Bittersweet, Part 2

Catherine is weeding her garden when she hears someone walk up to the house. “Probably one of the neighbourhood children coming to ask me to sponsor them for something...” she thinks as she puts her trowel down and makes her way toward the sound. As she rounds the corner of the house, she stops in her tracks. A young man with blond hair is standing at the front door, about to knock. She has seen him before – he is one of Bradley’s friends. She clears her throat, and he turns towards her. “Oh, Mrs. Gibson... hi...” he stammers uneasily. “Hello,” she answers with reserve, wondering what he is doing in her yard. “I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Erik Moore... I’m a friend of Brad’s.”

Erik runs his hand through his hair, not knowing how to tell this woman that her son is dying. Seeing his hesitation, Catherine automatically assumes the worst. “Is he alright?” she asks in a panic. “He doesn’t have long, Mrs. Gibson. He misses you, and I know that seeing you one last time would give him some peace.” Erik pauses at the stricken expression on Brad’s mother’s face. “I’m not here to tell you what to do; I’m just letting you know what’s going on. I don’t know how long he’s going to last, maybe a few days... The nurse said a week, at the most.” Erik doesn’t even realize that he is crying. “That’s all I wanted to say...” He turns and leaves Catherine where she stands, tears streaming down her face and her legs feeling weak.

Erik is trembling as he walks away from the house where Brad grew up. “What kind of woman abandons her son when he needs her the most?” he wonders, outraged. “He doesn’t deserve that. No one deserves that! I can’t believe he’s dying... He’s suffered so much, maybe he’ll be better off...” So many emotions course through him at the same time that it is difficult for him to make sense of them all, his thoughts a muddled blur.

***

“Marshall, you can’t tell me that you’re unaffected by the fact that your son is dying!” Catherine rages. She is pacing the length of the kitchen, trying to walk off some of her anger. Her husband looks at her coldly. “I don’t have a son,” he states calmly. Catherine stops her pacing to face Marshall. “How can you possibly be so cold?” she demands, aghast. “I don’t care what you say; he’s your flesh and blood. Yours and mine,” she says with passion. “Whatever situation he’s in, he got himself into. He chose to be who he is,” Marshall declares, his voice no longer calm. Becoming increasingly enraged, he slams his fist onto the kitchen counter. “Dammit, Catherine! You know what I went through with my father and Samuel! I won’t go through that again!” he bellows. His breath comes in quick, short bursts as he suffers sharp stabs of pain. Marshall clutches at his chest, looking at his wife with alarm. Forgetting her anger, Catherine helps him to the sofa and calls an ambulance.

***

Every breath is a chore. Every limb hurts. Every touch is torture. “Please, God, no more...” Brad pleads silently. Through the haze of agony, he senses the presence of Asia and Erik. They are sitting on either side of his bed, each holding one of his hands. Asia wipes the perspiration from his forehead with a damp cloth. He is trying to speak but his mumblings are incomprehensible. “Shh... Hun, it’s ok,” she whispers softly, rubbing his hand, which is growing colder. “You can let go... you’re going to be in a place where there is no pain, and you’ll be there with Chris,” says Erik, ignoring the tears running down his face. Asia is crying quietly. She knows that Brad is going to a better place, but that doesn’t make letting him go any easier.

For a moment, the haze lifts and he sees his friends perfectly. Sees their tears, their pain. Sees their love. “I love you guys,” he gasps, squeezing their hands. “Be happy for me... that I’ve had such a full life... tell my parents that I love them...” Every word is an effort, each more difficult to say than the last. He closes his eyes again, all his strength spent. “I love you,” Asia says, kissing his cheek. “I’ll never have another friend like you,” Erik whispers, clasping his hand more tightly. Brad takes a long rasping breath, shudders as he exhales, and his chest stops moving. The room is completely silent, but for the ticking of the ticking of the kitchen clock which can be heard faintly.

Erik and Aja are still, silent tears flowing down their cheeks, both unable to believe that it’s over. Just like that, the life has left Brad’s body in one single breath. They sit there for a long time, unwilling to let go of Brad’s hands, because that would make it real. And there’s nothing they would like more than to wake up in their beds, the whole thing being a terrible nightmare. Suddenly a sob escapes Asia’s chest, and the floodgates open. “No,” she whispers, “no, it can’t be true...” She begins to sob violently, her body convulsing. She slides off her chair and slumps onto the floor in a heap. Erik gets up slowly, still in shock, and makes his way to her side of the bed.

