Nathan Jones - First Winter

“And let you suffer this.” Lewis tried, but against his will the tears finally flowed. He reached out to grab his dad’s hand with both of his, holding it tight. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” his dad said with a wan smile. “It’s kind of hard not to regret what would help me at the moment. But I don’t regret that you gave it to our friends when they needed it, and I don’t want you to regret it either. Not for my sake.”

They sat in silence for a while, as his dad’s breathing got more strained. It caught, his shoulders shaking as he visibly forced back a cough, and then the coughs escaped anyway in their soft, suffocating fit of several seconds. Then his dad sucked in a sharp breath and hunched forward as the real fit began, punctuated by cries of pain from his broken rib.

Lewis held his dad steady as his eyes rolled back in his head in his momentary blackout, looking away from the wrenching sight. Then his dad sucked in a sharp gasping breath and settled back against his pillows, tears leaking from his eyes as he composed himself from the fit.

“There’s things I need to say, son,” he said quietly. “I’ll probably be dead soon.” He looked as if he might laugh, then froze with the terrified realization that laughing would bring the coughing. “To be honest, it’s not the worst prospect right now.”

“Don’t say that!” Lewis said, anger appearing out of nowhere to war with his grief.

His dad sent a cautious hand out to rest on his, careful not to move any part of his torso. He opened his mouth to speak, then froze as if waiting out a potential coughing fit. His breath came in short, shallow gasps.

Finally it seemed to pass. “I’ve always been able to count on you to accept reality, even if it’s not pleasant,” he said gravely. “You know I can’t go on long like this. I’m dying. When I’m gone the family will need you.”

“I know,” Lewis said quietly. “But you’ll be with us for decades yet, and right now we need you . As bad as this is, I know you can make it.”

The hand over his gripped his fingers with surprising strength. “Reality, son. I wish I could be there to help you. I certainly don’t intend to give up, tempting as the idea is. But it’s going to happen, and you need to be prepared for it. Ready to be there for Eva and Mary, and even Clair and her family if it comes to it. And somehow in all that you’ll need to take care of Jane and build a future for all the children I hope you’ll ha—”

The last word was cut off by another fit of wheezing graduating to violent cough/screaming. Lewis held his dad through it again, wishing there was something, anything he could do.

Knowing there was something he could’ve done, if he’d been more selfish. Whatever his dad said otherwise.

“I’m proud of you, son,” his dad gasped when the coughing finally ended. “Be strong. All the weight rests on you, and if you crumble so will they. I know you can handle it, which is why I can die in peace.”

“Please don’t talk about it,” Lewis begged.

There was a long, pained pause. “All right. There’s always hope, and I’ll hold to that. Just as long as I know you’re prepared for reality.”

Only there was little hope, and they both knew it.

Over the next few days his dad’s condition worsened even further.

It wasn’t any specific symptom, just accumulated pain and stress from the nonstop trauma making it impossible to fight the illness. Not just physically but mentally as well, as his will to even try drained away. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, drank endless gulps of water that seemed to do no good, all the while suffering more and more coughing fits. The coughing grew less and less intense, but that was because he was weakening with alarming swiftness, not as any sign of improving health. He began soiling himself during fits.

Four nights after his dad broke that final rib, Lewis’s own exhausted sleep was interrupted by the alarming sound of silence.

Part of him hoped it was another reprieve from the coughing, that his dad was finally getting the rest he needed, but he knew it wasn’t. The silence was too complete, the terrible sound of one less person breathing in the small space.

Then his mom began crying, deep, heart-wrenching sobs of pure grief, and his fears were confirmed. Lewis led Jane and Mary into the other room and huddled beside the bed, gathering their mom into a quiet embrace as their world changed.

He felt numb, unable to think or feel. But he knew that, like the fatal broken rib that had ultimately killed his dad, it was a numbness that was masking terrible pain.

In spite of the deep snow and bitter cold hundreds of people braved the conditions to attend the funeral.

It had been more than three weeks since Lucas fell ill, and Terry assured them there was no longer a threat of spreading the disease. With that assurance Lewis and his family were surrounded by sympathetic friends and neighbors, who expressed their sincere condolences for a man they’d genuinely loved and respected.

Lewis did his best to respond to everyone, but the ceremony and burial passed in a numb haze. He wished his dad was still alive, and his loss tore a hole deep inside him. But at the same time a treacherous part of his mind felt relief in knowing that his dad’s horrific suffering, which would’ve continued for who knew how long and likely still would’ve ended this way, was mercifully over.

They buried him in a spot along the eastern slope overlooking the town. There were no shortage of willing hands wielding shovels, and even though the ground was frozen near the surface and rocky all the way down, by the time the ceremony began they had a deep, well squared hole.

Matt spoke, and Aunt Clair. Lewis sprinkled the first shovelful, followed by a long line of friends and family, then Trev and Rick finished filling in the hole. By that point the wind had picked up, blowing the snow up the hillside at them and chilling everyone. One by one people trudged home, their desire to pay respects defeated by nature’s assault, until only the family was left.

Lewis wasn’t ready to go just yet, but he could see his mom and Mary shivering as they held each other in mutual comfort. Trev looked as if he’d step in to suggest they head home at any moment, and Aunt Clair and Uncle George were quietly neatening up the gravesite in preparation for their departure.

So he gathered his family in his arms and gently turned them towards their cabin, the others falling in around them. His aunt, Linda, and Deb bustled ahead to make hot chocolate from a powdered mix for them, and they spent the rest of the day in the Smith cabin quietly adjusting to a new reality.

Lewis just wanted to go home and lose himself in reloading work as an escape, but the rational part of him realized that could quickly become an unhealthy obsession if he let it. He was responsible for his family now, which meant he had to be the steady one. So he sat with everyone speaking quietly of his dad’s life, forcing himself to stay present.

The future looked bleak at the moment, but although it didn’t seem like it at the moment he knew it would get better.

Sam had insisted on attending the funeral. In response Matt had insisted on bringing a chair for her to rest on.

Even so, the walk and sitting in the cold and wind had taken a lot out of her, and she was half drowsing on their bed with the blankets pulled up around her head and over her face so only her mouth was visible.

After tucking her in and making sure she was comfortable Matt had gotten out the inventory of the town’s stores. He was seated at the end of the bed going over it with a pen, making notes. Once he finished he planned to head out to the storehouse and check the inventory against the actual stores to make sure everything was there.