In The Mourning

“He's here again?”

I try my best to disregard the contemptible glances the nurses throw my way as I saunter down the long corridor; I had gotten used to them and their remorseful stares more and more with each and every passing day. The bags underneath my eyes and sluggish posture already prove that I look dreadful, and it shows in all of the nurses and doctor's faces as I pass them. I subconsciously run my hand through my disorderly hair, all of the guys had been telling me that I was starting to turn into my teammate, James Neal, when it came to my hair routine. I would just laugh it off and ignore everyone’s lighthearted remarks; the majority of them didn’t know what I was going through so I couldn’t get too upset around them. Loud whispers continued to haunt me as I waited for the elevator doors to slide open, even to some of the doctors that I passed, they probably thought I was fatally sick. I trudged into the elevator, my feet felt like dumbbells and after I pressed the button to take me to her floor, I stood as still as I could out of fear I would just collapse.

Wake up, breakfast, practice with the team, lunch, go to the hospital, go home, dinner, sleep; it had all become a day-to-day ritual to me.

What started as 30 minute visits to the hospital soon turned into one hour visits, and one hour visits eventually turned into two, and sometimes three hour visits. I absolutely hated to see her lonely in such a vulnerable condition, and even though she always told me she didn't mind the loneliness I could always tell she was lying.

The sorrow in her alloy coloured eyes always gave away her emotions.

Everyone thought she would be able to beat the incurable disease, but I knew better. I could see her strength and resoluteness progressively deteriorating with every passing moment; she was starting to lose her devotion to life. With each breath she took, she also took two steps closer to her imminent death. She was entirely conscious of her flimsy state, but that never seemed to stop her from being so carefree and sociable. Never one to let the miseries in life bring her down, Amelia had always persevered through every obstacle she encountered in life.

From the very moment Amelia Bennett had been diagnosed with Leukemia, I knew she was going to die. With a long history of brutal diseases in her ancestry, the chances of her developing one were at an all time high from the second she was born. The fact that she had made it to the age of 24 was a miracle in itself.

“She's not having a very good day.” One of the older nurses says to me as I arrive to my destination. She gives me a bittersweet smile, the corners of her eyes crinkle and I notice her hands are trembling. I don't respond, instead I open the door and walk into the frigid room. People often told me that it's a fearsome thing for us to be so close, that I'm getting myself too attached and setting myself up for a lifetime of pain.

No, I would be setting myself up for a lifetime of pain if I didn't get too attached with her. She has always meant so much to me; she’s supported me through my hockey career and never gave up on me. When I found out that she was sick, I knew I could not give up on her either.

“M-Matt?” She struggles to just open her eyes when the door creaks softly. Her feeble body is covered in an ice blanket, and I figure that she must have gotten sick again. Ever since she had decided to stop all of her chemo treatments her immune system had been virtually nonexistent.

“How are you feeling Amelia?” I take hold of a chair and pull it up to the side of her bed. I sit down and place my hand on her forehead; the skin there is blistering hot. The feeling of my hand touching her skin must be reassuring to her because she relaxes against the unyielding mattress of the hospital bed. The only source of luminosity in the room comes from the shining full moon in the Pittsburgh sky; it illuminates a small portion of her pale flesh.

“Not so good,” she whispers truthfully, “I'm better now that you're here though.”

'There she goes again, always saying sweet things to me.'

My hand slides down from her forehead to the pallid flesh of her cheek, “Brent says hi, he wanted to come visit but you know he's been really busy with his new baby and all.” I ramble about the backup goaltender, Brent Johnson, who is also good friends with Amelia.

“How's everyone doing?”

I try not to roll my eyes at her question; that's just how Amelia is. Always curious as to how others are doing and what's going on in the hockey world. Her dad had brought her up on the wonderful sport of hockey, while her mom had tried to convince her to watch baseball. Obviously she had picked hockey over baseball when she witnessed her first hockey game at the age of 4.

“Everyone is good,” I decide to leave out the fact that Kris Letang might be out on concussion symptoms again, I knew it would upset her easily, “All the guys are excited for playoffs in a few weeks.”

“Who are you playing against?” She inquires, struggling to keep her dark eyelids open.

“Philadelphia.” I instantaneously grin when she rolls her eyes, “It should be... intense.”

She nods her head despairingly and it remains quiescent between us for a few comfortable minutes. Her grey eyes unexpectedly gaze up at me and my breath gets trapped it my throat. Her eyes are bloodshot and I wonder how much she has been crying.

