Vampires Never Get Old - Zoraida Cordova Page 0,41

and confusion and rage and fear except close my eyes and try to be anywhere else. That’s when he told me.”

We stay like that for a few minutes: hands clasped, her kneeling in the red clay, me in this rinky-dink manual chair Seanan stole from the casino that hurts every joint and muscle in my body. Over her shoulder, the teddy bears watch.

“Sunday morning, front row,” she says softly, and I realize she’s answering my earlier question. “His name was first on the prayer requests. Deacon Bell asked God to grant him strength and comfort in the face of such a terrible loss.”

I stare at the pile of tokens left for the dead girl. She feels so far away. Maybe the wolves really did take her. Maybe she fed a whole den of them, kept them warm through the snowstorm. Maybe she’s running with the wolves even now.

“What will you do?” Seanan asks.

“What any good daughter would do,” I say. “Repay his kindness.”

THE ATLANTA JOURNAL-CONSTITUTION

“Mercy Killing” Sparks National Conversation About Caregiver Supports

Following the recent death of Grace Williams, 17, at the hands of her father, Grant Williams, 53, a conversation around the lack of support available for caregivers of severely impaired children has occurred. Grace Williams, who was born with a degenerative neuromuscular disease, was wheelchair-bound and needed intensive, round-the-clock care. Her father, raising and caring for the teenager alone since his ex-wife filed for divorce a decade ago, cited the enormous burden as one of the reasons he decided to enact what many are calling “an act of mercy.”

“More than anything, I wanted Grace to have some peace. That was the main thing. Her life was constant misery, and no one can bear to watch their little girl go through that,” Williams said recently in an interview with Atlanta’s 11Alive News. “But people don’t realize how hard it is to be the sole source of care. Trying to hold down a job, put food on the table, and take care of Grace? It was exhausting. Unsustainable.”

He has talked publicly in recent weeks about the stunning lack of support available to caregivers of children like Grace. While some organizations offer financial help for medical equipment and doctors’ visits, there is little in the way of emotional support or respite services.

A few disability-focused advocacy groups have condemned Williams’s actions and the public response. “Our sympathies are with Grace Williams, whose life was senselessly and cruelly taken,” the spokesperson for All Access, an Atlanta-based nonprofit, told the AJC in an email.

“It’s criminal, what we put parents through,” Williams continued in the 11Alive interview. “Just criminal to expect these parents to sacrifice everything for these poor kids and get no help whatsoever. It’s not right.”

Williams is reportedly looking into creating a foundation in his daughter’s name to address these issues, though he has not yet made an official announcement.

* * *

My room tastes stale. The air is heavy on my tongue, like it’s already clumping into forgotten dust. Everything is exactly as I left it. Desk a messy pile of books and journals and loose-leaf papers. Apple-cinnamon candle on the windowsill. Humidifier half-filled with water. He didn’t even bother to make my bed. The comforter is bunched at the foot, sheets rumpled. You can see the shape of my body on the mattress, a permanent depression from years of sleeping in the same spot and the same position night after night. The sight makes me feel more exposed than if I were naked.

“I’m gonna need some help, if you don’t mind.” I nod toward my chair sitting in the corner. He also hasn’t bothered to unplug the charger, which works in my favor. Probably the battery would have been fine since no one’s been using it all this time, but seeing the steady green light that means fully charged is a relief nonetheless.

“Of course,” Seanan says. “Tell me what you need.”

The transfer from awful replacement chair to my trusty friend is smooth. Lifting me is nothing for Seanan, my weight negligible even with the newly added muscle density. She sets me down carefully and waits for instruction. That she doesn’t assume what I need, that letting me lead is apparently instinctive to her … “Thank you,” I say.

We pack a few changes of clothes, some books, my pillows. The rest I leave. It’s all replaceable, this dead girl’s stuff. With that done, we move into the dining room. All there is to do now is wait. I was worried he might beat us