Page 22 of Family First
Let’s Go Railers.
Erik Gunnarson-Lyamin”
Stan kissed me then, cradled my face, his eyes bright with emotion, then he nodded. “Let’s go.”
* * *
The moment I waved Stan off to the first pre-season game of the new season was the worst for many reasons. I already missed him as soon as the gates closed behind his SUV, and the surreal feeling I should be going with him would probably linger for a while. It was also the worst day because even this late in September he wasn’t cleared to play, still on long-term injured reserve, and today he would be meeting Lincoln Hearth, the new kid traded in from Seattle, to be second goalie, backing up Bryan. The team had reassured Stan that as soon as he was back he’d have a role, but it couldn’t be just me who read between the lines with the fact they hadn’t said he’d be starting goalie.
And whenexactlywas he going to be fit enough to play?
He was walking, running, pushing weights, but still using meds when the pain was too bad, still having PT, still seeing the surgeon for post-surgery care and advice.
Yet, he was determined to play.
And knowing Stan, he would, because there was nothing he couldn’t do if he put his mind to it. It wasn’t on me to suggest he retire as well, that would be all on my incredibly stubborn, highly talented and marketable husband. I sighed, aware that I still hadn’t seen Noah.
Noah’s low sugar alarm had sounded twice in the night, but it was because he’d rolled onto the sensor on his arm and compressed it. He had a case that strapped over it, but sometimes not even that stopped the compression. I knew he’d wake up tired, but that was just part of getting used to his new normal. He was a bright, sunny kid, and he went with the flow.
“Kids! Breakfast! We need to go soon!” I called up to them, but Margo was in the girls’ bathroom with the blow-dryer on and music blaring from her phone, so I probably wasn’t being heard. I headed upstairs, feeling a bit lost not to be rounding up three kids as Eva was now on campus and giddy with delight at being on her own. Stan and I had an Eva-sized hole in our hearts, but we were so damned proud of our daughter. Rapping at the door, I waited until the music quieted, and the blow-dryer stalled as Margo cracked the door.
“Thirty minutes until we have to leave,” I reminded her.
“Okay, Dad.” The door closed, the music went back up and the hair dryer was back on.
Then I crossed to Noah’s bedroom. We’d always had this policy of never just walking in, but since the diagnosis both Stan and I had become extra vigilant, and if he didn’t immediately answer then we knocked again, waited, then went in. This morning was no different. After all, he had to get to school as well, and the clock was running down. I’d heard his shower, so assumed he’d at least made it out of bed, but he needed to get some breakfast and therefore I had to be the bad guy. His door was slightly open anyway, but I still knocked.
“Noah?”
I heard a noise that sounded like come in, and assumed it was okay to go inside, but I made sure to do it noisily… just in case.
“Huh?” Noah asked, his back to the window, staring at me, a little unfocused. He was dressed for school, his Chesterford Academy uniform neat, his tie knotted, although crooked.
“Hey, buddy, let’s get downstairs for breakfast. I’m making pancakes.”
“I uhm…” He blinked at me. “I can’t find… my tie…”
“You’re wearing it,” I began, ready to tease him, but then the muffled sound of an alarm broke the thought, and I realized it was the alarm for low sugar. Where was his phone? Why wasn’t he wearing his watch? The alarm sounded as if it came from his bed, and I dug through the covers, pulling out what I needed, and then crossed to Noah, who was still staring around him searching for his tie. I pressed a Skittle into his hand from the small supply I always had now, stored in a tiny case, and told him to eat it. Each Skittle was one gram of carbs, and I tried to recall what would pull his levels up, checking the graph, working out all the complicated things we needed to watch for, then handed him three more. He ate them as I pressed a hand to his damp forehead. “You’re hypo,” I said, not sure he understood, then I sat him down on the bed, and kept him company, untilfinallythe sugar made its way into his bloodstream and back up to his brain, and he blinked as he turned to me.
“Okay,” he murmured, glancing down at his tie. “I’m okay.”
“Pancakes,” I advised, ruffling his curls, making him huff and shove me away, and he followed me downstairs, Margo already down in the kitchen waiting. “Margo, I’ll call the school, because we’re going to be late today.”
“That’s not fair,” Margo whined, “I don’t wanna miss English.”
“We all need breakfast, and your brother wasn’t feeling so good.”
She sniffed and then returned to eating her pancakes, and I waited for her to complain that they weren’t normal ones and how it was unfair she had to eat what Noah did. Instead, she reached out and squeezed Noah’s hand in silent support then hugged him from the side.
I could have cried. My throat was so tight, and I had to cough to clear it. They didn’t want to watch their dad lose his shit over Stan leaving, and Noah having a hypo and me not knowing what I was going to do with myself.
“Don’t forget you both have sports practice after school,” I told Margo and Noah, both of them wanting to play for the Chesterford Coyotes teams—soccer and hockey respectively—both of them probably going to make it, and yes, I was biased, but they were both good. “I thought about dropping in, maybe to volunteer to help coach hockey this season, just the assistant, and I won’t interrupt you with what you’re… but look… is that okay with you?”
Both Noah and Margo stared at me, their eyes wide. My chest tightened. The last thing they would want was their dad there messing things up.
Then Noah nodded. “Cool.”
And Margo grinned. “Way cool.”