For some reason unbeknownst to me, I feel tremendously blameworthy that she's in so much pain. I wish I could do something to shred the anguish away from her core and transfer into my body instead. She doesn't deserve to feel like this in the first place. No, she deserves to have a life occupied with contentment and love where she doesn't have to worry about any types of diseases.

“I don't have much time left.” She finally whispers, her eyes search mine for any emotion.

“I know,” I promptly wipe at my eyes, defeated by her unpleasant words, “That's why I'm here.”

“I don't want to die,” she admits, “but I don't want to feel this pain anymore.”

She shivers violently and my hand quickly searches for her petite one. Her hand feels like an icicle as I grasp it inconsolably. I wonder if the simple gesture is as comforting to her as it is to me.

“I don't know what I'm going to do without you,” I try to laugh and it sounds implausibly forced, “I mean you've been with me through everything.”

“And I always will be, just not physically. I'll always be watching over you,” She gives me a weak smile, “So don't do anything stupid Norman.”

I laugh and wipe at my eyes as she refers to me by my middle name.

“I promise I won't ever do anything that would make you ashamed of me.” I say and lift her hand up to my lips.

“You could never disappoint me Matthew.” She whispers when my lips skim across the cold flesh on her knuckles. Her grey eyes are shining with obstinate tears that refuse to fall.

My vision starts swim and everything becomes blurry, “How long?”

“A couple hours, maybe until morning.” Her voice cracks, “You know I've been getting worse since I decided to be taken off of treatment, it was bound to happen.”

“I know,” my voice waivers, “I just didn't think it would be so soon.”

“It's a good thing, you know how much pain I've been in... now I won't be anymore, and you don't have to worry about me. This is good for both of us.” The tears eventually fall from her eyes.

I shake my head, “No, no, no...” I furiously wipe at my eyes, “I'm selfish and I don't want to lose you. I don't think you understand how much I need you Amelia. I-I'm not myself without you, you've always made me a better person.”

She suddenly reaches up and brushes her fingertips along my cheek, I lean in closer and take pleasure in the feeling of her palm cupped against my cheek. Her skin starts to warm up, and I don't think she will ever know how comforting her touch is. She has always had that ability to calm anyone down, something I will never understand how she did.

“You've always been an amazing man Matthew, you have shown me nothing but love these past few years,” her fingertips glide across the skin underneath my eyelids, “I am eternally grateful for all that you have done for me.”

I squeeze my eyes close and try to ignore the excruciating pain in my chest as she starts to say her goodbyes. All these memories wash over me like a tidal wave: Our first kiss freshman year of high school, our first date we had at some hole in the wall diner, the first time we had sex in the back of her old Chevy pickup truck, making love to her the night before I moved to Dallas. I remember the first time I had met her when I was merely 6, she had just moved in across the street from Apple Valley; another small town in Minnesota. She had looked exceedingly awkward with her curly hair and oversized glasses; I remember teasing her about the dark freckle on her right cheek, right below her grey eye.

It never once crossed my mind that she would mature to be such a beautiful woman.

“Remember that time I accidentally hit you with that slap shot and broke your nose?” I don't know why I ask the question, it's completely irrelevant to the situation we're in right now.

She laughs and it's the sweetest sound that I have ever heard, “I do, and you held my hand while the doctor was giving me stitches.”

“I remember going home that night and almost crying, I mean it was my fault that you had gotten hurt, and you had been so mad at me I thought you would never want to see me again.” I sigh gravely, “I thought I would never have to see you in that much pain again, but I guess I was wrong.”

My fingers lightly play with her short brown hair that had grown back after she had quit her chemo treatments nearly a year ago. Everything had been going good after that, she seemed to be healthy, but I knew deep down that she was only going to get worse.

Of course I had been right.

“Do you miss my long hair?” She inquires gravely.

I shrug and run a hand through the black hair that barely touches her shoulder, “I think it looks beautiful either way, you've always been beautiful. Even when we first met, and you had your braces and glasses, you were still beautiful.”

She snorts, “More like awkward.”

“We were both awkward,” I say with a shrug, “I had huge ears and was kind of chubby.”

She grins, “I thought your large ears and baby fat made you cute.”

I playfully roll my eyes, “Yeah, you and my mom were the only ones who thought so.”

We talk for hours about everything and anything, and I'm glad that I'm here with her. I thought it would be hard to be here for her final hours, but the more she talks the more I forget about it. I have to mentally slap myself a few times and remind myself, because every time I start to feel even the slightest bit of happiness, I also feel culpable, mournful, and enraged. I’m going to lose my lover and best friend and I knew that nothing could soothe the pain.

