Chapter Twenty-five
Clifton
The doctor might as well have reached into my chest and pulled out my still-beating heart; that would be kinder than the news he just gave me.
Disbelief floods me and the weight of the news makes my legs buckle. I drop into the seat at my father’s bedside as words burst out of me.
“How was this missed?” How could they have made such a potentially fatal error?
But the doctor seems to have no answers, and I imagine that’s to protect himself and the hospital from a lawsuit. I glance down into my father’s pale face, wishing I’d have known, that I could have done something. The subtle rise and fall of his chest is little comfort as I take his hand and wrap my fingers around his.
As numbness wells up in me, replacing every feeling and thought, I try to stay present.
“I’m so sorry,” the doctor says before making a hasty exit from the room.
Sorry. They’re sorry.
I can”t believe this is happening. I”d come in to see my dad today, so full of hope and excitement to see his progress. Instead, I learned that he”s dying. Somehow an infection turned to sepsis without anyone noticing. And now his very blood is poisoning him.
What else did the doctor say? Something about how they”re doing everything they can, but it doesn”t look good and once again, I need to prepare for the worst. The words don”t matter, only the way I feel right now does.
I”m afraid. I”m afraid that I”m going to lose my father so soon after we”d finally made peace. I’d stupidly thought we were safe and that things were getting better. And by all accounts, they”d seemed to be.
Putting my other hand over my face, I slowly let my arm droop, dragging my fingers downward as I roll my eyes toward the ceiling, trying to figure out what to do now.
A bubble of pain pops within me and the sudden agony of knowing my dad is dying and I can’t do anything for him turns to poison within me. I’m going to watch him die, helplessly standing at his side while he faces the fight of his life.
My dad is the only family I have left. Once he’s gone, I”m alone in the world.
I think about all the time spent trying to make him proud, all of the lost time that he never showed me any affection. I think about the great strides we”d made that are such a contrast to the cold, distant, demanding father I remember from childhood and right up until his accident.
Now I have to wonder if the things that we”ve discussed were actually him, or if they were just signs that his brain was shutting down from infection. I already know that sepsis causes delirium. Maybe he’d lost it and those conversations were a product of that.
The machines around him continue to beep, their cold rhythm a song on repeat that I don”t want to hear. I just want him to be better, to come home. The thought of him wasting away and then dying in a bed that isn’t his leaves me feeling ill.
Instead of dwelling on whether or not all of his recent revelations were a result of delirium, I decide instead to just feel comfort in knowing that he cared. He just didn”t know how to express that he loved me. He didn”t know how to be a father.
He wasn”t perfect, but he”s the only dad I have.
The man is practically a living legend, a brilliant lawyer, respected leader, a feared opponent in the courtroom. Other lawyers whispered to clients that he was a force of nature, that he was a Titan, and now he”s in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines, barely breathing, barely alive, and slipping away by the second.
I”m not ready to lose him, but I know I don”t have a choice in the matter. As my heart breaks into pieces, I realize I can’t handle this loss, the pain, the stress of what’s going to happen next.
I’m not ready to bury my dad.
How am I going to get through this?
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and at first I ignore it. But the buzzing continues several more times, and I pull the device out of my pocket and look at the screen. Emma is texting me.
Hello again!
How are you holding up?
How is Anton?
Need anything?
Her rapid fire of texts would usually bring me comfort, now they only bring pain. I’m not ready to share this news. I don’t even think I could bring myself to say or type them. As much as I want to talk to Emma and find some comfort in our bond, I don’t think I can.
I try to think about what words I can say and what I should tell her, but every time I type a message, I push the back arrow and delete all the words.
What do I say? How do I tell her my dad’s dying? I can’t even honestly answer her questions.
How am I holding up? I’m not.
How is Anton? Dying of sepsis.
Need anything? For my dad to not die.
There are no good, honest answers, and I feel exhausted. I don”t want to burden her, or worry her, or make her feel she has to do something when there’s nothing that can be done. Telling her means she”ll feel just as helpless as I do. I don”t think I want to involve anyone else in this absolute shitshow of a situation. And right now, I don”t think I can deal with her pain or emotions while struggling with my own.
Maybe it”s time for me to make a decision.
