Chapter Twenty-Six
Bailey
I hung up the phone after talking to a woman named Joy for almost an hour. She was kind, compassionate, and understood the hard decision I was making by having hospice enter our home and our lives. She assured me they would assist my father in any way possible to make his last days on earth as comfortable and memorable for both of us.
“Everyone deserves to go out with dignity,” she said just before hanging up.
I thought about her statement, and it brought tears to my eyes. My father was very proud and had always been. As a man, a husband, a father, and a soldier, he was proud. He deserved to handle his life, and his death, in his own way. It hurt to make the call, to admit that the end was near, but I knew it was selfish to push treatments on him that were only making him sick.
Stage four cancer had beaten him nearly to a pulp. Without the treatment and the sickness that came with it, he was regaining control of his mind once again, his energy level was growing, and he was happier, more himself. I hated seeing him lay in bed all day and night, only turning him to avoid bed rashes. He did deserve his dignity.
I walked into the house, straight into his room, just to tell him I loved him, and I understood. I wanted him to know that I wasn’t upset, that my sadness was only for what was to come, but I was happy about the days we’d spend together with him alert, feeling more like himself.
“There you are,” he smiled as I entered his room.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed with clean pajamas and clean sheets. His day nurse left while I was on the phone. She had already bathed him and cleaned up his room.
“You look nice,” I complimented, and sat on the bed beside him.
“You had a phone call,” he reported.
“Shit. I promised Lila I would call her, and I forgot,” I sighed.
“Xander Landry,” he said calmly, avoiding the lecture about my language.
My heart raced. Xander called?
“What did he say?” I chirped, unable to hide my eagerness.
My dad reached his hand across my lap, taking mine in his. His skin was soft and loose, but he squeezed with a tight grip.
“He just wanted to check on you. He sounds like a very nice man,” my dad noted.
“He is very nice,” I admitted.
“Very good manners, and he asked about me,” he continued.
The thought of Xander talking to my dad warmed my heart. I wished they could’ve met. I knew my dad would love Xander, and Xander would love my dad.
“I thought it was very nice that he checked on you,” he smiled. “He said he found you on the path,” he went on.
“Yes,” I agreed.
I knew my dad hadn’t been very alert when I arrived home, so any details were probably fuzzy.
“I was hiking when the storm hit, and I slipped and fell on the mountain side not far from his cabin,” I explained.
“He lives on the mountain?” my dad questioned.
“Yes, on top of the mountain,” I chuckled.
“I didn’t think there were any houses up there,” he gasped.
“There isn’t, just the one. It’s an old hunting cabin I believe,” I said.
“What on earth is he doing out there all alone in this weather? He a hunter?” he pushed.
“No, he’s was a soldier, like you were. He prefers to be alone,” I revealed.
“I see,” he sighed, releasing his grip on my hand.
He pushed himself back on the bed, propping up on the pillows behind him. He still hadn’t regained all of his energy, and he probably never would, but we hoped for it to get better before it got worse. The bath and the bed change always wore him out, so it was obvious he wanted to rest.
“I’ll let you get some sleep. I just wanted to tell you I love you and that I understand your decision,” I smiled.
“Good girl,” he grinned.
“Your hospice nurse’s name is Joy. She will be here in the morning,” I added.
“Good. So, this Xander, does he have a problem being around people?” my dad asked.
I found it odd that he was so interested in a man he’d only spoken to once.
“Yes. He has bad nightmares, and he doesn’t feel comfortable around people,” I told him.
“PTSD. A lot of the boys came home with that. It’s a serious disorder that gets a bad rap,” he sighed.
“Yes. He said PTSD, that’s what he called it,” I agreed.
“You were up there with him a long time,” he noted.
“Yes,” I agreed.
“So you must’ve meant something to him for him to call and check on you,” he insinuated.
I sighed. Maybe I did mean more to Xander than he was ready to admit.
“The way your eyes lit up when I mentioned his name, he obviously meant something to you too,” he pointed out.
Tears started to stream down my face as I struggled for a response. Xander did mean a lot to me, a whole lot. My heart had done nothing but ache for him since I left that mountainside. I was happy to be home, to be here with my dad, but it killed me to leave Xander on that mountain.
“Why don’t you go to him?” he asked.
“I have a life here, with you, the kids at school, with Lila,” I explained, wiping my tears.
“I won’t be here long, dear. My life was with your mother. After she left, I just went through the motions. I can’t wait to get back to her, in her arms. Love is what it’s all about,” he smiled.
I watched as his eyes welled up with tears. They were filled with joy and admiration as he looked upward towards the ceiling. I knew he missed her terribly and had all these years. I hated that he was alone, but now I see, he never really was alone; he had her in his heart and on his mind all the time. She was always with him.
“I’m not sure we could ever work,” I sighed.
“Why?” he asked.
“His PTSD. I can’t live on a mountain and seclude myself from the world, and even though I gave him an ultimatum to come with me, he refused,” I explained.
My dad’s eyes narrowed on mine. “Oh, you can’t give him an ultimatum,” he growled.
“If he truly did care for me as much as he said, he would’ve at least tried to come with me,” I whined.
My dad chuckled and then grabbed my hand. He squeezed it tightly and let out a long sigh. “You have no idea the turmoil and chaos that is in that man’s mind. He doesn’t think he can be loved, he is too busy beating himself up for things he saw, he done, or things he didn’t do,” he said sternly.
“His nightmares went away with me there, when he held me at night,” I gushed.
“That doesn’t mean they won’t come back, and that doesn’t mean that the rest of his life is in order. Sleeping is only part of the problem. He still has the rest of the day to try and calm his mind,” he explained.
I started to understand that I was pushing Xander, and it was selfish. He had no option but to refuse, no matter how he felt about me.
“The fact that he let you into his world means a lot, and if he shared his stories and his life with you, just know, it’s not even scratching the surface. There is so much more that he carries, things he’s told no one, and may never tell anyone, not even you,” he sighed.
Tears fell down my face as my dad’s eyes started to close. He was exhausted from his day. I wanted to ask him more, to hear his own stories that he’d never told anyone, maybe not even Mom, but I knew he needed his rest.
“If you love him, go to him,” he mumbled before he fell asleep.
I gripped his hand tightly in mine and laid my head on his chest. I cried there for almost an hour, thinking about Xander while listening to my father’s heartbeat. The two things I knew I loved, but couldn’t keep in my life.
I wanted to take my dad’s advice, to run to Xander, but I was scared.
I shut off the bedroom light, leaving my dad to sleep in peace. In my bedroom, I fell on my bed, opened my phone, and started researching PTSD. I’d heard the term and was very familiar with what it was in general, but I never had a reason to try and understand it until now.
I wanted to know everything, to understand everything. If I was to run to Xander, I had to know what I was in for and if he was capable of loving me back.
The thousands of pages filled with information were overwhelming and not as helpful as I expected. I stumbled onto a forum where men and women discussed PTSD, not only about their own disorder, but that of their loved ones. It was amazing to read all the people who shared their lives with someone who suffered from the disorder. The words were inspiring, and the message clear: someone with PTSD was more than capable of loving. In fact, most of the victims of the disorder had one thing other than war in common: they all had huge hearts.