17. Five Months Ago
PENNY
Frank got much worse very quickly. One night, Gavin called me to tell me Frank had been unconscious for twelve hours.
I felt helpless as I rocked Gavin on his dad’s couch. He sobbed into my shirt. It was three a.m. and he was totally exhausted. “He doesn’t feel any pain,” I whispered.
Gavin couldn’t even speak. He was in my arms, letting loose guttural noises from his chest, like he was trying to push out all the feelings from his body. I always thought about how hard it would be to watch your spouse lose a parent, but Gavin wasn’t my husband. I would eventually have to leave him there . . . all alone, in that house, neither one of us knowing when Frank would take his last breath.
There was a hospice worker and a nurse who were constantly in and out, but it didn’t matter. Those people didn’t exist. It was just Frank and Gavin and me, and the little bit of comfort I could give to both of them.
“I just want him to go,” he said before breaking down again.
“Go to him and tell him it’s okay.”
Gavin stood on wobbly legs, his hands shaking. I wrapped my arm around his waist and walked side by side with him to his father’s hospital bed.
Gavin knelt, taking his father’s hand in his. He laid his head on Frank’s chest. “Dad.” He could barely get the words out. “I wish I was around for you more. I wish I was a better son. I wish I went to the Rockies games with you.” Each word seemed more painful than the last.
“Shhh, Gavin, you were a good son,” I told him as I rubbed his back.
“I love you, Dad. I’ll be all right. You can let go and be at peace.”
I leaned over and kissed Frank’s cheek. “I love you, too, Frank,” I said, and then I was crying as hard as Gavin. “You were like another father to me. Thank you.”
Gavin and I both cried for what felt like forever. We held each other and then collapsed onto the couch near Frank’s bed. At four thirty a.m., I got a text from my husband asking if I would be able to take Milo to school. I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to ask. Why couldn’t he call in late for work or ask his parents, who lived nearby? I told him no, and that I would call my mom and have her come and get Milo. My mother agreed without complaint. She still had a soft spot for Gavin.
At six thirty-three a.m., the nurse shook us awake. Frank Berninger had just taken his last breath. Almost immediately, I could see relief wash over Gavin’s face.
“He’s gone,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. It was the only response I could muster.
The hospice workers prepared for the removal of the body while Gavin and I sat around in an exhausted daze the whole morning. Around noon, they took Frank’s body away. My mother showed up a couple of hours later with a bag of groceries.
She didn’t say much; she just hugged us both, went into Gavin’s kitchen, did the dishes, and started warming up homemade chicken soup on the stove. She brought us each a bowl on the couch.
Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, my mother said, “I’ll get Milo from school and take him home. You both look like you need some rest.”
I never really talked to my mother about my relationship with Gavin. She had grown to accept the fact that he would be in my life, and that he and I could be close without having a sexual relationship. One time she accused me of having an emotional affair with him, but I had shut her down by saying, “Leave it alone. You don’t understand. No one understands.” She never uttered a word about it after that. She loved him, too, and I didn’t think she could imagine our lives without Gavin.
After she left, Gavin set the soup on the table. “I can’t eat, P.”
“I know.” I set my bowl down, too. He kicked his shoes off. We lay down. I let him cry into my chest until, eventually, we both fell asleep, wrapped up in each other, the way we had always been.