Going down onto his knees, he takes Asia into his arms and rocks her. She puts her arms around his torso and holds onto him tightly, as though he can protect her from the awful truth. They cry together, refusing to let go. Asia and Erik stay there so long that darkness is falling outside. When they are finally ready to face reality, Asia’s practicality takes over and she calls an ambulance to take Brad away. She and Erik stay with him until the ambulance gets there, then she calls Brad’s parents to tell them what has happened.

***

Catherine is walking out the door with the intention of finally visiting her son, when the phone rings. She is tempted to ignore it and leave, but with Marshall resting upstairs, she decides to answer so that he won’t need to get up. “Mrs. Gibson?” a strained female voice asks. “Yes, it’s me,” she says, panic rising at the tone of the woman’s voice. “I just wanted to tell you that...” The woman’s voice catches as a sob escapes her. “I’m calling to tell you that Brad just died.” A scream tears itself from Catherine’s throat as the telephone falls from her hand and she collapses to the floor.

***

Catherine enters the room with Marshall. She wills herself to make her way toward the coffin, leaving her husband by the door. Walking slowly, she takes deep breaths to calm the rising dread. When she arrives beside her son’s coffin, her heart breaks. “My poor baby, so young...” she thinks as she touches his face. It doesn’t feel like him, so cold and lifeless. “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart; I should have gone to see you sooner... I miss you so much,” she whispers through the sobs that are now bursting from her.

Marshall stands by the door, refusing to go near the coffin. As far as he is concerned, he had no son. He wants to comfort Catherine, but that would require him seeing him. Laying eyes on Bradley would remind him of the greatest shame of his life – having a son like that. His brother being one of them was one thing, but his son as well? That was just too much. Brad had always been strange, even as a child. Marshall had hoped it was just a phase, that he would outgrow it. Strangeness he could accept... But then Brad came home during Christmas break of his third year of university and told them the last thing Marshall wanted to hear.

***

It was a cold clear day with snow everywhere. Marshall and Brad were shovelling the driveway from the remnants of the snowstorm that hit the day before. “Listen, Dad, I need to tell you something...” said Brad in a nervous voice. Marshall looked curiously up at his son. “I don’t really know how to say it... I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. I don’t want to hide who I am anymore, so I want you to know the truth.” Dread hit his stomach – this couldn’t be good news. “I’m gay, Dad,” Brad said quietly. Marshall’s world was crumbling. “Are you sure?” he demanded. “Yes, of course,” replied his son. Marshall turned away from his son and walked into the house. Brad followed, trying desperately to understand what was happening. He’d known his father would react badly, but this was not what he had expected. He was ready for yelling and cussing, but this silence scared him more than either of those.

That night, Marshall and Catherine had a huge fight. Catherine kept trying to defend Brad while Marshall refused to hear about it. “I don’t want his kind in my house! He had better be gone first thing in the morning, or I will throw his things out myself!” he raged. Catherine wept in desperation. “Marshall, he’s your son! How can you turn him away just because of this? The fact that he’s homosexual doesn’t change who he is!” she cried. “DON’T USE THAT WORD IN THIS HOUSE!” he roared. Catherine went up to talk to Brad, asking him to leave in the morning. He left when his parents were asleep, and Marshall never spoke to his son again.

***

“I can’t believe I let Catherine drag me here,” thinks Marshall, tugging at his tie. He is sitting in a pew, in the little church where Brad was baptised, with his wife at his side. The church is so full that people are standing against the back wall. Catherine, who is devastated, doesn’t notice her husband’s reticence. He holds her hand while she cries quietly. The funeral service is being performed by the same priest who married Marshall and Catherine over thirty years ago. As he listens to the details of his son’s life, Marshall learns what an impact he’s had on Brad, who followed in his father’s footsteps to become a lawyer, despite their falling out. He tries to distance himself from what he is hearing, telling himself that he has no son but having more and more difficulty believing it.

Asia and Erik stand to read the eulogy that they have written. They tell of all the trials and tribulations that Brad has faced in his life, and how he had overcome them all with incredible strength and grace. “When Chris died, we thought that would be the end of him, but he was so strong. It was difficult, but he surmounted that too,” said Asia. Marshall was struck with sympathy that he did not understand. “I didn’t know he lost his partner...” he thought, then tried to convince himself that he didn’t care because it was unnatural that they had been together in the first place. He sighed, still trying to deny that he had a son, and that he was affected by his death. Marshall put his arm around Catherine and held her close, telling himself that it was only to comfort her.

