When I arrive at the children’s hospital Saturday morning, I’m in such a good mood, I’m practically bouncing. My spring break couldn’t have gotten off to a better start, and I’m excited to check in on the kids and see how they’re doing. I even have plans to stop by and say hello to some of the older kids that I met last week. There were a couple that I really hit it off with. While I’m sure they don’t have any need of my reading skills, I think they might be up for a little chat with a new friend.
The instant I step off of the elevator, headed for the cancer ward, I feel it. Something is different—the energy in the air is off. My suspicions are confirmed as I start to approach the nurse’s station. Pamela and Stacey both stop what they’re doing when they see me. I’m not greeted with smiles, and my heart starts thumping loudly in my chest when I watch Pamela take a deep, fortifying breath.
“What’s going on?” I ask instead of hello.
Pamela doesn’t answer me right away. She looks at me for a long moment, as if assessing me somehow; then, as she makes her way around the desk, I hear her whisper a curse. That’s when I know it’s really bad. Around here, really bad is usually devastating, which is why a knot starts to clog my throat before she speaks a word.
“Oh, dear, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this,” she murmurs, reaching out to run her hand up and down my arm. “It’s about Sheamus.”
“What?” I choke out, my chest tightening in anxiety. “What happened?”
“He passed away a couple nights ago.”
My heart drops, and it’s as if the ground beneath me has been ripped away, screwing with my equilibrium.
“No,” I state adamantly. “No-no-no.” Stepping away from her touch, I almost lose my balance. My tears form fast, and the grief that fills my chest comes instantly, pressing down on me like an anvil crushing me from the inside.
“It happened so fast. He had a brain aneurysm, and in his fragile state, it ruptured. He suffered a stroke, and before they could get him to the operating room—”
“No!” I declare. Forcing my voice around the sob in my throat, I cry, “No, no, no! This was not supposed to happen. Not to him. Not to him!”
I don’t realize that I’m still backing away from her touch until I collide into a wall. With nowhere else to go, I can’t stop her from pulling me into her arms. The second my cheek meets her shoulder, it’s as if the floodgates have been opened. I weep at the injustice of it all, my heart in pieces as I think of who the world has lost.
I remember his smile. I remember his laughter and his joy. I remember the optimism he held on his best days, and the dreams he harbored that are all now lost. When I think about the last time I saw him and how happy and excited he was, I cry harder, wishing to be anywhere but here.
I want to run—I want to be away from this place, away from death and pain and cancer—I feel like I’m suffocating under the reality of it. But when I think about it, when I think about how I can leave because I’m not sick, my heart hurts even more knowing there are sick children that I’ve grown to love here who do not have the same liberty.
“This is what I love about you, Kenzie,” Pamela says as she strokes the hair that cascades down my back. “These kids, they aren’t just volunteer hours to you. They aren’t your charity. You care about them. You let them into your heart—you let them change you. After all my years working in hospitals, watching patients come and go, it warms my heart to know that there are people like you to come and touch places like this.
“It hurts like hell—I know. I know, dear. But this is who you are. This is why you are so special to each and every one of them.” She pulls away from me, coaxing my head up with a finger. I don’t try and staunch my tears, knowing it’s useless, but I somehow manage to quiet my sob when I look into her eyes. “Come here,” she tells me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Lance left something for you. He dropped it by yesterday.”
When we reach the nurse’s station, she silently reaches across the top of the desk, and Stacey is quick to hand her a thick, manila envelope with my name on it. Pamela gives it to me, and when I start to open it, she clamps her hands down tightly over mine, shaking her head sternly.
“No,” she demands. “Not here. I don’t know what’s inside, but my guess is that if you open it now, you’ll not make it home.”
I nod my understanding, sending a few more tears racing down my cheeks. My throat feels so tight, I’m not sure my voice will work at all when I try to speak. Even the slightest thought of Sheamus sends a fresh wave of grief and tears through me. I know without even having to think about it that I can’t stay—that I can’t spend the day with the other kids like I had planned. I’m not strong enough to hold up a smile. Not today. Not right now.
I look to Pamela with the intent to express my thoughts, but she stops me with another shake of her head. “I already told the kids, dear. They’re not expecting you today. I knew this one would hit you especially hard.”
