In A Heartbeat

Ch. 4

I spent the next two days on a roller coaster of grief, anger, pain, and every stage you have when you die and live and find out how much the universe can dump on you and expect you to survive. I refused to let Agnes take Buster. He became the official dog of intensive care and was given an 'emotional support dog' vest a hospital badge.  Doctor Harlowe had signed the paperwork himself and it granted him  access to my side at all times.

Nurses fed him, took him out, and even snuck him food but he stayed by my side demanding I get out of my blackness and give him attention.

When physical therapy started Buster was at my side. Soon it was me hobbling down the hallways to take him to the grassy side areas to go to the bathroom, feeding him, and giving him water. He motivated me to get out of bed and make his life as normal as possible for a dog that never left me. He deserved that, his life has changed in an instant.

Three weeks and two days after my transplant I was discharged. Agnes picked me up and took me to her house where I healed and waited for the all clear to go home. She didn't coddle me, feel sorry for me, or try to make me get over things. And finally, one Tuesday while eating chicken-pot pie with burnt crust and filling that seemed to disappear in the oven, she said the magic words.

"I think you're ready Cassie, that is, if you do. I'm not kicking you out. God knows a loner like me wants to hold on to you and I'd be just as happy if you decided to stay here forever, but your house is waiting for you. And if you want to go home, I'm only a phone call away."

I put my fork down without a moment's hesitation. "I'll go get my bags."

She did the first spit take I'd ever seen in real life and we both started laughing. "Not today!  Tomorrow. In the morning. You always do well in the morning and of it's too much I can pick you up before evening. Or anytime."

I picked back up my fork and slowly ate my empty burnt crust. "Okay".

Laying in bed that night I dreamt of home.  My kitchen with it's silly slanted floor and mismatched dishes. My bathroom where you sometimes had to use a plunger to get the tub to empty. And the smell of my mom and dad in every crevice. I was going home!

The next morning I was awake before the sun packing what belongings I had there and eagerly waited for Agnes to make a 'sensible' breakfast of egg whites with sautéed peppers. I ate every drop afraid she'd change her mind.

We pulled up to the house where I'd lived my whole life. The maroon door and matching shutters shining like the queen was about to pay a visit. The air was cool and the sun reflected off the paint as if pointing out home in case I'd forgotten.

Agnes put the car in park and left the engine running. "I could come in, if you want. Help you get settled, see about the food situation." 

I knew she was trying to be kind, but this was something I had to do alone.  Kissing her cheek and grabbing the leash I got out of the car and made my way to the door. I held up my hand, a brief goodbye and tried not to give in to my inner voice wanting to run back to the car and pretend none of this had ever happened. 

She pulled away quickly and I used her old key and finally crossed the threshold of home.  Smells and sounds came slowly, like steam from an open door after someone taking a hot shower. The clock in the kitchen with its loud scraping click. The drip from the upstairs faucet that returned no matter how many times my dad had scattered tools and cursed it.

When I put my suitcase in the hallway I waited to be scolded before realizing it wouldn't happen. No one cared now if I left things out where people walked. I sat in the kitchen, absorbing, relishing memories as Buster tore through the house like he'd finally found what he'd been missing. He rolled on the couches and jumped on and off my bed, the thump vibrating the ceiling above my head. He rolled on the carpet and dug raw hides from hidden corners.

When he scratched at the back patio door I finally got up, almost fearing leaving the room, as if it would change. Buster bolted out the door and nose to the ground covered every surface of the yard. Checking new smells and old smells and bounding from fence to fence looking for neighboring pets.

Leaving him to his exploring, I reached up and removed the wedding picture of my parents over the mantle. With a single finger I traced their outlines, and told them how sorry I was. I hoped dad had waited in that waiting room, and that it had seemed like no time at all until my mother had joined him. And together they had got to the next step, the one I had never made it to.

I thought about how amazing this body felt. My fingers, which had always been a shade of blue or black depending on my movement were pink. My skin was olive and I could get out of bed every day now without mentally preparing for the pain and suffocating feeling of not having enough air. My dad gave me life twice. The second time it took his, and I wouldn't waste it. I wasn't sure what I would do, but it would make him proud.

With Buster still doing his territorial parading, I slowly made my way up the steps and down the hall to my bedroom. It smelled sour and sickly and the hospital bed, still a mess of covers, syringes, and tubing for oxygen, looked as foreign as seeing a car in the living room. I'd forgotten they had brought this in. Forgotten how much they'd done to try and give me what I'd begged for, dying at home on my own turf without beeps.

I cracked the window to air out the smell and turned to leave. I wouldn't be sleeping here tonight. Crawling back in a coffin was not something I could force myself to do no matter how much I told myself I could handle.
On my way out I stopped in front of the vanity, brushes and powder puffs lined up in rows waiting for the girl who never looked in the shiny new mirror to put them on.  I had stayed away from mirrors despite my mom telling me how beautiful I was.  My strawberry blonde hair was always thin and never styled, usually mom ended up cutting the bangs when I was too sick to protest.  I always wanted her to wait, until I was well enough to go to a beauty shop and have it done.  My blue eyes were always dim, with large purple circles like deep black holes around them.  And no matter how much lipstick she bought, my lips were always tinged with blue or purple.  The mirror made me see the real me, and I avoided it like the plague.

Today I looked healthy. Glowing skin with a million freckles blooming across my cheeks.  My raw red eyes looked tired, and sad, but they glistened with the look of being alive.  I put my fingers to my lips, leaning closer to the mirror, unable to believe that they were plump and pink.  I looked so much like my mother.  Tears fell on the brushes and I let them, hoping in the haze of them I'd catch one last glimpse of her, even if it were me.

My gut hurt, incredible deep heavy pain, the kind that comes when something is ripped away that you count on for breathing.  My parents were gone, I was an orphan, alone in the world without the support and love of the only reason I'd lived for so long.  The only reason I lived now.  I had a sudden need to crawl in their bed and be where I could smell them, and touch what they touched.

I walked across the hallway through tears and sobs, Buster whining and walking beside me, his nails clicking across the floor. As I reached for the handle of my parents bedroom the phone rang. Smiling, knowing poor Agnes was probably having visions of me lying in the doorway screaming for help, I headed for the phone. It went immediately to the machine.

"This is Heather Clayton from GenTech. I know this is a difficult time for you and I apologize for calling again. But the contents of Mr. Summer's office are still in question and I have an order for it to be moved on Friday. If someone could please inform me whether a family representative will be picking them up or if I should send them out by post I would appreciate it. Again, I'm sorry for your loss."

I could do that. I'd been there before. His office was crammed with papers and bits of bizarre trinkets that he'd collected. Each bit of that stuff was part of my father. Who was now part of me. It was one task I could do to make things better.

The machine read 42 messages. My finger lingered over the button but couldn't find the willpower to push it. They could wait. All of them. This was my moment and my parents moment, and they could all just stay outside for a little longer. I was home.

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Yay!!! This chapter concludes the crying and sadness for a while and the next begins an exciting adventure that you just have to read to believe!!  I don't know where it came from, but the idea God was good to me here. Thanks for reading along, a story is nothing without someone to share it, thanks for being my someone.