the room, and push back the curtain. My father’s still there with a doctor and three nurses by his side. His gown has been opened, and one of the nurses is holding the two plates of the defibrillator in his hands. I half expect the nurse to apply a shock to my father’s chest right then, but judging by the somber faces in the room, I think I may have been too late.
The doctor pushes a button on the machine, stopping the long beeping noise, and places his hands on his hips. Then he looks at me, his sorrowful eyes telling me everything I already know deep in my gut. “I’m so sorry, Desmond.”
“What?” I yell. “Why?”
The doctor steps forward, his expression and mannerisms so calm that I want to rage. “Your father had another heart attack, and he went into sudden cardiac arrest. We did everything we could.”
“No.” My voice cracks, my face crumbles, and my vision is starting to blur. This has got to be a sick joke. This can’t be happening. This cannot be real.
“I’m so sorry, Desmond,” the doctor says again. “We just couldn’t save him.” Two solid beats pass followed by two words I’ll never forget. “He’s gone.”
TAKE VII
HELLOS & GOODBYES
“Every story has an end, but in life every ending is a new beginning.” —unknown
38
Open Minded
Maggie
There’s still a heaviness in the air after we return to Seattle on Friday night. I opt to join Desmond inside his place instead of retreating to my own. I can’t even imagine leaving him alone right now.
Desmond hasn’t spoken much, not that I’ve attempted to hold a conversation. I’ve been giving him his space while letting him know I’m still here.
When he crumbled to the floor after hearing the news, I fell with him.
When he was finally ready to say his goodbyes, I stood by his side.
When he started to make the tough calls to family and friends, I held his hand.
And when Desmond had to go to his dad’s apartment—which was the hardest day of all—I helped him sort through everything so that he could take away any keepsakes. The only thing he ended up walking away with were some recipe books and his parents’ wedding rings. He was shocked him that his dad still had them.
In a way, I would say the past few days were a cathartic experience for him. Each day seems to bring Desmond a little closer to acceptance while he works through the main stages of grief. Shock and denial were probably the shortest stages of them all, with the longest being his anger and bargaining. The guilt he carried from being a helpless bystander in the entire situation was a tough pill for him to swallow. Even if his dad had agreed to move to Seattle, not even Desmond could stop a heart attack.
Desmond excuses himself to take a shower, and I decide to whip him up a small dinner to tide him over for the night. He hasn’t been eating much at all, but I’m hoping he’ll try now that we’re back home. I search through his refrigerator and pantry to see what I can grab without having to run to the market for ingredients, when I get the best idea: a variety of cheeses, a loaf of bread, an onion, mayonnaise, spices, and brown sugar. That’s all I need to make Desmond’s gourmet grilled cheese.
I’ve just gathered all the ingredients when there’s a knock on the door. I look toward the bathroom, where the water is still running. Desmond probably didn’t hear anything beyond the shower water, so I set down the skillet and peep through the hole in the door before opening it.
My heart beats a little faster when I see my dad standing on the other side. He’s wearing a Seattle ball cap and a matching sweatshirt with jeans. His head is angled down, and there’s a melancholy look on his face, which means Desmond must have reached out at some point. Then I’m struck by a feeling of gratitude for the fact that the two men I love have each other.
I pull open the door, and when our eyes connect, surprise registers on his face. “Maggie—”
Before my dad can get another word out, my arms are around him and squeezing him tight. My throat clogs, and it’s impossible to hold back tears. Here I am standing in front of my father when Desmond just lost his. I can’t imagine being in Desmond’s shoes, especially knowing that I