Sometimes, I could still feel my Dad dying.
I swore I could feel it. It felt like something was getting sucked out of me.
I remembered getting the phone call.
It came in the middle of the night.
There wasn't a right way to go about telling someone their Dad was seconds away from dying. There wasn't a good way to tell them that they had to be the one to wake up their younger siblings and tell them the news. There wasn't a guide on how to do any of this.
I didn't blame my mother for any of it. I don't know what I would've done differently. Blame isn't the right word, I guess. But it was the start of me taking more responsibility than I signed up for. I shouldn't have had to tell my siblings that our Dad was dead.
I know this isn't about me and Alli specifically, but the more I think about it, the more I'm realizing where I went wrong.
Everything was tethered to that night.
When I got the call, I held it together on the phone. I didn't dare to speak above a whisper, because I knew I'd lose it. I told Lorena that I would get to our childhood home and tell the twins. I swore I'd get them there in time to say goodbye. As soon as I hung up the phone, I lost it. The gasps for air I was letting out could probably be heard by the neighbors two blocks down. I couldn't understand what was going on, not really. All I could do was cry and cry and cry. Alli woke up quickly once she heard me, rushing to gather her bearings as she scrambled to my side of the bed.
My world was crumbling around me, but I had Alli. At least I had Alli.
"Hey, hey, I'm here," she told me frantically, reaching for me calmly. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?"
"My- my dad," I wheezed out, hand clutching at my chest like I was trying to stop him from getting ripped away from me.
"Cole, what happened?" Alli repeated firmly, holding my face in her hands.
I couldn't get the words out.
I couldn't stop crying.
Everything hurt.
I couldn't breathe.
I had to tell the twins.
"Cole, please? I..." Alli had trailed off helplessly, looking utterly terrified.
I finally told her: "My Dad... he was in a car crash. He... he might not even make it through the hour."
She paused for a moment, processed, and then she held me. She didn't say anything, she just held me. She pressed my head against the crook of her neck, rubbing her hand through my hair soothingly. It felt like she was breathing life back into me, like I wasn't rotting at her feet. Like I wasn't leaving with my Dad.
Alli was my rock that night. She held me together the entire time. She helped me get my youngest siblings to the hospital, allowing me to break down with her since I couldn't with the others. I had to keep everything together, they couldn't see me break. But Alli let me. She held me together. She was quick to step up and comfort my siblings when I couldn't find the strength to. She didn't falter, not once. She held my hand the entire night, even when we got to the hospital and heard the news.
I knew the second we got there.
I knew from the devastating look on my Mom's face.
We didn't get to the hospital in time.
We had to say goodbye to my Dad's dead body.
He ran out of time, and so did we.
I think that was when I started living like I was running out of time.