Dustin was dying and the room was redolent of life, loud, noisy, and active. Dylan allowed that even at times when she wanted so badly to rest her eyes, wallow in sadness, or say a prayer in peace. She couldn’t. Dylan took in all that transpired in that room between her sons because she had come to the painful realization that moments of enthusiasm over wrestling, Chris’ chattering and spoken dreams were moments between her boys that soon would be no more.
The tissue, damp with Rose’s tears, shredded with the nervous rolling of her fingers. She could honestly say that she hadn’t cried since her husband had passed on years and years before. An avalanche of pain crushed the inner strength she’d always had.
She stared at her son, a monster of a man in size, yet she saw how small he felt. He was broken. The hours leading up to Dustin’s death became the sledgehammer that shattered him as if he were a pane of glass.
Mick hadn’t called upon her to be a mother in quite some time. Rose couldn’t recall how many evenings in the past she knew Mick had problems and she’d pick up the phone only to be told by him he was fine. So many times she wanted him to come to her and say, “Mom, what do I do?” Mick never did. Until that very moment. And all the years of motherly advice, at that second, seemed to vanish.
What to say? There was so much that could be said. Rose went through her mind as she listened to each word Mick spoke. What would be the best response? What would help?
Nothing.
There wasn’t a single word of comfort or advice that she could give that would even attempt to take the pain away.
After a sniffle, in a second of silence, Rose shivered, grabbed onto Mick’s hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry. I am so very sorry.”
Mick bit his bottom lip. “I just wanted you to know. You may want to stop over and see him. He’s not… chances are he’s not gonna make it through the night.”
Hearing that, even though she knew it was coming, made Rose’s chest sink with sadness.
“Mom, I don’t know how Dylan’s doing it. I don’t. It hit her some time yesterday that Dustin, no matter we do, no matter how hard we pray, he’s leaving us. Why can’t I accept that? Why am I so damn angry over this? And hurt. Oh, God, I don’t even wanna touch that. I just wanna pick him up, take him somewhere, and say ‘Help him,’ but there’s nowhere to go. Nothing will help.”
“That’s what the problem is right now with you, Mick,” Rose said to her son. “You’ve always rushed in, saved the day, righted a wrong. You can’t fix this one. Dylan’s faced that easier, because despite how tough you think you are, she’s always been more reality-based than you. You see something, and you want it, no matter how far from your reach, you go after it. And… and usually, you get it. But Dylan, she goes after what she knows is within that reach, never too far from it. She knows this is out of her hands. It’s in God’s hands now. She won’t touch it. You, Michael, if you could take on God right now to win that boy back, you would. But you can’t. This battle for you is unwinnable. Not to say, if you could, you wouldn’t give God a pretty good fight.” She winked.
“My typical comeback would be, ‘nah, I’d kick His ass’, but…” Mick chuckled, “I really need Him right now, and I don’t want to say anything to piss Him off.”
“I hear that.” Rose gave a pat to his hand. “You’ll get through this, Mick. No matter how bad you hurt, you will get through this. Life goes on. It really does. And you are strong, Mick, no matter what you say right now. I kinda think that may be the reason you feel so weak; it isn’t because you are, it’s just that fate stole some of your strength and tucked it away in reserve so you can go full force when this is over.”
“What if I’m not able to do that?” Mick asked.
“You will be.” Rose embraced her son and almost died when she felt how tightly he held on. And through that hug, she realized that perhaps, even just a little, she did indeed give the comfort and words as a mother she had always wanted to give.
“To cop a ‘Patrick’ phrase,” Lars chuckled softly, “this sucks. This really… sucks.” Lars dropped down onto the fresh mound of dirt and took a seat. An artificial flower, perfect in its beauty, was in his hand. He peered up across the field to the lines and lines of fresh graves. To him it seemed like a miniature Arlington Cemetery. No headstones or crosses adorned the graves yet, just single wooden stick grave markers which held a white cloth with the name of each of the dead. The wind was brisk and the white cloths all flapped in a small orchestra of noise. They looked like white flags, but somehow they didn’t hold the typical stigma of surrender. To Lars they waved in glorification of life, because there had been no surrender from those who passed on from the flu. They battled, they fought hard, and in essence, in their own way, they really won. They had moved on to something much better, where those who were left behind were left to live a life of grief, painful reminders, decades of hurt and struggles.
“I brought you a cheesy gift. All the others will be envious.” Lars placed the wire stem into the earth. “There. You have a decoration. I apologize for not coming straight out here yesterday when you were buried. But I’m sure you understand. It’s been bad. Very bad. Tonight, tomorrow…” Lars exhaled, “is the finale. Dear God, the company you will have out here. We didn’t do as well as we wanted to, Patrick. The second wave undid the great stats we had. What happened?” He shook his head. “Confidence. Too many came in too late. We had a lot of young not respond. I think you’re lucky that you have missed this last round. In case you’re curious… no. Aside from not being able to get there, I’ve no plans to go back to Africa. I do have plans to stay in Lodi.” Lars gasped as if he were faking shock. “Surprised? You and Mick laid a lot of groundwork for survival. My God, the pressure that is going to fall upon that man’s shoulders when this thing is over. People look to him as a leader. He’s gonna have to pull them through. He’ll need some help since… you abandoned him. Just like you to run, isn’t it? As I have said to you so many times, just like a criminal. Can I let you in on a little secret?” Lars dropped his voice to a whisper. “I have never viewed you as a criminal. I think you know that, I only liked to joke with you. I need to tell you something, Patrick, if you don’t mind. I wished I could have told you these things when you were around. I guess that regret will be multiplied ten-fold around here by everyone. But, forgive the sappiness. I’ll allow you to haunt my dreams and badger me, how’s that?” There was a pause of silence and sadness from Lars. “A month never is long, but when you seem to spend every single day with someone, it can contain a lifetime. You have never treated me as any more than the man I am. Your bizarre curiosity of me made me laugh and your energy and youth made me feel alive. I guess in essence you are a criminal, because my friend, you stole my heart. And when I speak of you in the years to come, as I keep your name alive, your spirit, I will always preface your name with the words, ‘my friend’. Because you are.” Lars ran his hand over the mound of dirt. He grabbed a little and placed it in his pocket. He let out a long breath and folded his arms over his bent knees. “Ah. Okay, sappy time over, mind if I hang out for a while and insult you?”