Chapter 25 #2
The tears began to fall faster. Like my body was physically trying to expel the sadness before it consumed me.
“Hi, petal.” Her voice was quiet. So quiet. And frail, so painfully frail.
“Hi,” I forced the words out. “I’m here. I’m so sorry I wasn’t before, but I am now. I’m not going anywhere.”
My grandfather stepped up beside me, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder.
“I can fix this,” I said quietly, looking between them. I wanted her to know. I wanted this woman, this woman who has loved me in ways I could never fully comprehend, to understand that I would try to make it right. I can fix this.
“There’s nothing to fix, sweet girl.” She smiled up at me, but I could still see the pain behind her eyes.
“No, I can, I promise, I—”
“Shh,” she hushed. “I’m ready. This time comes for all of us eventually. I am not afraid. I have the two people I love most in the world with me.”
“Please.”
But she just shook her head. Or at least, that’s what I saw in that tiny inconsequential movement.
But it hurt. It hurt like nothing else. Her acceptance was like a knife to the stomach, one that cut deep and left me bleeding, but my grandmother filled the wound with the happiest parts of herself.
In her peace and calm was a thread that slowly began to stitch the gaping hole in my heart.
In my fear and my desperate need to make things better, I found clarity.
I knew there was nothing I could say or do to fix this situation.
There was no way for me to rewind time without removing Maura’s autonomy.
I loved her. I loved her with every fibre of my being, and although the instability of her passing shook me to my very core, my grandmother deserved the dignity of deciding how her story would end.
She deserved every ounce of grace I could give her.
I stumbled out of the room and into the hallway a moment later.
The cool air pricked my skin and did little to pull me from the numbness settling over me.
I lifted my eyes to meet Thallor’s, searching desperately for the words within me.
But those words weren't necessary with him.
His strong arms pulled me into a hug, that familiar burning scent of home bracing me against the reality of my own thoughts.
I just stood there frozen and unable to form coherent sentences.
Honestly, I wasn't sure what I was trying to say.
I melted into his embrace, feeling overwhelmed by my own grief and the guilt I felt for so desperately wanting to stay in his arms instead of returning to that room.
“Fix it,” I whispered into his chest.
Thallor’s arms loosened around me as he shifted to meet my eye. I could see my own sadness reflected back at me. I knew he could feel my pain, even if I didn’t really understand how. A long, heavy silence stretched between us as he gave me the space to formulate my thoughts.
“Please,” I begged, my voice trembling as I lifted my gaze to his once more, “just fix it. I need you to help her… I need you to make her pain go away.”
He looked at me, remaining silent for a moment longer. It was as if his heart was breaking too. For Maura, for me. “She’s suffering. And I wish she wasn’t. Make her comfortable before—”
The end. I didn't bother speaking the words.
Because I knew how bitter they would be in my mouth–no amount of soap or water could ever wash away the rancid taste they left.
I wondered, for a second, if he was hesitating.
But with a kiss to my forehead, on a steadying squeeze of my hand–an action that bared more weight than he would ever know–he followed me back into the room as my grandfather looked up at us.
I didn't really have the emotional energy to explain who Thallor was, or why he was there.
Either way, my grandfather seemed to understand.
I don't know if it was the way that he was always one step behind me or the way I couldn't seem to let go of his hand.
Either way, my grandfather knew, and I was grateful for that.
My grandfather left the room a moment later, keen to speak to a doctor about something or other.
Something technical. Scientific. Sterile.
Something that didn't quite grasp how the sadness gripped me. The way it refused to let me go. Thallor stepped up to Maura’s side, taking her hand in his.
There was something almost comical in the difference in hand size, his almost dwarfing hers in the palm of his hand.
But what really struck me was how gentle he held her, cradling her hand as if it was the most precious thing in the world.
He closed his eyes for a moment, reciting a few silent words–the whole thing taking less than a couple of minutes.
But when he was done, I noticed the colour return to Maura’s cheeks.
Tears began to flood down my face and spot on the leather of my boots.
Thallor’s always lingered for a moment longer before he stood and gently pressed another kiss to my head.
He didn't say anything after that, and I was grateful.
Because his tender actions spoke volumes.
More than words ever could. And then he slipped out into the hallway before my grandfather walked back in.
Goodbyes were a curious thing. The word, in its simplest form, is uttered again and again between friends and parents and lovers and strangers.
Sometimes we mean it and sometimes we don't. But it's often said so casually.
An intangible concept that we seldom reflect on once the words have slipped from our lips.
For most of our lives, goodbyes are just that—something to say in passing with friends when parting ways after weekends spent together. We say it at the end of the day and when we hang up the phone. But laced into those words is the thread of quiet, unspoken understanding that we will meet again.
But this time, I won’t.
I sat there for a long time, in the sterile lighting.
I sat there whilst the doctors spoke words of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘There’s nothing more we can do.
’ I sat there whilst my grandfather cried with his head in his hands, the strength to withstand his own emotions waning as quickly as my own.
I sat there until I missed the insufferable buzzing of the machines, hoping that it might replace the silence that was a little too loud.
I sat there hoping I could make sense of it when all was said and done.
Desperately trying to understand how I’d ever be able to stop missing her.
How I’d fill the gaping hole in my chest that she’d left behind.