I bring my hand up to cover my mouth in a failed attempt to mute my cry, and it takes me another minute to gather myself. When I feel like I can make it at least as far as my car without breaking down, I swallow back my tears and take a deep breath, meeting Pamela’s eyes once more. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice husky and soft. “Please tell them I’m sorry.”
“Take care of you, dear.”
I nod, hugging the envelope to my chest as I allow my feet to lead me out of this place. I force myself to think of nothing, absolutely nothing, sure that that’s the only way I’ll be able to hold on to the tiny bit of control I’ve managed to gain over my emotions. But the second I close myself into my car, all bets are off.
I don’t remember my drive home, or my walk from my car to the front door. I’m not sure at what point I abandoned my purse, my jacket, and my shoes; and I have no idea how long I sit in the middle of my bed, staring down at the envelop in my lap. All I know is that my hands are trembling when I finally open it, carefully taking out the contents.
Inside is Coder’s slouchy, gray beanie, a framed photograph, and a letter. Clutching the wool beanie to my chest, I trace my fingers across the glass face of the frame. Underneath it is a photograph that was taken just last week. It’s a candid shot I didn’t even know Lance had taken. In it, Sheamus is sitting up in his bed while Coder works on his tattoo. I’m on the other side of the bed, sitting beside him. He’s smiling up at me, saying something I wish I could remember, and I’m laughing.
I stare at the picture for a long time, not bothering to dry my cheeks as my silent tears fall. When I think I’m ready, I prop the frame up on my nightstand, and then open the letter.
Kenzie,
I wanted to return Coder’s hat and thank him for allowing my son to own it for a short time. I know in another life, he’d wear it every day and never give it back. I hope that it isn’t viewed as a gift returned, but a gift given—a reminder of how special it was to an amazing soul.
I had the picture framed for Sheamus. He would not stop talking about his tattoo and how the day he got “inked” was the “best day ever.” I wanted to give him something to see every day, something to hope for—something to fight for—another “best day ever.” Now, it is my gift to you.
The weight of this loss is unbearable. I cannot put into words the pain that I feel. I wish that I could, then you would understand how much this letter really means; how much of an impact you had—so much so that I couldn’t let this moment pass by without telling you thank you.
You loved my boy through his darkest days, and I don’t use the term “love” lightly. He was more than a patient, more than a sad, sick child—he was your friend, and I know this because you were his, too.
Whatever it is that lives inside of you, whatever light you carry, promise that you’ll never let it fade. I’m grateful that Sheamus had a friend like you, and I hope countless more who need a light in their darkest hours will get the chance to bathe in the warmth of yours.
Lance
“Kenz?” I hear Brooke’s shout, but I don’t reply.
“Shit, baby—what if it wasn’t Kenzie? Would you let me look around before you start yelling your head off?” Owen hisses.
“But what if there’s a burglar and Kenzie’s in here?” she hisses back, sounding panicked. “I saw her car. She’s not supposed to be here. It’s only twelve! Shit—what if she was taken?”
“Brooke, calm down a second, would you?”
I can hear Owen’s voice growing closer, but I don’t move. I can’t move. If I move, I cry, and my puffy, raw eyes could use a short reprieve—so I remain still, and I remain silent.
When Owen’s frame darkens my doorway, I hear his sigh of relief followed shortly by, “Oh, shit. Kenz?” I see only his legs as he crosses the room. Then he squats down next to me, his face coming into view. I don’t look at him. I can’t. “Kenz?”
“Owen, did you—” Brooke stops speaking when she finds us. Soon, she’s right at Owen’s side, kneeling in front of me as she asks, “Kenzie? What’s wrong? What happened? The door was wide open.”
It slowly registers that if I don’t speak, they’ll never know that it was me who accidently left the door open. They’ll start rattling off different scenarios and explanations for my catatonic state, and I don’t have it in me to talk them down. So I break my silence, looking to the one who’s good with tears as I whisper, “Sheamus.” My heart breaks all over again even just saying his name. “Sheamus is gone.”
“I’m so sorry, Kenzie. That sucks.”
I roll away from them both, clutching Coder’s beanie tighter. Sucks isn’t the half of it. Sucks doesn’t even begin to describe what this is. They don’t understand. They can’t understand. They never met him or spent any time with him. They don’t know that Sheamus beat cancer once and he was supposed to beat it again. It’s so unbearably unfair that this is his story. They think they know, but they don’t. They don’t get it.
“Please, just go away,” I murmur through my tears.
