Fifty
Ethan
Iblink my eyes open, greeted by the dark sky.
“What the—” I mutter.
I look down to see Lily out cold, peacefully sleeping in my arms.
“Sunshine? We fell asleep. Let’s get you back to the house and tuck into bed.” I try to move her, but she’s like a block of ice. Why is she so cold?
I freeze, every nerve ending screaming.
She is still. Too still.
The gentle rise and fall of her chest, the subtle quiver of her eyelids, the soft sound of her breathing are all gone.
No. Please, God, no.
With a strength born of desperation, I slowly move from under her and lay her on her back. My trembling fingers reach for her, gently sweeping her cheek. I suck in a shuddering breath, the air burning my lungs.
Her skin is white like fresh snow. Her lips are a chilling blue. There is no life, no flicker, no warmth.
“Oh, God, Lily,” I choke out, my voice a broken whisper. I wrap my arms underneath her, trying to lift her, but her body is stiff, cold as ice.
“No, no, no,” I whimper, finally pulling her into my lap. I rock her back and forth, a desperate lullaby for a life that has ceased to be.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God. Why?” The question tears from my lungs, ripped from the deepest part of my soul.
“We had plans, Sunshine. I’m not ready for you to go,” I sob into her neck, burying my face in the familiar scent that still clings to her.
“I love you, I love you, I love you.” The words are a mantra, a prayer, a desperate plea.
Then a trembling sound escapes my lips as I begin to sing “You Are My Sunshine.” Each note brings a flood of anguish.
If I had known this would be the last time I kissed her, touched her, I would’ve sacrificed everything to turn back the clock to four years ago. I would’ve held her tighter and never let her go. Now all that remains is a hollow cavity where my heart once beat.
I don’t hear the front screen door creak open as I make my way back to the house, my Sunshine in my arms. The world feels like a haze until Ollie’s voice cuts through.
It takes a moment for his words to sink in, but soon enough, I feel a little tap against my leg. He looks up at me, his eyes gazing at Lily. “Is Mama sleeping?” he asks.
“Yeah, buddy. She’s sleeping.” I choke on the lie, on the sheer effort of trying to keep my voice even.
“Why aren’t you in bed yet?” The question slips from my lips, but a tightness grips my windpipe, making it hard to speak.
“I was watching from the window, waiting for you and Mama to read me a story.”
“Okay, I’ll tuck Mom in first, and then it’s your turn.”
He nods, shuffling ahead of me. When we reach the door to the beach house, Sam walks toward us, a bright, easy smile on her face, but it vanishes the instant her eyes meet mine. She sees it. She sees the truth on my face.
“No,” she breathes, glancing at Lily in my arms. The color drains from her face.
I clear my throat, forcing out, “Can you help Ollie get ready for bed? And then… can you keep everyone out of our room for a minute and call the hospice nurse?”
She nods with fierce urgency. “Come on, Ollie,” she says, lifting him in her arms.
“Mama is still sleeping. She must be really tired,” Ollie says, his innocent observation a dagger twisting in my gut.
My knees almost buckle, a wave of nausea washing over me, and Sam’s grip on him falters, but she has just enough energy left to take him to his room.
I make my way to our bedroom, closing the door with my foot. Leaning against it, the last traces of my composure shatter. I stagger toward the bed, carefully laying Lily down before collapsing onto the floor.
I can barely breathe, my vision blurring as I look down at my wife.
“Jake, Maddy, and Ollie need you, Ethan.” Lily’s voice, clear and unwavering, floats into my head, a whisper from beyond. “Be strong for them.”
“I ca-can’t,” I stammer, holding onto Lily’s hand.
“Yes, you can. It’s time to let me go, baby.”
“I can’t. I don’t want to.”
“You have to. It’s okay, Ethan. I’m already gone. Everything will be okay. I promise you.”
I shake my head, a frantic, desperate gesture, as if I can argue with a ghost. All I want is for her to open those pretty eyes, to flash me that smile that made me weak, to hear her voice again.
It isn’t until a voice filters in from the hallway and the door opens that I realize I am no longer alone.
“Ethan.” I look up, my vision blurry through the tears, to see Sam.
She seems to be holding it together, a rock in the storm. Still, I can see the pain in her eyes, the way her chin trembles, a barely restrained tremor threatening to shatter her.
“You have to tell the kids before hospice and the staff from the funeral home get here.”
“No. Please,” I beg, my voice splintering as the world caves in around me. “I need more time with her.”
