The nurse leaves, and Mom stands at the foot of the bed. I get up, wiping my eyes. “What did she say?” I ask.
Mom opens her mouth to speak but stops, needing a moment to gather her composure. “He has a significant buildup of plaque in his heart. They put a stent in to open up the worst part.”
“I know. Archer told us.”
Mom’s lips press together, and I know the nurse gave her more news…and it’s not good. My stomach drops. “He’s going to need heart surgery, but right now he’s not a good candidate for it.”
“What does that mean? If he needs surgery to fix his heart, then he’s going to have it.”
“Danielle,” Mom says gently, and her eyes fill with tears. “The doctor doesn’t think his body will be able to handle surgery right now. Grandpa is in pretty bad health and he kept it from us.”
“So, they’re just going to let him die?” Tears blur my vision, and I angrily shake my head. “I won’t allow it. Where’s the doctor? I need to talk to him!”
“Honey.”
“Don’t honey me!” I spit, feeling anxiety wrap around me like a million tiny hands. They’re cold, dark, and trying hard to pull me under. “I’m not going to sit here and do nothing if there’s a cure for this!”
“There’s no cure for heart disease. The stent took care of the worst part, and medication can help control and even reduce the other buildup.”
“Why didn’t he tell me he was sick? I could have made sure he took his medication and kept up with doctor appointments.”
Tears roll down Mom’s cheeks. “You know your grandpa.”
I sink back into the chair and start silently crying again. Mom comes over and wraps her arm around me. I inhale but don’t get any air. My chest heaves, and I want nothing more than for Grandpa to sit up and give me some sort of profound advice that will help me accept this.
“It’s not fair, I know,” she whispers.
“Why didn’t he tell me he was sick?” I take in a shaky breath. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m sure he didn’t want to worry you. The nurse said he’d been dealing with this for years.”
“But he seemed fine.” I shake my head, feeling so angry at myself for not noticing. He’s been slowing down a bit lately, but the man is in his late eighties. I assumed it was normal. “And he…he…” I can’t finish my sentence. I start crying again.
I came to Eastwood because I had nowhere else to go. It was a time in my life when I felt like everyone in my life had turned against me. When they were more wrapped up in what the neighbors thought about them than what really mattered.
When I felt like my life was one big failure after another.
And he told me I was lucky to have the opportunity to fail.
Because I was alive.
And being alive isn’t anything I should ever take for granted.
I didn’t really get it then. But I do now, and the realization makes my heart ache so much it breaks.
Life is so short.
Life is so fleeting.
It’s scary to fail. It hurts to fail. It’s terrifying to not know if you’re going to have enough money to live comfortably or just barely cover bills. It sucks to feel all those shitty emotions, the ones that threaten to break you apart and beat you until there’s nothing left.
But you can only feel those things if you’re alive. And if you’re alive, you can change it. Not overnight. Maybe not in a week’s time. Or a month. But if you keep living, you can change your life.
And that’s what Grandpa wanted me to understand.
I turn back to him and put my hand over his. “I get it,” I whisper. “I finally get it now.”
Grandpa’s fingers twitch and his eyes flutter. Mom and I both gasp, holding our breath as we watch.
“Grandpa?”
“Hey…kiddo.” His eyes open and close. Mom goes to get the nurse, and I crouch down next to the bed. The nurse comes in to assess Grandpa, and I stand back, heart in my throat.
He’s awake and talked to me. I knew he’d be okay. He’d pull through this.
I grab another tissue and mop up my face, sitting back down in the chair after the nurse leaves. Mom pulls another chair around, sitting on the other side of the bed.
“Carol,” Grandpa says, and Mom breaks down.
“You scared us, Dad,” Mom cries. “Don’t do that again.”
Grandpa laughs and then winces. “I don’t plan to.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” I ask.
Grandpa slowly shakes his head, widening his eyes. “If I knew I was going to get drilled by you two, I would have told them not to put the stent in.”
“That’s not funny, Dad.” Mom looks up, blinking away tears. “You’re not out of the woods yet.”