“Please, Oliver,” I sobbed, “Please don’t make me go through that alone again…”
His eyes flashed with sudden guilt, “Oh, Silvia!” He whispered, “My God! I’m so sorry!”
Alexander and I found him a reputable nurse through the hospital referral service. Two days later we brought him home. He told us all he wanted was to go to bed. His head hurt. He was tired. So, so tired. We let him. There was nothing we could do but watch him.
Lucy and I decided that it was time we called our children. They reacted as children do, some with anger at not having been told sooner, some with shock, some with nothing but concern and understanding. They all came in pairs with their wives, husbands, children and grandchildren. They brought us food and drinks. They cleaned the yard and the house. They laughed together and held each other and cried. Every single one of them told me Oliver needed to be in the hospital and every single one of them received a scolding from Alexander, who was quick to protect his brother’s dying wishes.
In so many ways it was harder on Alex than anybody to watch his brother fail. It was easy to be selfish about Oliver and think of him as my own. He’d been the central part of my life for so many years. But Xander had known him longer. They’d once been the same organism, a single fertilized egg in a woman that had somehow split into two. They’d been born together and lived together for seventeen years and then again for nearly five. They’d loved and laughed, fought and hated each other, but they’d always had the other. Oliver, as he had been for me, had been the longest, most constant thing Alexander had ever known.
Caro stayed night and day when I first said she should come, but during those last long hours, she could not take watching her daddy suffer any longer. Theirs had been a tender union and I knew her heart was bleeding as their bond was being slowly ripped away. Carolena was not a young woman any longer, she was a grandmother in her own right, and the pain and toil was showing in the gentle creases of her still beautiful face.
Nigel was trying to get her to leave with him. Nigel had been doing the opposite of everyone else the last few weeks. Instead of dwelling in death with Oliver, he was concentrating on the living. “Carolena, please,” There was a deep concern in his voice, “Adam’s worried sick over you. Come on back to my house with me and have a decent dinner. Take a hot shower. I’ve got things to help you sleep. Take the weight off for a few hours. I’ll bring you back first thing in the morning.”
“Nigel’s right. You need a good night’s rest, Muffin,” I told her gently, “Your husband is worried about you and so am I.”
“What if I leave and he dies, Mummy?” She wept. Nigel put his arms around her and held her tight. “I can’t just leave him!”
“He’s going to die, Carolena. You don’t have to watch him do it,” I couldn’t see Nigel’s face at that moment, but his voice sounded like Alexander’s, steady and even, “He wouldn’t want you to. He wants you to remember the strong, happy man he always was. You don’t have to have the memory of his death mingled with all the good times. He wouldn’t want it. He loves you and he knows you love him. You don’t have to prove how much by torturing yourself. Didn’t you promise him to always be happy?”
“How can I be happy now?” She begged.
“Because you had him in your life for all these fifty-nine years!” I told her, “Because you had a father who loved you beyond love and who would tell you as I am that you need to get to your husband and leave your father to his wife. Your husband is at Nigel’s waiting to love and comfort you. Go to him, Carolena. There might be a time one day when you can’t.”
Carolena’s eyes were wide with sudden comprehension. She spent one last hour in the bedroom, sitting beside Oliver with his hand held in hers. She was silent. Sometimes there are not words. Sometimes there is no need for them. Sometimes the still and the silence say more than a person could if they tried.
Carolena left her Daddy, but not because she wanted to. She left because she knew Nigel and I were right. Nigel, her cousin, her oldest and best friend, took her in his arms and walked with her to the car. I saw him take a minute to hold her tight. When he released her, he told her something I could not hear. She nodded and smiled sadly. He helped her into the car and then he took her where she needed to be, back with her husband in the land of the living.
As Oliver failed, Gryffin and Warren sat by his bedside for long hours. Oliver had medication hooked up to an IV in his arm. A push of a button kept him pain free, but it kept him unconscious most of the time as well. Still every once in a while he would look over at them and make a comment like, “If you’re going to hang around, why don’t you go and chop some wood? Make yourselves useful. Clean a dish. Something.”
His sons would laugh. “We’ve chopped all the wood and Mum chases us out of her kitchen. Do you need anything, Dad?”
“Ah, just six or seven organ transplants, Lads. Got a liver?”
It was not long before the jokes stopped. Oliver would lie in that bed moaning and rasping for breath. Only the medication was a comfort to him, but it destroyed his ability to stay awake longer than it took to click the button. He stopped eating and refused a feeding tube. When the final days became obvious, the boys came and went. Seeing their father near death was more than either of them could stand.
I caught Warren outside on the last night pretending he was not crying. “It’s all right,” I told him, “You can cry, you know. No one will think the less of you.”
“If I start I’ll never stop.” He wiped his eyes with his hand.
“You will one day.” I put my hand on his arm, “No one cries forever, Ren. It’s hard to watch him go through this, I know.”
“I can deal with him dying. I just can’t deal with watching him do it. I’m sorry, Mum, but I wish he’d just go. He’s in so much pain and he won’t be getting any better. He’s suffering.” Warren hung his head, “I just need a minute before I go back inside. Gryffin’s talking about having the sick feeling in his stomach. I wish he’d shut his noise. I know this is the end. I don’t need to hear it from him.”
“Why don’t you just go home, Son? It’s late.”
“I just need a minute.”
“No, I think you and Gryffin both need to go for the night.” I patted his shoulder, “I sent Caro a while ago. She tried to argue with me and she lost. So will you. Stay here. I’ll tell Gryff.”
Gryffin didn’t argue with me, but he didn’t want to go either. “There’s blood pooling in his palms, Mum,” He was whispering in the kitchen as if no one else was aware of how dismal the situation was, “He’s not got a long time left.”
“Well, we already knew that.”
“I can’t leave him. He never left me. Not once. Not ever.”
“Helping your father to cross the veil is not your place. That’s mine and Alexander’s. What I need you to do now is take your brother someplace where he can deal freely with how he’s feeling. Please, he’s about to split at the seams. I can’t take care of everyone right now, Gryff. There’s nothing you can do for your dad, but you can take care of your brother for me.” I saw him hesitate, “Please, I need you to look after Warren for me.”
He nodded reluctantly. “I will, Mum.”
“Thank you, Muffin,” I had to stand on the tip of my toes to hug my son. My boys were both tall like their dad, who had been a head taller than most. I kissed Gryffin on his cheek and held him tight.
“Are you sure you don’t need me here?” He asked me seriously.
“You and your constant worrying, Child!” I patted his shoulder, “No, I’ve got Alexander and Lucy. I’ll be fine.”
Before they left, Warren and Gryffin went to their father.
“Dad,” Warren leaned over Oliver and kissed him on the cheek, “I’m going for a little while. Before I do, I want to tell you thank you. I’m not good with what I want to say, but thank you for everything, for all of it. I thank God you’re my father.”