Part 29 (1/2)

”No. Come.” Kaila texted.

”We OK,” Pia texted back.

Kaila sighed. She was but one person; she could not save the whole world. Plus, now, she would not leave Paw Paw. There was no need to put a mind-screen on her family regarding her absence at school, for now they wanted her home.

She slept on the sofa in her jeans and t-s.h.i.+rt, called Lucy and Woofy up next to her. She wrapped her arms around Lucy's soft black fur, cradling her head next to hers.

She dozed, with one eye open, listening. The grandfather clock tick-tocked and chimed on the hour. Every three hours, Kaila rose, filled the dropper with morphine, and put it inside Paw Paw's cheek.

”Sleep,” she said, caressing his bald head. He dully tried to shake his head. She marveled at his pride and resolve as his life slipped away.

She did this for three days, refusing food and care.

”Leave me alone!” she said to her mother, who begged her to eat and shower.

She was on death watch and everyone knew it. She was the one who had the strength to do this. And everyone knew that too.

At three a.m. Kaila rose, filled the eyedropper with morphine. Determined that Paw Paw would never feel pain again, she inserted the dropper inside his cheek, softly rubbing.

She felt numb, a robot. She had to stuff her emotion; she had to function. Just think and perform . . . just like them . . . no, don't think it!

Kaila lay down on the sofa. Paw Paw's snores deepened, resonant and long with a pause, like the blankness between words in a sentence. Where was that s.p.a.ce? She dozed, delirious, not having slept in days. That s.p.a.ce beckoned. Quiet. Solitude. Peace.

She slipped into a superficial slumber, ever listening.

And then, all grew quiet. A deathly silence filled the room. Kaila was so exhausted she couldn't open her eyes.

She felt like the Caribbean sun shone above. It enfolded her with warmth. She saw Paw Paw when he was younger and strong. He was smiling, radiant, infused with golden light.

I am so happy, he said.

Kaila opened her eyes. It was silent. Paw Paw was not snoring anymore. She ran to the stretcher.

”Nan, Mom!” she shouted. She ran to the stairwell. ”Come down here! Now!”

Nan, Lee, and Mike scrambled down the stairs in their bathrobes.

They cl.u.s.tered around Paw Paw on the stretcher. Kaila placed her palm on Paw Paw's forehead. He drew in an inhalation, then deeply exhaled.

”Oh,” Nan gasped. ”His last breath.” She started to cry.

”Stop that,” Kaila said. ”Paw Paw,” she said, nuzzling her face next to her grandfather's. ”I know you can hear me. Don't worry about us. Go. Go!”

She cradled her cheek against her Paw Paw's withered face.

As she closed her eyes, she again saw Paw Paw smiling. Felt his warmth and his love, the wholeness of himself in spirit.

What will you do? he asked.

”Oh, Paw Paw,” she said. ”Don't worry. We will be okay.”

She felt his light, his spirit evacuating his body.

Her mother started shaking and sobbing.

”Stop that,” Kaila said, instinctively knowing that grief might bind a spirit to earth.

Mike put his arm around Lee, pressing his lips together, not knowing what to do.

”Go,” Kaila urged Paw Paw, keeping her hand on his forehead, her cheek to his.

Then, emerging from his emaciated body, Paw Paw's spirit lifted. He hovered near the stretcher, smiling and luminescent. He embraced Kaila with his golden light. His spirit held her, infusing her with a love so profound and true, she was dumbstruck.

A long corridor opened.

”Don't look at me,” she managed to say. ”Go. Don't look back.”

She felt him floating and enveloping her with a love she'd never known possible. Its purity and power made her dizzy.

”I love you, Paw Paw,” she said through blurry vision. ”Go on now. Git!”

He smiled at her, radiant. I'll love you forever, Goosy. He turned, raced through the open corridor toward the light. His spirit merged with the light. The corridor closed and disappeared.

Then all was still.

Kaila kept her hand on Paw Paw's forehead, her cheek cradled to his.

”Kaila,” Lee prodded after minutes had pa.s.sed.

She didn't want to let go. She kept her face pressed against her grandfather's till she realized that his flesh was still and growing cold. It was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock.

Kaila lifted her head, looked at them. ”He's gone,” she said.

In true Southern style, Nan pulled out the wine. She poured everyone a gla.s.s. They went outside and sat on the porch.

It was Sunday morning. Birds chirped and flew across the sky.

”I always knew he'd leave me on a Sunday,” Nan said, weeping and sipping her wine.

”That's cause he knew how much you love your church,” Lee said. She swallowed deeply of her wine. ”It's a message he'll see you again.”

They looked out at the fields and the pond and the morning sky, pondering life without Paw Paw.

”It's a beautiful day,” Mike said, not knowing what to say.

The sun shone, the sky cloudless. Yet grief clung to them.