He has spent his whole life doing so much for others, giving back to his community, raising a small child on his own without ever complaining. He deserves to live a long, full life. He deserves to someday meet his grandchildren and run and play with them in the backyard or at the lake.
But ALS doesn’t care what a person deserves. It destroys, regardless of how good a man you are. It’s the most unfair thing I can think of, and I would give my life not to see him go through this.
When my father comes out of his room, his hair all wild from his nap, I shut down my laptop and smile up at him, wiping tears from my cheeks.
“Hey, Daddy,” I say.
“Hi, Jojo,” he says. “What’s for lunch?”
His words slur slightly, and I realize it’s been getting worse. And that this is just the beginning.
“I thought I would make sandwiches with that homemade bread I baked yesterday,” I say. “Sound good?”
“Sounds delicious,” he says. “I’m starving.”
I stand and start preparing the meal, not noticing that he’s taken my place at the table and opened my laptop until it’s too late.
“Oh, Daddy, don’t,” I say. I don’t want him to see, which I realize is silly because of course he will want to understand. I just wish I could protect him from this. I wish I could heal him and take this all away.
“It’s okay,” he says, taking my hand when I place it on his shoulder. “I guess I better find out what I’m up against here.”
We spend the afternoon reading through websites, looking for stories online about anyone successfully fighting the disease. We search for specialists within a hundred miles that we might be able to see.
There are a lot of tears that afternoon. A lot of frustrations. But there is also laughter and love.
Together, we search for a plan and a way to make it through the storm ahead.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I wake up to pain. I open my eyes to tiny slits and close them again, the light too bright and painful to face.
What the hell happened last night?
I try to sit up, but my whole body aches.
“He lives,” Willow says with a laugh.
I raise my head and look around. The entire band is gathered in the kitchen of the beach house and the entire room smells like pancakes and bacon.
I groan. “What time is it?”
“After four,” Willow says. She comes over to where I’m sitting on the couch and ruffles my hair. “You were out, man. Haven’t seen you like that in years.”
I shake my head. “Shit, four?”
I’m supposed to work tonight, and man is Jo going to be pissed. I go to check my phone, but the battery is dead.
“What exactly did we do last night?” I ask.
Greg brings over his special hangover concoction, and I down it, holding my nose against the stench. The taste brings back memories of high school hangovers and drunken nights. What the heck was I thinking, coming over here?
I instantly regret it.
I vaguely remember doing shots out on the back porch, dancing and listening to music so loud it made my teeth rattle.
“You feeling okay?” Greg asks, patting my arm.
“I feel like I’ve been hit by a damn truck,” I say. “I can’t keep up with you guys. How are y’all even up and smiling right now? Or was I the only one who got wasted last night?”
“Shit, we’ve been professional party hosts for years now,” Greg says with a laugh. “You’re just out of practice.”
I try to stand, but my head is pounding.
“Whoa there, cowboy,” Willow says, helping me sit back down. “Take it easy. What’s the rush?”
“I’m supposed to work tonight,” I say. “My shift started twenty minutes ago.”
“Uh oh, someone’s going to be in trouble with the boss’s daughter,” Greg says with a laugh.
But it’s not funny at all. I think about the argument I had with Jo last night and groan. I was so stupid, getting upset with her about the guitar and the radio show. It wasn’t her fault. It was just my dad’s words getting all mixed up in my head. I need to get myself right so I can go and apologize. If she isn’t so angry she won’t talk to me.
If she is, I deserve it.
I really messed up this time, and it sucks.
“You want some breakfast?” Willow says. “We made bacon and eggs and waffles.”
“I need to get in the shower and head out,” I say. “I’m late.”