She's suddenly coughing terribly, and when she pulls her hand away from her mouth I realize that she's coughing up blood. I grab the glass of water that's on her nightstand and place the rim to her pale lips, tipping it back so the cold liquid runs down her throat soothingly.

“Can you get a nurse in here for me?” She asks hoarsely, I notice the tears in her eyes but I can already tell they're not from the pain. I press the white button that is right behind her bed and we both wait fearsomely for a nurse to arrive.

The wait is short lived when the elderly nurse from earlier enters the room, “Hello there.”

Beads of sweat start to form on my temple as the nurse checks Amelia's pulse and temperature. I watch wordlessly as the nurse hooks Amelia up to a machine, the sudden realization that it's a heart monitor hits me like a ton of bricks. The nurse remains silent for a few seconds; she looks shocked when she realizes Amelia is even alive still. I watch as the nurse takes out a syringe and pierces the skin in the crook of Amelia’s elbow, but she doesn’t even flinch like she normally would have.

“I want to be buried in Virginia.” She whispers hazily as whatever the nurse has just injected into her body takes over her system. The nurse had warned us both remorsefully that this would most likely be Amelia's last night, and that the medicine she had just injected into her was going to ease the pain and make it a more peaceful death.

“W-why? Your h-home is Apple Valley.” I grasp her hand in mine despairingly. Why would she say that? She knew her family was living in Apple Valley and they would most likely be opposed to having her be buried anywhere else but her birthplace. I didn’t care about her family though; I never really did in the first place. They had found out about her Leukemia and pretty much abandoned her and lost all contact with her. Maybe they figured it wasn’t their problem that their only daughter was going to die.

“No, it's in Virginia t-that's where all my friends are, that's where w-we met, remember? Virginia is my h-home” Her eyes flutter dangerously like she's about to fall into a permanent sleep at any moment.

“Of course I remember Amelia,” I lick my lips and try to gulp down the lump in my throat, “I could never forget the day I met you.”

“Should I leave you two alone... before...?” The nurse trails off intentionally, and gives me a sympathetic smile when I nod.

I wait until it's only Amelia and I in the room, “Are you really going to...” I can't finish because a piercing and wretched sob bubbles from my mouth. The back of my free hand covers my mouth and I want to hide my whole face from her. I know I have an ugly crying face, but she doesn’t even notice my face. Instead, her eyes are glazed over and directed aimlessly towards the ceiling.

Her hand squeezes mine faintly, “I promise I'll always be with you. Remember what you used to tell me all the time when you had to go on long road trips?”

“No matter how far apart we are, we're still under the same sky.” I recite the words that had left my mouth so many times in my life, but now they are more important than I ever could have imagined.

“Can you tell me you love me?” She whispers as her eyelids droop, “I want your voice to be the last thing I hear.”

I’m squeezing her hand as though it’s a life preserver and I have to remind myself to take a deep breath and try to relax. I lean forward and press my forehead to hers, when I stare into her eyes they look so distant and I wonder if she even knows it’s me pressed against her. My lips skim across her cheek and to the corner of her pale lips, her skin is cold and if it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of her chest, I would have thought she was dead already.

“Amelia Bennett, I love you so much.” Her lips brush against mine and I shiver at how cold she is. I gaze into her grey eyes, and the sudden realization that this is probably going to be the last time I see those stunning eyes in person hits me hard. I feel like I have been punched in the gut and it takes all my strength to take in a deep breath of air.

“I don’t know how I’m going to live without you; everything is going to feel so empty. Who am I going to keep warm on cold nights? Who’s going to laugh at my jokes even though they’re terrible? Tell me how I’m supposed to get through this because I have no fucking idea what to do without you!” I press my face against the crook of her neck and my loud, animal cries are muffled by her skin. I want her to answer back, but her eyes are now closed and her hand loosens up in the slightest bit.

I instantly sit up straight and gaze down at her.

I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my jacket and just watch her as the colour completely drains from her body. I must be sitting there for hours, because when the sun breaks through the darkness of the Pittsburgh night, Amelia is still scarcely breathing. The nurse comes in every now and then to check in on Amelia, and I can tell she’s surprised that she has managed to stay alive for so long without her medication.

I take one last look at Amelia’s face as the sun’s rays slowly start to peak into the room. The golden rays on the side of her face make her look radiant and beautiful; it takes my breath away. I press my palm to her cheek and lean forward to kiss her icy lips for the last time. I’m no longer hysterical and my animal cries have been reduced to silent tears of agony.

