The Fighter

Bree and Joey's Story

~Well, this is the last chapter, sad as it may be. Thank you so much for reading it all the way through! It means more to me than you could imagine. Anyway, I've added a song on the sidebar called There for You by Flyleaf (such a good band; check them out). When I heard it, I just about cried, it describes Joey's feelings so perfectly (the first verse describes how much he regrets deserting her. As for the second, I feel like that's telling about his feelings for Bree--she has blue eyes--and how he's trying not to cry). And not just that--It's..it's just so JOEY to me, and I hope you get the same vibe from it.  The bridge also coincides with the "announcement" Joey makes in the church. Seriously, give it a listen^^ Thanks again!~Hayley~

I fidget uncomfortably on the wooden pew.

The pastor is going on about what a wonderful person Bree was, how we shouldn’t be sad because she’s in heaven and we’ll see her again there someday. It’s a great sermon, and I’m sure he put a lot of time into it, yet still I can’t force myself to listen. It’s because he keeps using that word, the one people have been saying  so often over the past week:

Was.

“Bree was beautiful,” everyone tells me. “Bree was smart. Bree was kind.” They’re trying to show me their condolences, and I appreciate it, but their words of comfort have a totally different effect than what they had intended—all because of was. That simple word seems to burrow through me, tearing me apart and leaving only emptiness behind. Because without Bree, that’s all I am. Emptiness.

“And now, Mrs. Adams would like to say a few words on behalf of her and her husband,” the pastor says.

I snap to attention as Bree’s mother rises from the pew in front of me, the clicking of her heels resounding through the church as she makes her way up to the pulpit in the pastor’s place. She tucks a piece of golden hair behind her ear, and her eyes are free of tears.

My heart aches—an actual, physical pain in my chest—as I watch Mrs. Adams. Why does she have to look so much like her?      

“We did all we could for my daughter,” Bree’s mother begins quietly. “We made so many sacrifices to pay for her medical bills and went to dozens of hospital to get every treatment money could buy. Some people have asked me why we even bothered if we knew she was . . . if we knew things were going to end this way. But I don’t regret a penny we spent on our daughter’s treatments. Because . . . because it was worth it, all of it, just to keep her here with us for as long as we could.”

Mrs. Adams clears her throat, trying to hide the wavering in her tone. “Obviously, though, it wasn’t enough. She’s gone now, and there’s nothing we can to do bring her back. But my husband and I don’t like to think of it that way. Instead we try to remember that we did everything we could, and that just having Bree in our lives for those sixteen years was a blessing enough. We—“

She stops short, breaking down with small sobs. Raising an arm to wipe tears away on her sleeve, she whispers, “I’m sorry. I . . . I can’t . . .”

Her whole body is shaking as she stumbles out of the pulpit and back to her pew, collapsing against her husband. Mr. Adams lets her bury her face in his suit-coat, rubbing circles on the small of her back and whispering words for only her ears to hear.

The entire congregation is still and quiet, not sure of what to do in this sudden break in the service. Even the pastor—who should be the very one to step up and continue funeral procedures and usual—sits rigid in his seat, seemingly unable to take any course of action.

Mrs. Adams lifts her head and turns to look at me over her husband’s shoulder. Her makeup is smeared under her eyes in ugly black streaks, yet somehow she still looks commanding as she nods almost imperceptibly in my direction. Her blue eyes are piercing as they stare into mine, and I understand exactly what she wants me to do.