***

My dearest son,

I am writing to you to ask your forgiveness and to explain certain things, although I realize it is too late. I was not the mother you needed me to be. In the moments when you needed me most, I abandoned you. Instead of being there with you, as I should have been. I chose to placate your father.

There is a lot about your father that you don’t know. Your father has a brother, your uncle Samuel. He is homosexual too, and was disowned by your grandfather. Your grandpa could never let go of his shame at having a gay son, and placed an enormous amount of pressure on your father. Whenever your father disappointed his dad, he was accused of being just like Sam. That’s why your dad couldn’t accept that you were gay; it reminded him of his brother and his father, of the abuse he suffered at the hands of his dad. I’m not making excuses for him, I’m just telling you the truth.

I was about to go see you when your friend called to tell me that you passed away. I couldn’t believe it. I regret so many decisions I have made when it comes to you. I should have fought your father harder to keep you in the house that night when you told him you were gay. I should have taken the time to get to know your Chris. If you loved him as much as you seemed to, he must have been a great person. I should have been there for you when he died. I should have been there for you. Please forgive me.

I love you, Bradley, and I always will.

I miss you,

Mom xox

***

The five of them stand around the freshly dug grave, the coffin hovering above it in a harness. Erik and Asia hold hands, drawing support from each other’s presence. Catherine, who keeps dissolving into tears, is being supported by Marshall, who holds her in his arms. They are standing across the casket from their son’s friends. Erik fights the temptation to tell Brad’s father to leave. “Fucking hypocrite,” he mutters. Asia looks at him questioningly, but he just shakes his head, letting her know it isn’t important. The priest, standing at the end of the coffin, says a few prayers over the casket. He nods to the four others, letting them know that it is time for them to say their last goodbyes before Brad is buried.

Asia and Erik each place a white rose on the coffin. Asia kisses her fingers and brushes them on the casket. “Be free,” she whispers. “We’ll miss you, buddy,” says Erik, fresh tears making their way down his face. They step back together and wrap their arms around each other. Catherine and Marshall step toward the coffin and Catherine places an envelope next to the roses. Marshall stands by her side, as stone-faced as ever. “Heartless bastard,” thinks Asia, who is bitter that this man who abandoned his son shows no remorse. The only thing keeping her from voicing her fury is her respect for Brad. This ceremony is a goodbye to her best friend, and she refuses to desecrate it by making a scene.

The coffin is being lowered slowly into the ground. Brad’s best friends already feel the great void left in their lives by his absence. Seeing his casket being brought down to be buried makes it more final, more real. “Watch over us, Brad, we still need you,” pleads Erik quietly. Catherine puts her arms around herself, the regret weighing heavily on her heart making her feel cold. Her eyes are dry, having spent their reserve or tears for the moment. She stares at the coffin with haunted eyes, unable to believe that her son is in the box being lowered. Marshall watches emotionlessly as the coffin makes its descent. Suddenly, something inside him gives way. “My boy, my son, is dead... he’s really gone...” he thinks with bitter regret, a single, solitary tear tracing its way down his wrinkled face.

Bittersweet, Part 1

Brad leans in close to his mirror in order to examine his pale, gaunt face with protruding cheekbones and deep purple pockets under his eyes. His ashen skin is so thin it appears nearly transparent, the veins showing through as though traced on its surface. “This is what Chris looked like in the end...” he whispers. He slowly raises a shaking hand towards his cheek, as though not believing that what he sees is true. When his fingertips touch his skin, a few tears slip out of the corners of his eyes, trace their paths down to his chin, and from there, fall onto the bathroom countertop. He turns dejectedly away from his reflection, and with all his remaining strength, makes his way back to the comforting warmth of his blankets.

The telephone on his pill bottle-strewn night table rings. He reaches out a skeletal arm to pick up the receiver and brings it to his ear. “Hello?” he answers in a voice croaking from disuse. The only response is a small feminine sigh, and the click of the person on the other end of the line hanging up. “I love you too, Mom,” he whispers sadly, replacing the receiver. His parents never come to see him. His father, morally outraged that his son could be one of those people, refuses to have any contact with him whatsoever. His mother, on the other hand, constantly worries about him, but not wanting to anger her husband, she satisfies her need to make certain that her son is relatively well by calling once per week to hear his voice.