“I know how ha-hard it is right now,” she says, sucking in a ragged breath. “But your children need you more than ever now. They need you, Ethan.”
She’s right. It’s time to let my Lily go, live a future without her, and be there for my children. To somehow help them through her loss.
“Where are the children?” I ask.
“They’re all in their own rooms. They don’t know anything yet.”
The ‘yet’ hangs heavy in the air, like a ticking time bomb.
I reluctantly let go of Lily’s hand and press a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be back, Sunshine.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Sam says, her eyes glued to her sister’s still form.
“Thank you,” I manage, my throat tight. “I’ll be back.”
Stepping out of the room, I shut the door. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, trying to pull myself together, to gather the shattered pieces of my soul.
How the hell am I going to tell our children?
How do I explain that their mother is gone?
That she won’t be cheering at Jake’s swim meets, her voice the loudest in the stands?
Or that Maddy will never again have her special baking time?
And that Ollie won’t get the chance for his mother to walk him into kindergarten on his first day, holding his tiny hand, beaming with pride?
“Dad?”
I flinch, my eyes snapping open. Jake stands outside his door, headphones looped around his neck, his phone clutched in his hand. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “Can you grab Maddy and meet me in the living room?”
“Why?” His eyes narrow.
“Jake, please.”
“Where’s Mom?” he asks, his gaze flicking past my shoulder, drawn instinctively to our closed bedroom door.
I can break later, I tell myself. Right now, my children need me more than ever. “She’s sleeping. Jake, please. Do as I ask,” I repeat.
“Fine.” He turns, a flicker of irritation in his movements, and walks toward Maddy’s room while I make my way to Ollie’s.
I knock softly on his door, then push it open. “Ollie?” I say, peering into the room. He’s nestled on his bed, engrossed in a cartoon on his iPad, headphones clamped over his ears.
He looks up, a bright, unburdened smile spreading across his face. “Auntie Sam said it was okay until you came to tuck me in!”
I manage a wobbly smile in return. He is so pure and innocent. “It’s okay, Ollie. Actually, I need to talk to you. Can you come with me?” I hold out my hand, an invitation to a conversation that will change everything.
“Okay.” He sets his device down without a fuss, crawls to the edge of the bed, and climbs down, his hand finding mine.
We walk down the hall, each step feeling like the ground is going to open and swallow me whole, into the living room where Maddy and Jake are already perched on the couch, their faces etched with a growing nervousness.
Ollie lets go of my hand as Jake shifts, creating a space for his little brother. Ollie clambers onto the couch, settling between Jake and Maddy.
“What’s going on, Dad?” Maddy asks, her fingers nervously picking at the hem of her pajama top.
I sink onto the coffee table opposite them, leaning forward, rubbing my hands together, a futile attempt to warm the cold dread spreading through me.
“I have something very sad to tell you. Mom died this evening while we were on the pier. Her body was very sick from cancer, and it stopped working while she was asleep.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and final. I look at each of their faces, watching the comprehension slowly dawn, then their whole world shatters.
Jake bolts upright and begins to pace, like a caged animal, his hands running through his buzz cut hair.
Tears, silent and massive, begin to stream down Ollie’s face. A soft whimper escapes him.
“Come here, Ollie.” I open my arms, and he lunges into them. His cries are muffled against my shirt, small, heartbreaking sounds. I hold him tight, rocking him in my arms, my hand stroking his back, trying to soothe a pain that has no physical pain that can be comforted.
“I’m so sorry, Ollie,” I whisper against his soft hair.
Then I hear it, a bone-chilling screech, a sound of pure horror and pain.
“NO! NO!” Maddy’s cries rip through the air. She falls to her knees, her hands flying to her mouth, eyes wide with terror.
Ollie’s cries escalate, spurred on by the raw agony in his sister’s voice.
My heart doesn’t just crack; it fractures at witnessing my baby girl’s world fall apart, to see her grief mirroring my own.
“Dad! Please tell me it’s not real! It’s not real!” She pounds her fists on the floor.
“Sweet pea,” I choke out.
“She can’t be gone,” Jake whispers, frozen in the archway. The color drains from his face, leaving him ashen, and then, slowly, agonizingly, he crumples. Not falling, but melting, sliding down the doorframe until he is a weeping heap on the floor.
“No, no, no, no,” he sobs, his shoulders shaking violently, rocking back and forth in a desperate attempt to comfort himself, to deny the truth that his mother is gone.