“Just let go, Amelia.” I whisper against her ear. “Let go of the pain, the sickness, and all of the sadness you have gone through. You deserve to be free, just promise me you’ll be watching over me from where ever you are.”

“I love you.”

As if my words are some type of confirmation, the heart monitor slows down and eventually stops completely.

She lets out a deep sigh and her eyes opened, but they were now glazed over with death and you couldn’t even tell they used to be such a bright shade of grey. Her hand uncurled from my grasp and it slid off her stomach and to the rigid mattress of the hospital bed.

I didn’t know what to do, I felt frozen to my chair and I couldn’t find the strength to move an inch. I didn’t cry though, at least I don’t think I did. When you lose a loved one you don’t really think that much in the first place, you act purely off of emotions and a sense of defiance. The room is suddenly chaotic, doctors and nurses are surrounding both Amelia and I; pairs of arms are around my body and shoving me out the room. The second they let go of me, I collapse and I realize I’m now in a long corridor.

It’s funny how people say you can just cry yourself out, because I specifically remember crying for hours nonstop until James had picked me up from the hospital around noon. He didn’t say anything at all, and I was appreciative for that. He already knew there was nothing he could say to make me feel better. I don’t remember much about the car ride, except for the soft sound of the music playing on the radio. Everything up to that point had been a blur, except for the upbeat song that had been playing on the radio.

‘In the mourning I'll rise
In the mourning I'll let you die
In the mourning all my sorries.’

I cried harder when my mind deciphered the words to the song and James panicked. His fist had swiftly jolted out and hit the volume button, instantaneously muting the song.

He had been a great friend throughout the whole ordeal though, and I was indebted for everything he had done for me. After I had missed two days of practice in a row, he had told Coach Dan what was going on and how I was most likely going to need some time off. At some point, the whole team and staff had managed to find out about Amelia’s death and I received text messages and voicemails with their condolences and how they hoped I felt better soon.

The funeral had taken place after the Penguins were eliminated from the playoffs. Between hockey, arranging Amelia’s funeral, and continuously arguing with her family, it had definitely been stressful. After countless hours of debate, I had finally convinced her family to go with the funeral plans that she would have wanted in the first place. I knew Amelia would have approved of how everything turned out that day. It had been around 74 degrees, the blue sky had been covered in white clouds, and there was a soft breeze as the men in her family carried the casket to her resting spot under a large oak tree. She had never loved the heat, so it was reassuring to get her buried under a shady area that the sun doesn’t touch too much.

A lot of my teammates, old and new, were there to help me through that tough day. Even Sidney Crosby had somehow managed to take time out of his busy schedule to be there. I had sat in the back rows and watched the funeral quietly, ignoring everyone’s stares as I cried. I had definitely gotten a sense of closure that day, but I don’t think the shock of Amelia’s death would ever wear off.

After the funeral there had been a get together at my house, and while everyone chatted solemnly downstairs, I wallowed in self-pity upstairs in the ‘man cave’ Amelia had helped me decorate last summer. I plopped down on the leather couch and let out a deep breath that I didn’t even know I had been holding in, I had finally managed to stop crying. It wasn’t long before I heard the door creak softly and James appeared in the room. He gave me a weak smile and a ‘hey’ as he observed the room warily. He was looking at all of the pictures of my family and friends on the wall, including a few of Amelia and me.

He let out a small cough before speaking, “She looked really pretty today.”

I glanced at him and watched as he cringed, it was obvious that he didn’t know what to say and he was completely out of his element.

“Yeah.” I murmur and clutch the bottle of beer in my hand, taking a long swig and setting it on the coffee table in front of me.

“Hey uh…If you ever need to talk, about anything, I’m always here.” He says quietly and sits down next to me on the couch, “Really, it doesn’t matter what time, even if it’s really late at night or early in the morning…I’ll always be there to listen.”

A shaky sigh escapes my mouth, “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

We sit in silence for a few moments, but it’s peaceful. We can hear the conversations from guests downstairs and when I hear laughter I figure everyone is probably discussing Amelia’s life and their favourite memories they shared with the beautiful woman.

“Do you think you’re going to be OK?” James asks and glances at me apprehensively.

I stare out the window that’s on the opposite side of the wall from me, the sun is shining brightly and I can hear birds chirping blissfully. For a second I feel at peace with myself, and it’s almost as if Amelia has used one of her calming touches on me.

“I-I think so.” I nod, and I really do believe that one day I’m going to be OK.

“No matter how far apart we are, we're still under the same sky.”