To my relief and surprise, they don’t argue. Owen gives my shoulder a squeeze, Brooke strokes my arm, and then they both leave. I don’t question how easy that was, I just accept it as I settle back down into my grief.
It isn’t until a little while later that it all makes since. It isn’t until I feel Coder curl his body around mine that I understand. They weren’t leaving me alone at all.
Coder doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. As I start to dissolve into another fit of tears, I turn over, burying my face in his chest. He holds me close—his silence my reassurance that he’s got my back. He knows that sucks isn’t the half of it.
I doze off in Coder’s arms and wake up like I always do when I’m with him, pressed into his side, an arm draped over his chest, and a leg hooked around his. I can feel his fingers stroking the length of my side, and when I tilt my head back to look at him, I find his dark eyes already staring down on me. I’m surprised by the amount of comfort I feel laying underneath his silent gaze, though I’m not sure why. In this moment, he’s fighting to keep his promise. He said he’d always have my back. Right now, I don’t know what he’s sacrificing to be here, but he’s here anyway.
I snuggle closer to him and he locks his arms around me. For the first time all day, I feel a hint of peace; like I’m exactly where I need to be with exactly who I need to be with. I even let my mind go so far as to say that maybe this very moment was orchestrated on my behalf.
I believe in a God who is always good. Through my anger and my grief, He remains the same. He loves the same—yesterday, today, and forever. I won’t deny that He’s broken my heart in taking Sheamus; that He’s devastated Lance by taking the two people he loved most in the entire world. I won’t deny that it hurts to accept this reality, a reality that God allowed to happen. I won’t pretend that I understand the point of it all, and I won’t ask for Him to explain, knowing that it doesn’t matter. What is lost is lost, and it’ll hurt no matter what. Yet, at the very same time, I can’t overlook what He’s giving me right now.
I think back to when I met Coder. Right after Timothy died. Right before Sheamus was admitted into the hospital. I don’t believe in coincidence. God is the author of all things—a truth that has been instilled in me since as early as I can remember. Maybe even before. At a time when I began to question what I want and who I’m destined to be, I met a man I never expected to meet. A man who has dared me to step out of my shell and to be who I really am. A man who has taught me what it means to be unapologetic about who I am—or who I want to be. A man who loves the woman he sees when he looks at me. A man who will drop everything to come hold me when I’m sad.
Gazing up at him now, it seems glaringly obvious that God did this on purpose. He gave me Coder exactly when I needed him—right when I was at my breaking point. It’s as if He knew the loss of Sheamus would push me past my limit. I needed someone on the other side to catch me when I fell. And here I am. In the arms of the man who has caught me.
“Take me away,” I whisper, my voice husky from sleep and hours of crying.
“Where do you want to go, babe?”
“I don’t care. Someplace far.”
“How far?”
“As far as you want to go. I don’t care. I just want to be with you. We can take the bike and just…ride.”
He stares at me for a moment before a hint of a smile curls the corner of his mouth. “A ride for Sheamus.”
My God, I love this man. With all that I am. With all that I have.
“Yeah,” I manage to say through the knot in my throat. “A ride for Sheamus.”
He dips his chin in agreement and then plants a solid kiss on my lips. When he pulls away, he lets me go completely and climbs out of bed. I prop myself up on my elbow, watching as he puts his boots on before I ask, “Where are you going?”
“Have to rearrange some shit. Talk to Harvey. Stop by the house.” He pauses when my stomach growls and then looks back at me. “Grab you some food. I’ll be back in an hour or so, yeah?”
“Okay, but, honey, what’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer me until he’s finished securing his boots. Then he turns back to kiss me again. With his lips still close to mine, he says, “I’m taking you far away, Mack. Pack a bag, babe—but pack light. Whatever you can get in your backpack for a few days. I’ll be back.” He kisses me once more and then starts to make his exit.
“Wait, where are we going?” I ask, clinging to the hint of excitement that mingles with my sorrow.
“Don’t know exactly where, yet, but I will when I get back.”
“Wait! Coder?” I call out, propping myself even higher.
“Babe?” he inquires, stopping just outside my doorway.
“I love you.”
He stares at me for a moment, saying something without actually saying anything. I’m not sure what he means, but it feels profound in that way that only Coder can manage in his silence. Then he tells me, “I love you back.” And without another word, he’s gone.