At first, he didn’t know what to make of the prank calls he was receiving on a regular basis, until on Saturday the person had stayed on the line longer than usual. Hearing someone breathing, Brad became very frustrated. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to bother a dying man?” he demanded in a voice barely concealing his rage. Then he heard the last thing he expected – a woman apologizing through her sobs. A woman who sounded an awful lot like his mother. “Mom?” he asked gently. The sobbing increased and the woman hung up. The phone calls continue at their regular intervals. Although Brad’s anger is less intense, there are still days when he is so disgusted with his mother for abandoning him that he would yell at her if he had the strength.

Sighing, Brad lied back onto his pillows and tried to rest before Asia and Erik arrive. He knows that they mean well, and their company makes him feel better than any of his medications, but their visits can sometimes be tiring, especially lately. He closes his eyes and drifts into an uneasy sleep filled with images of hospitals and funeral homes.

***

Catherine wipes her tears as she hangs up the telephone. Knowing that her only son is suffering mere miles away from her while she is unable to be there for him breaks her heart. No mother should have to live with the knowledge that her child is slowly fading away. She calls Brad every week, but that is not nearly enough for her. She wishes that she could drive herself over to his small, cluttered apartment, take him in her arms and make his pain go away. But somehow, Marshall would know, and she is scared that his heart couldn’t handle the rage that would surely ensue. The only real contact she has had with Bradley in the last six years was last fall, when he had come to see her when he knew his father would be gone to work.

***

It was early afternoon on a beautiful autumn day – the sun’s rays on the leaves made all their colours seem even brighter, the reds, yellows, and oranges more vivid. Catherine was in the kitchen, finishing with the dishes from lunch when she heard something on the front porch. Wiping her hands on the dishtowel, she made her way to the front of the house, and found Brad looking in at her from the little window in the door. He was a mess, his eyes red and bloodshot, as though he had been crying or drinking – or both. She hurried to open the door, and as she did, her son collapsed into her arms in a sobbing heap and they slumped together to the floor.

Not knowing what else to do, she held him tightly and rocked him, running her fingers through his hair like she had done when he was young. When he finally quieted down, Brad looked up at his mother and the pain that she saw in his eyes chilled her soul. “Bradley, what’s going on?” she asked nervously, scared of what the answer would be. “It’s Chris, Mom. He... he died this morning,” he stammered in a voice so defeated that all she could do was hold his hand to comfort him. “He’s been sick for a long time, so I knew it was coming, but I just can’t believe he’s gone...” A few more stray tears fell from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Honey,” she said sympathetically. “I know you loved him very much.” She patted his shoulder gently.

A few moments passed in silence with mother and son holding each other. “Mom, there’s something else I need to tell you,” her son admitted quietly. It felt like her heart stopped beating and time stood still as she waited to hear what he needed to say. “Please, God, don’t let my baby be sick too,” she pleaded silently. More tears welled in his eyes, and she could see that he was terrified. “I...” he began and his voice stopped working. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m dying, Mom, and... I’m scared,” he whispered.

***

Asia, with Erik a few paces behind her, pulls the key to Brad’s apartment from the pocket of her jeans. “Come on, Erik, stop stalling...” She turns to face him. Seeing the uneasiness in his eyes, she pauses before reaching for the door handle. “I know you don’t like seeing him like this, but he’s been alone all day. He needs us,” she says, reaching up to put her hands on his shoulders. “I know, it’s just... hard,” he admits, his blond hair hiding his eyes as he lowers his head. Asia lifts his chin with her fingers to make him look at her, then nods questioningly – “are you ready?” is the unspoken message. He sighs and nods in return. Asia unlocks the door and they enter the apartment.

“It smells like a hospital in here,” Erik thinks as soon as the antiseptic odour reaches his nostrils. He looks around the living room, glad that this part of the apartment, at least, hasn’t changed since his best friend became ill. Distracted by his surroundings, he trips on the little rug near the door, drops the plastic bag he was carrying, and nearly topples into Asia, who is taking off her shoes. She looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “You gonna be ok?” she asks quietly, so as not to wake Brad if he is sleeping. “Yes, yes... I’m fine,” he grumbles crossly, silently cursing his clumsiness. He slips out of his sneakers, picks up the bag, and follows Asia into the bedroom.

