Page 35 of Heal For Me

“You do have family in Italy,” Jethro says.

We look at him, and Ash asks him to explain.

“You are a quarter Italian. You never wondered about your appearance?”

I never thought about it. “How?”

Uncle Jet leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s complicated, but my grandfather is full Italian and still lives there today. Your grandmother’s dad.”

Wow. I have a great grandpa in Italy. Cool. I would like to learn more about my dad’s side of the family, eventually. Now that I’ve lost most of my mother’s side.

I try and not think about all I’ve lost, it’s easy for the most part. Being at Uncle Jet’s, I can pretend he is waiting at home for me. Except we’ve gone a long time without speaking now, and that’s not normal.

The heaviness of knowing I lost something claws at my chest, moving up my neck until it cuts off my breathing all together.

He’s gone. He’s really gone and not coming back. I’ll never see him again. He won’t be here when I wake up. I can’t call him. I won’t ever sit in church and listen to his sermon. I’ll never feel his hugs or hear him tell me he loves me after I say to have a good day.

I never told him I loved him. Did he know? He had to have known, but even if he knew, wouldn’t it have been nice if I told him?

Every feeling I felt that day in the little old house on the hill floods me like a dam burst open.

Over the last week, I’ve wondered how I could ever get to the point of wanting to die, but right now, in this bed, with three sets of eyes staring at me and not one of them the gentle eyes of my grandpa, I know how I got to that point. The fact I have to live the rest of my life knowing my grandpa isn’t on earth with me any longer is like nothing I’ve felt before.

How am I meant to live in a world where my grandpa isn’t?

I don’t think I can.

15

Ash

Tears fill her eyes the moment everything hits her. Her lips wobble and her eyes bounce from each of us, panic, worry, and hurt growing more with each glance.

Her chest heaves as she gasps for air.

Everything inside me screams to grab her, pull her into my body, and save her from these thoughts. But I can’t. I can’t stop her from grieving. We knew this moment was coming, but fuck if this couldn’t be a worse time.

I can’t save her from her mind, but I can comfort her. I pull her against my body and bury my head into her neck. “I’m so sorry, babygirl.”

Her sobs are loud. “I c-can’t live w-w-without him, Ash.”

My own emotions come to be too much, and I squeeze my eyes closed. It’s been weeks since we lost Paul, but seeing and hearing Payson struggling is bringing everything back up—and more.

When I pull away, her face is red and blotchy, tears pour from her eyes, and she shakes her head.

I shoot a look at Jethro, but his eyes are firm on her and his jaw set, obviously pushing any emotion he is having far from the surface. Exactly what I do whenever Payson isn’t involved, but seeing her having a breakdown, is tearing my insides a part.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur repeatedly. What else do you say? This is a situation I can’t make better. Anything I do or say can’t bring him back. That’s the only thing that would make everything better, and it’s impossible. Knowing there is nothing I can do, bloody kills me.

She clings to me like her life depends on it, and I wonder if it might.

Eventually Jethro steps out, and a few minutes later, the anesthesiologist and doctor follow him back in. They give her the medication to put her to sleep, and despite her trying to fight it, she fades.

Jethro explains the situation, and they offer their condolences. Before they wheel her to the operating room, I lean down and press my lips to her forehead and say a silent prayer. It’s not something I do a lot, and I haven’t since she woke from the coma, but if anyone can help my girl right now, I hope it’s Him.

The doctor comes back sometime later to tell us Payson is halfway through and doing amazing. Luca headed out to get us food, and Jethro and I sit in her room in silence.

“What happens now?”

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