Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Calming her temperament when confusion or delirium sets in.
Tending to her decrease in waste output – along with the discomfort that will cause.
Aiding her in receiving oxygen.
Making her comfortable when she can’t or won’t take it.
From what Doctor Goodliffe described and the hospice lead, Sadie Cruz, things are going to get ugly and uncomfortable and emotional and our main job is to grieve.
To let grieving happen.
To give it room to flow.
The pain.
The anger.
The bargaining.
The depression.
Asking a man whose whole life is about making the save to not make one or even try to, is like asking a dentist to not brush their teeth.
Ridiculous.
However, counselors came by and will periodically be coming by when we get Grams home, to give that assist.
Make us as comfortable as Yellow Heart Road is to make her.
Dubs swore he’d be over whenever and however often, his bucket projects could and would wait. Promised he’d come by to be there when we needed a break. If we needed one.
Bronny cycled through blaming himself for leaving her instead of being around to provide in someway, and swearing she was gonna bounce back because she always did from bullshit.
His demeanor is what prompted Thayne to stay even tempered and warm hearted in spite of the fact I could physically feel his soul aching through his stare.
He couldn’t let his baby brother see him hurting.
He wanted to be strong for Bronskie, which meant I needed to be strong for Thayne.
Eventually, Grams got tired again, so they got him fed and off to his old bed with Dubs volunteering to stick around to bring him back whenever. I spent that same amount of time contacting his school, arranging for his assignments, putting in his bereavement leave – something I’m glad they have at his private academy – and mostly ignoring all other calls, including the ones from my own parents.
I didn’t have the mental capacity for whatever lecture I’m sure they wanted to deliver.
I’m pretty positive I still don’t have it now even after the three hours of sleep I somehow managed to score on that not made for two adult sized people sofa.
I swear, the prop furniture on my telenovelas is probably more comfortable than that.
Grabbing my workbag is followed by trying to tip toe out of the room only to be caught by the sweet, sassy old woman, I would have a hard time believing was sick if I hadn’t been permitted to see her charts.
Quietly, I announce, “Gonna go downstairs and try to get some work done.”
“At four in the mornin’?”
“Rather do it while they sleep, so they can have me when they need me awake.”
She flashes me a soft smile. “You’re a good-hearted woman, Gillian. Don’t let my boys take that for granted.”
“They don’t.”
“Good. We raised ‘em better than that.”
“You raised them really well.”
“And you’ll finish even better with Bronson than I did with Thayne.”
Awe unconsciously melts my entire frame at the same time I creep closer. “You really think so?”
“Oh, Gillybee, I know so.” The corners of her lips curl completely upwards. “You’re the mom I could never be and the one he always hoped to have.”
Tears threaten to come to my eyes in spite of me directing them not to.
“Jus’ don’t lose you, tryin’ to raise him, alright?” The tiniest twitch of my brow causes her to lightly chortle. “I know ‘em both. Thayne makes people feel good in they own skin ‘cause he’s never been uncomfortable in his. He thinks hockey is his gift when it’s really jus’ his talent. Havin’ an ability to make everyone around you feel like it’s okay to be themselves is his true God given blessin’ that the world needs.” She lifts a pointed finger and gives me a small wag. “That you need.” As soon as it falls back to her bed, she adds, “Don’t give that up jus’ ‘cause you’re raisin’ a kid without a safety net now. Let him see the real person you are, not the perfect one you think you might gotta be ‘cause that’s what he really needs. Someone who makes him feel like he can be him,” her head tips towards my sleeping boyfriend, “and someone who shows him that he can.”
A small wink is all that precedes her shutting her eyes, prompting me to resume my exit.
Downstairs in the empty, outdoor courtyard, I set myself up at one of the heated, covered patio tables and promptly get to work with sounds of the spy drama Nikita keeping me company on my phone.
I focus most of my efforts on sending emails to my team at Victory Teeth regarding my prolonged absence and how to go about rescheduling.
Throughout the process, my brother repeatedly attempts to make contact that I ignore with a simple swipe.
He’s been calling since yesterday.
Texting.
Both, of course, are being ignored considering we have slightly more pressing matters than his hurt feelings about choosing to leave with my boyfriend instead of continuing to childishly fight with him.