Jacqueline Druga - The Flu

“You didn’t lose, Mick,” Lars stated. “Listening now, hearing it, you made the right unselfish decision. These boys love you. They really love you. Your relationship with them is exceptional, so exceptional that any biological father would be envious. You didn’t give up one son. You gained three.”

“I know.” Mick nodded. “And now I’m losing one.” Mick finally opened the paper and looked down. He gave a soft emotional chuckle. “I better get inside. Mind if I show this to Dylan?”

“No. That’s why I brought it.” Lars reached out and laid his hand on Mick’s arm. “You’re in my prayers, Mick.”

Mick was unable to speak his thanks, giving only a grateful nod of his head. Then after a soft, painful “See ya tomorrow”, Mick slipped back into the house.

Mick cleared a spot on what he called Dylan’s “mess table” that sat in the upstairs hallway, a little round stand that she always put papers and cups on with intentions to take them downstairs, but they never made it. On that table he put two cups of coffee. Something told him they might be sleeping, so he tried quietly to make his entrance into Dustin’s room. He would have done so had he not almost fallen over Chris who was lying on the floor.

“Sorry.” Chris looked up.

“Chris,” Mick said, crouching down, “you still aren’t better yet. How about sleeping in a bed one more night?”

“No.” Chris shook his head. “I don’t want to leave my brother.”

Understanding that, Mick kissed him and stood up. He looked at Dustin who had fallen asleep. He made sure he touched him as he walked to Dylan. “Hey,” he whispered in her ear. “Can I steal you for a minute?”

After nodding, Dylan quietly followed Mick into the hall. She pulled the door closed. “What’s up?”

“I just needed a minute with you. I got us coffee…” He pointed. “Can we sit out here in the hall? If you don’t want to…”

“No. That’s fine.” She reached up and laid her hand on his face. “Dustin’s asleep. Mick? Are you okay?”

Mick grabbed her hand and kissed it, then led her away from the door a few feet. He handed her the coffee and at the same time they both sank to the floor. “No.”

Dylan looked at him.

“No, I’m not okay. And I want to apologize to you for that.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you apologizing?”

“For not being as strong as I should be.”

“You’re my strength, Mick,” she blurted out. “I don’t know what I would do without you right now. You’re keeping me together.”

A single chuckle came from Mick. “I say the same thing about you.”

“I kind of think…” Dylan played with the cup in her hand, “that right now, we’re overwhelmed with shock and sadness. But I think we both have more strength than we realize. I look at you, I’m screaming inside, and you’re so calm.”

“You think?” Mick smiled. “I’m not calm. You… Dylan, I admire you so much for how brave you’re being right now.”

Scooting closer to him, Dylan leaned her head against Mick’s arm. “I wish God gave us, as parents, one chance. Just one chance, on a tiny slip of paper. A chance to switch places with your child. For anything. And when that moment is needed, we as parents could turn that slip of paper in and trade places.”

“One slip?” Mick asked. “One chance.”

“Yes, why?”

“Dylan, sweetheart. If God did that, you of all people wouldn’t have a chance to turn in right now. Not you. You would have turned that chance in years ago. When Dustin used to get picked on in school, you wanted to trade places. How about when Chris got that case of chicken pox and was in the hospital? A few days ago when Chris had the flu? The time Dustin got the lead in the school play and he opened his mouth to sing and nothing came out?”

Dylan smiled slightly. “Poor Dustin.”

“You would have done it many times. That’s why God doesn’t give us those chances, he knows how we can’t, with the love of parents, ever choose which moment is deserving enough. They all are deserving.” Mick exhaled heavily. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Dylan sat up and looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Dustin asked to see Tigger. He needs to see him, and I think Tigger should spend some time with his brother before… well, I just think he should.”

“I do, too, Mick, but I can’t take a chance on…” Dylan was silent when Mick handed her a sheet of paper. “What’s this?”

“Let Tigger in the room. Lars did some testing. Like father like son, Tigger is immune.”

Dylan hadn’t cried in hours, but at that second her entire face spasmed emotionally and a single tear ran down her face. She set down her coffee, and with the results still in her hand, Dylan embraced Mick. The moment in the hall ended up being just what she needed, a break from the heartache, and a little shining light of good.

October 5 th

Dustin didn’t awaken often. When a brief bout of consciousness allowed him to open his eyes, he’d shift them around the room to linger on Dylan, Chris, and Tigger. Even though they were tired and glazed, Dylan could look into his eyes and see Dustin’s life force, his soul. She painfully saw that he understood everything that was going on. He may have been ill, his body ravaged and swollen, but Dustin tried to smile because he enjoyed the happy stories they told. Over the course of the next twelve hours, he was aware of them for brief periods of time, then he’d fade into sleep brought on by the illness and the increasingly larger doses of pain medication.

However, even when he was unconscious, Dylan, Tigger, Chris, and Mick, whoever was in the room, kept talking. Dustin loved to talk, he loved to be a part of every conversation, adult or not, and they gave him that.

Although the event taking place was somber and solemn, Dylan didn’t want the mood to be somber; she strived to keep the atmosphere as normal as possible. She watched Chris and admired her middle son’s stamina and good sense. Although suffering through what he was witnessing with his older brother, Chris kept up a good front, upbeat, high spirited and energetic. The wrestling videos played constantly, and Chris, even when Dustin was asleep, rewound the parts that they always rewound, shouted out as always when matches were “awesome” and Chris would ask Dustin if he saw this or that.

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.