The Night We Met

Evan

I look at my daughter sleeping on the sofa next to my hospital bed. Her straight dark hair in a tangled mess. I am scared out of my mind, I know my time is almost up. There’s so much I won’t experience.
She only just turned nineteen and started college. It hurts knowing I won’t be there when she graduates I won’t get to tell her how proud I am. I’ll never be able to walk my baby down the aisle, I’ll never be able to meet her husband, to make sure that he treats her right. I won’t be there if they get in fight and just needs to come home.

I think these thoughts are killing me more than the cancer.

The fact that she is so much like her mother bothers me so much. I can see that inner turmoil reflecting in her big green eyes. I hope she never feels that everything is just too much. She is stronger than she knows.

Something catches my eye in my peripheral vision and it feels as if someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. Josie is standing next to the chair Ellie is sleeping in, looking down lovingly at her. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.

Josie looks at me, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Hi Darling.”
Her voice sounds exactly as I remember it. “It’s time to come home Evan, I miss you.”

*****

Ellie
The rhythmic beep-beep of the heart monitor suddenly changes and jerks me out of the light nap I was taking. I look at my once strong father’s thin figure on the hospital bed. He is lying on his side looking at the empty space next to me, for a moment his eyes are clear and radiating joy but then he turns and looks at me, his troubled grey eyes sunken deep into his head. My heart breaks again seeing him like this, but I know I have to stay strong. I have to look as if I am not afraid, as if I am not irrevocably broken and wrecked. I am busy losing everything I love.
I can’t even begin to count the many nights I spent on my knees pleading and praying that my father be saved from this terrible fate. Unfortunately, I learned the hard way that life just doesn’t work like that. His cancer is just too aggressive.

“Ellie, honey…look at me,” my father’s voice cracks. My eyes are blurry with tears but I meet his gaze. “I think it’s time I told you about your mother.” I am stunned silent for a moment, thinking about the many times I asked about her and he just responded by turning around and walking away. When I realized that he will never talk about her, I stopped asking. I saw how it hurt him.
“Daddy, you don’t have to do that now, we can talk about her when you feel better.” “No Ellie, I have to do it now, hell, I should have done it a long time ago. I have to tell you before I leave you. Look in my bedside table at home, you will find a brown leather bound diary. It was your mother’s. You should read it. Now go home honey, it’s late… it’s time for me to go home as well,” Once again he is looking at the space next to me with longing and love in his eyes. My body is wracked with sobs and grief. “No daddy! Not yet daddy! Don’t go please,” I beg him, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’ll bring mom’s diary and we will read it together. You have to read it with me. You can’t go, not yet.” He grabs my hand, holding it tightly. “No baby, this is something you have to do alone. Ellie, remember, even if you cannot hear my voice, remember I’ll always be beside you. I love you.” My father’s goes slack in mine and I know he’s gone. My knees give in and I fall on the floor next to his bed crying.

****

2 weeks later

I crawl under the covers and press my nose into the pillow, I can still smell my father. It’s a comforting smell. I suddenly just burst out in tears. The weight on my heart is too much, I don’t know if I can bear this alone.
I told my dad that I’d read mom’s diary, and I want to know my mother. But reading the journal just feels so final. I sigh deep and reach over and take the diary out of the drawer. It is bound with leather and worn with age. I trace my mother’s name with my finger, the gold script it is written in, is fading. For nights I have been contemplating reading it but my courage failed me.
Determined I sit up and open the old journal. A picture of my dad and mom slides out. The color has faded, but it is undeniably them. I have seen a picture of my mom when I was little. My dad always kept it in his wallet. Sometimes when he was busy, I took the photo out and studied it. She was beautiful. They are looking at each other in the picture. I can feel the love; I hope to find love as pure as that someday.
I never understood why my father never wanted to talk about her. I only know that she died when I was a baby.

Gently placing the photo next to me I begin reading.