisling and Bridget are on the other side of me, and I’m glad they’re here. They haven’t left my side since the night I said goodbye to her.

I don’t want to think about that night. I don’t want to think about her being in that casket. Yet here we are. I look at the gold handles and the intricate carvings of roses on the lid of her final resting place and I hate it.

The irony. I’d chosen it because she loved roses. And I have nothing but ire for the box that she lies in.

I try to focus on what the priest says but my emotions and mind are a mess. The priest finishes the prayer, and they begin to lower the casket into the earth.

“Ashes to ashes,” the priest says, tossing a clump of muddy dirt down after the casket. “Dust to dust.”

From my side comes a sniffle and a whimper. I look over. Aisling is handing Bridget a tissue. Ma and she had gotten close over the last month.

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