A very difficult decision that I”ve been struggling with for a while now.
With my dad dying, it”s time for me to put the firm first, before my happiness, before my wants, before anything that might take my attention away from the legacy my dad built.
Even as his words about selling the firm echo in my head, I can”t bring myself to let go of this empire he sacrificed so much to build from the ground up. He put blood, sweat, tears, and countless hours into that place, giving up time he should have spent with my mother and with me into work instead.
Now it’s my turn to make the hard decisions.
It’s time for me to choose him.
Another text comes in as I think about what to do and say next. I hope I’m not bothering you. I just want to check in. Please give me a call when you can, I’m worried about you.
I wonder if she can sense that something isn”t right. As I stare at the screen, I feel a surge of emotions, guilt, fear, sadness. I don”t know what to do or what to say. Except I do, I just don”t want to.
With a deep breath, I compose my message, stopping to read it before hitting send.
I”m sorry, Emma, this isn”t working. I think we both need to take a step back and keep things professional from now on.
I know the words are going to hurt her, which is the last thing I want to do, but I need to do this. I put the phone on the bed next to my father and study the man I’d once thought so strong. I never thought I’d see him like this, confined to a hospital bed, unaware that life is slowly seeping from him.
My phone lights up with another text and I read the words on the screen without unlocking my phone. What are you talking about? Are you okay? What’s going on?
I can feel her concern oozing from every word. But right now, I don”t have the energy to manage her expectations alongside my own, especially with my emotions running so hot and high.
I know I should respond, but I don”t know that I have the energy. I owe her an apology for breaking up over text - it’s a terrible thing to do to someone. But right now, none of that matters. Nothing matters but trying to find a way to enjoy the last bit of time I’ll have with my father.
The screen goes dark and I shut out the world, focusing on the man who’d turned my life upside down when he got into an accident, and now threatens to turn it all upside down again. I look at his face, tracing his pale features, trying to commit every detail to memory. I try not to think about the fact that with his eyes closed and his chest barely rising and falling, he already looks like he”s gone.
Pain lances through me like a sword plunged through my heart and I inhale a ragged breath. Putting my head down on the bed, I blink, thinking about everything he’s said and done, all the hateful, hurtful comments, and the apologies, the way he’d refused to excuse his behavior, but let me know he regretted who he was and how he treated me.
I want to apologize to him for all the ways that I let him down. I hate that I spent so much of my life leaning into being a disappointment to him. How many choices did I make simply to hurt him? He might not have been a good dad, but I certainly wasn”t a good son. And now it might be too late to truly make up for all of that.
I try to draw in a deep breath around the catch in my chest. Even though I have never been a religious man, I try to make a deal with God, promising that if he spares my dad, I’ll use my life to do good. I argue with the part of me that says there”s no way he can die now.
Rage boils in me along with sadness and I stand up, pacing the room as if I can pour my energy into him and prolong his life. I think stupid things, that something I do might save him, that this is all a bad dream I need to wake up from, that soon I’ll have to face the silence where my father’s voice and words used to echo. I’d always held out hope that one day he’d return to his office at the firm. I’ve had dreams where I walk in and talk to him about Emma, and he gives his blessing. And now, I know I’ll never get that... nor do I need it, because she’s in my past now, and my future has no room for her or anyone else.
As I pace, I watch the drip of the IV, the faint pulse in his neck, the nearly absolute stillness of him as he lies prone.
I hate that I’d been so stupid as to think he’d live through this. I should have trusted my gut that first night. I should have prepared myself for this. I got comfortable. I got weak. And I missed things I should have noticed. Details that could have saved his life... if my thoughts hadn’t been clouded by a beautiful, blue-eyed blonde.
And as I watch him, I wonder if he’ll ever wake up again. Can he hear me?
“Damn it, old man, you made a promise.” I say in the space between us. There’s not so much as a twitch in his face to indicate he heard me... or that he even knows I exist.
Maybe he’s below the level of dreams. Perhaps he’s so far out of reach he can’t hear me talk. Maybe it’s already too late, and my time with him is up and now he’s simply a shell waiting to die.
The unfairness of it all slaps me in the face and I drop back into the seat at his side. Taking his hand again, I ignore my phone buzzing.
I just want to be alone with my dad.