Entering the room, Brad’s best friends have two very different reactions. Asia, the optimist, thinks that she sees a little more colour in his cheeks today, and hopes that it means that his illness is becoming less aggressive. Erik, on the other hand, is horror-struck. “He looks so old... he’s only twenty-seven, how can he look like he’s at least twice that?” He stops his train of thought in order to smile for Brad, who’s just opened his eyes at the sound of his friends’ footsteps and smiled feebly when he saw them.

“Hey you,” Asia greets him quietly, “how are you feeling today?” Brad’s smile flickers briefly. “Today’s a good day. I got up this morning,” he informs her, glad to see that this news cheers her. “That’s great, Hun!” She beams at him, crossing the room to sit on the edge of his bed. He turns towards Erik, who is still standing in silence by the door, his fake smile looking more like a grimace than anything else. Brad smiles sadly at Erik, knowing how difficult it is to see someone you love deteriorate. “I’m really glad you guys came to visit. I was getting a little lonely...” he admits. “I was dreaming about Chris... Oh, and my mom called again,” he adds, as though it were an afterthought.

“And did she say anything?” asks Erik, finally making his way toward the bed, going slowly, as though building up his courage. Brad shakes his head. “Same as usual. I miss her; I don’t understand why she won’t just talk to me. It pisses me off that she refuses to talk to me because of Dad... it just doesn’t make sense.” The strain of speaking sends him into a coughing fit. When it passes, he leans back into his pillows and closes his eyes, wheezing in his effort to bring air into his lungs. He stays still for so long that his friends wonder if he has fallen asleep.

“Did you guys bring it?” Brad asks suddenly. He opens his eyes and looks from Asia to Erik and back again. “Yeah, it’s here...” Erik informs him, reaching into the plastic bag that they brought and taking out a small bag of marijuana, already rolled into little white portions for his friend’s convenience. Brad sighs with relief. “Thanks guys. I hate asking you to do something illegal, but it’s one of the only things that help with the pain.” He doesn’t know how to show them how much he appreciates everything they do for him. Other than the nurse who comes every other day, they are the only people he sees. Asia pats his hand softly, letting him know that they do it because they love him. Noticing the time, she informs Brad that she and Erik have to leave.

Asia hugs him and gets up from the bed, and Erik shakes his hand. “So we’ll see you again tomorrow. I finish work around three, then I’ll go pick up Asia and we’ll be by after that,” Erik declares gruffly. He has trouble saying goodbye to Brad, because he never knows if it’s going to be the final time he says it. “See you then,” answers Brad as Asia leans in to kiss his cheek and ruffle his hair. As he watches them leave, he thinks to himself how lucky he is to have great friends like them. He knows that Erik is having a hard time dealing with everything, but he shows up everyday nonetheless. They are his family, the brother and sister he never had. He groans as a sharp pain stabs his side. He stretches out his feeble arm and fumbles awkwardly through the drawer of his bedside table, looking for his lighter.

***

Little One

Left hand, right knee. Right hand, left knee. Left hand, right knee. Right hand, left knee. There! I can almost reach it, just a little further. Left hand, right knee. Finally! I stretch out my chubby hand. My short fingers try to grasp the object of my attention. Its bright colours call out to me. I drag it towards me, unable to pick it up with one hand. I run my hands over its smooth surface. It feels cool against my warm skin. I am drawn to the pattern of red, blue, and green – my favourite colours. I am finally able to lift it using both hands, and lift it toward my face. I lower my head and rest my right cheek against it, revelling in the new sensation. I close my eyes to fully absorb the experience. It smells funny. I wrinkle my nose and let it fall to the floor, the novelty gone. I look around the room and see Her. She is watching my antics with a smile on Her lips. She is the love of my life. I slowly make my way across the room. I feel the soft texture of the carpet beneath me as I head toward her. I marvel at the squishing caused by my slightest movement. Her smile brightens as I approach. My whole world revolves around Her, as Hers does around me. I am nearly there. I stumble and a giggle escapes Her smiling mouth. She reaches out Her hands to steady me. I open my arms to embrace Her, wanting to be near Her. She comes closer, taking me in Her arms. She tosses me in the air, catching me as I burst into a fit of giggles. She places me lightly in her lap, tickling my belly. She speaks to me in her soft voice – “I love you, my Little One…”