Arrangements

My father was ghostly white in the passing weeks. He laid in a hospital bed, a tube down his throat and an oxygen masked glued to his face. He wasn't my papa...just his soul.

As soon as I had seen him, 2 weeks prior, I already knew he was dead. His soul was gone, his heart, his memories. He wasn't coming back, he was just a soul of a man. Keeping him alive wasn't doing any good, but my mother refused to turn the life support machine off. She sat with him everyday.

And, everyday I came and saw him. I sat with him, holding his old, pale hand, praying that maybe -just maybe- he'd wake up and be hisself. It was a slither of hope, even when I knew the truth was staring us right in the face.

Gerard was the kindest man to me. He was patient, and even cancelled an appearance to be with me. He stayed right by my side and waited for me each day, even though I wasn't the greatest person at the moment. He was patient in the way I snapped and sometimes ignored him. He knew I was hurting and he tolerated it.

Astrid hid away, eating and crying. The doctor had told her it wasn't good for her health, but she still cried and stuffed snack cakes down her throat. Frank was great too, he took care of her, and actually cooked for her and made her get out the house for a while.

When the guys had to leave for tour, I almost broke down. I didn't want Gerard to leave, even though I had ignored him, I needed him. I was angry at myself for how resentful I felt when I saw him packing for tour; it had officially been 3 weeks now, since my father's accident.

Gerard paced around our bedroom, packing things, "I'll call you every morning, night and breaks in between, okay?" He spoke quickly around me.

"Yeah." I had a bitter, sharp tone to my voice. I mentally scolded myself. I knew I shouldn't be acting so damn bitchy, but I was.

Gerard had stopped, he noticed my tone too, "Look, if I could stay, I would. I missed the album release party, and a few appearances for you."

A few? I thought it was just once.

I felt like a total bitch. I sighed and coursed my hair, "I'm sorry, Gee. Please don't think I don't I appreciate it." I calmed and reprimanded myself.

He came over to me, leaving his bag opened, and wrapped his arms around me. He cradled me close, squeezing me tightly, "Sugar, I'm always thinking of you."

"I know," no emotion came from me, I felt like I was made of stone, "thank you."

"I love you."

I swallowed thickly, "I love you too."

Something in me felt broken, and I couldn't fix it. I couldn't fake it. Not for Gerard, not for anyone, and I hated myself for it. I acted cold hearted. I felt cold hearted, but I wasn't, I was hurting.

Gerard kissed me until I gave in and had pity sex. It was all that was it for us, during this time. It wasn't love, it wasn't anger...it was sex. It was a natural release, where we didn't feel better after. After, we were still unsure and somewhat sad; he pitied me and I pitied him. He pitied me because my father was practically dead. I pitied him because I was a bitch and I held resentment because he had to leave.

When he and the band finally left, I went to Astrid's and helped her set up her mobile for her crib. We sat in the nursery, that was decorated for a boy, because that's what she and Frank were having; a little boy. She had found out the week before, and she was somewhat ecstatic. It was bittersweet. 

I didn't know what to say when Gerard had told me. I was just...indifferent about it. I didn't care, but when I saw the royal blue paint in the nursery, I was happy for them.

"Frank and I want to graffiti his name above that wall," Astrid and I sat in the floor, putting the delicate, animal mobile together, "big, gold letters: Daniel Krist."

"You're naming him after papa." I said softly.

"Yes," Astrid nodded; her blond bob was longer, shaggier and her light brown roots were showing, "It was Frank's idea, actually."

"That's nice." I murmured.

Astrid and I were quiet, it was awkward. We were never awkward with one another, even when we talked about personal things, nothing was awkward, but here we were. Two sisters, awkwardly setting up one's nursery, not speaking.

"What's wrong with you?" Astrid as with a frustrated tone, "You've been Robot Jones for the past month!"

I looked at her, "I...I don't know." I murmured, "I think I'm broken."

Astrid gave me a confused look, "You need to cry."

"I already cried." I muttered.

"Stormy, why do you have to put up a front? It's just us; you and me. You know Gerard is worried as hell about you." Astrid spoke to me like she always does; like an adult. The baby sister taking care of the big sister.

"I'm fine."

"You just said you think you're broken!"

I coursed my hair, "Papa is dead." I finally said, "He's dead, Astrid!"

Almost like a switch, tears swelled in her eyes, "Stormy, don't--"

"Everyday I see him lying there, and he isn't getting any better. He isn't going to wake up, he isn't going to be Papa! He's dead! He's dead!" I screamed at her, out of my own hurt and frustration.

I stood and began to cry. I kept repeating that he was dead over and over until Astrid forcibly put her arms around me. I cried on her shoulder, she cooed to me just like our husbands had done. I cried hysterically, until I felt like my head would explode.


At the hospital, my mother sat beside my father's side, lost. It was like she was dead too, she didn't talk and she barely paid any attention to her own health. She just wanted to be with my dad.

"Mama," I had put my hand on her shoulder, "you need to go home for a while."

"I can't." She mumbled.

I hated seeing her this way; my mother was tired looking, she was like a zombie. She went some days without showering or changing her clothes. She might as well been in a coma, too.

"Papa is going to be here when you get back." I said to her.

She shook her head, "He's dead, Stormy." she said softly, "I'm afraid to let him go."

I kneeled beside her, "Me too, mama...but you shouldn't keep torturing yourself. We need you. Astrid needs you, her baby is going to need you, too."

She started to sob, "I can't do it without him."

I swallowed thickly, my mom clutched my arm and cried against my chest. I had never seen her this upset, and it made me understand how much they loved each other. My parents were the perfect example of true love and soul mates.

"Mama, you can do it. Do it for him." I rubbed her back

My mother shook her head, she let me go and returned to my father's hand. I didn't know how I would help my mother through my father's death.

Though, the following day, I went back to the hospital, where my mom was; she had showered and changed. She was standing, looking down at my father. I knocked on the outside of the door, she looked at me.

"Stormy," she greeted me quietly, "I thought about what you said."

"What did I say?"

"About living for your father. I...I always told myself I could do it, and I started to doubt myself, but it clicked last night." She explained softly.

I gave my mother a hopeful smile, "What clicked?"

"That I should live for Astrid's baby, and watch him grow and for you and Gerard to have a family too. I want to be there for it all. Be your father's eyes and ears." She smiled down at him, "I think it's time we let him go...even if it's going to be hard."

Even though my anxiety rose with the thought of turning off the life support machine, I felt some ease. It was almost like a weight being lifted.

So, that afternoon, Astrid, my mom and I said goodbye to my father for the last time. We all cried, though I didn't cry for long. Then...they disconnected his machine and he was gone within a few minutes...

...My father's funeral was small and quick. We didn't cry, it was somber, and pretty much straight forward. I feel cold hearted when I think about it. I feel like I didn't care, like I was waiting for it, and it was over. I cared, I just didn't know how to truly express my feelings.

For a while, while Gerard was gone, I lived on autopilot. I did things without emotion, I was a robot of my former self. Gerard didn't recognize me when he called and my mom and sister were worried about me. 

My father's passing affected me more than I expected it to.