Page 16 of Wildest Forever

Sighing, I press onto my tip toes and reach for the old ice cream tub that houses his pills and vitamins and line them up on the side. Walking towards the fridge, I grab a large blood-orange and place it on a chopping board and slice a knife through it before putting it on a plate and dusting it with a small shimmer of brown sugar. Pacing back towards the fridge, I grab the fresh orange juice and top up a small glass and walk over to where hesits, placing my hand on his shoulder as I place the glass in front of him.

He gives me that look.

The one he does every morning when he is down here with me.

The one where he silently begs me not to wait on him and administer his meds.

But it's always been this way.

It's always just been me and him.

My pops has always had heart issues, but five years ago he was diagnosed with a terminal illness and well, things haven't been the same since.

These small, little mundane things that I do for him seem more important now, seem to have more meaning than they once did.

Because I have no idea if this will be the last morning, I prepare his fruit, his small glass of orange juice or to sort his pills into size order before giving them to him to take.

Everything means a little more than before and again that makes my heart ache deep in my chest.

I place a kiss on the top of his head as I turn and reach for his fruit and his tablets, and like always, I place his plate down first then line his tablets up and I have no idea why, but I always watch as he takes every single one, swallowing it down with his juice.

I know he isn't going to not take them, but it makes something settle inside of me knowing that I have witnessed him taking them.

“Good job,” I praise like always then dust across the floor to fill up our coffee mugs but not before adding creamer and a scoop of sugar in mine.

Pops takes his black and bitter.

I take mine white and sweet.

Once I know he has everything he needs, I reach for my fruit loops and cover them with milk before I perch myself on the wooden chair.

He sits with his back to the kitchen; I sit at his right side.

It's always been that way.

I ask how he slept; he gives me a grunt and then we sit in silence whilst we eat.

Clearing the table, I brown his wholemeal toast and slice a banana as I re-plate it up and place it in front of him.

“I'll see you tonight, okay?”

He nods.

“Come back for twelve though, I need you to sign the paperwork,” and I watch as he rolls his lips into a thin line, a grimace apparent over his face and I push a fake smile onto my own lips.

“Okay,” I tuck my chair under the table then curl my fingers around the top of it. “Any request for lunch?”

He sits back in his chair, folding his newspaper and placing it beside his toast.

“Would you mind popping to Sunny's and grabbing me a bowl of soup and a seeded roll?” and I wink at him.

“Of course I can.”

“You're my angel,” his words make my chest tighten and I drop my head for a moment, so he doesn't see the tears that are threatening to fall.

“I'll see you at twelve,” I squeeze out before I turn on my heel and walk away.

This is going to be the hardest goodbye I am ever going to make.

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