I hurry back upstairs to her room -- I don't want her to be alone when she wakes up. I silently open the door, not wanting to distress her any more than she's already suffered today.
I look down at her pale, tear-stained face. She looks so vulnerable lying there that I can't help but reach out and gently touch her hair.
Please give me the strength to help her get through this, I pray.
I pull the blanket atop her and tuck her in the same way I used to tuck in my own child at bedtime. And then sadness overwhelms me as I pull up the chair next to the bed and begin my vigil. A few seconds later, she begins to stir. Her eyes slowly open, and I lean over and take her limp hand in mine.
"Delia," I whisper softly, not wanting to startle her. "How do you feel?"
"I…what's going on?" she mumbles weakly.
She doesn't remember what happened, I realize. Then with a heavy heart, I realize that I'm going to have to be the one to tell her why she collapsed.
"Delia, do you remember the phone call from Officer Jenny?"
Delia looks puzzled for a second, then nods as her eyes fill with tears at the remembrance of what happened just before she lost consciousness. "Ash…he's…the ship…"
"Yes," I reply as I clutch her hand, hoping that perhaps she'll be able to draw some strength from me.
"No…oh no…"
She rolls over, buries her face in her pillow, and begins to cry once more. I reach over and start stroking her back in an effort to console her. I murmur words of consolation – empty though they may sound – as I try to provide some comfort to her, though I fear that I'm not doing much good. Eventually, the heaving of her shoulders ceases, as do her sobs.
"Delia?"
She doesn't answer. At first, I'm afraid that she's passed out again, but I look closer and realize that she's asleep. I'm worried that she'll smother with her head buried in her pillow, so I reach over and carefully turn her head to one side so she can breathe. Figuring that sleep is the best thing for her now after the shock she's had, I quietly tiptoe out of her room and head back downstairs.
As soon as I reach the bottom of the steps, there's a knock at the front door. It's Maureen, the nurse form Doctor Byington's office.
"How's she doing?" the young nurse asks worriedly as I open the door.
"She's asleep right now," I respond.
"I was on my way home, and I wanted to see if Delia was all right. We're all so worried about her," Maureen explains. "I'm going home right now and make her a casserole. Doctor Byington's wife said she was going to make some banana bread too. I'll bring them both over later."
"That's very kind of you, Maureen."
"It's the least we can do for her. Delia's always been so kind to us. Will you tell her that I stopped by when she wakes up?"
"I'll do that."
"I'll be back over in a couple of hours," Maureen calls back as she heads down the sidewalk.
Throughout the afternoon, the doorbell rings over a dozen times with friends and neighbors bringing condolences, cards, flowers, and food.
Doctor Byington and Maureen must've told everyone in Pallet Town about Ash, I think as I close the door and put yet another casserole on the kitchen table.
I decide to check on Delia before the next wave of visitors arrives. I carefully open the door to her bedroom and peek in. She's still asleep – hasn't even moved. I listen to her slow, soft breathing for a moment, then return downstairs just in time to hear more knocking at the door.
For the rest of the afternoon and the early part of the evening, I'm so busy answering the door that I barely have time to check on Delia. In between visitors, I grab a few bites from the various casseroles and desserts that are rapidly filling the kitchen table. With everything that's gone on today, I've forgotten that I haven't had anything to eat since breakfast. The stream of visitors eventually slows to a trickle and finally ceases around eight o'clock. I stuff a piece of Mrs. Byington's banana bread into my mouth, then head back upstairs to Delia.
As I enter the room, she stirs and makes a groaning noise. Since the sun has set a half-hour ago, the room is now dark. Delia slowly turns her head in the direction of the faint click of the lamp on the table next to her bed as I turn it on. As she looks up at me with her bloodshot, dark-circled eyes, my heart aches.
"Delia," I whisper. "I'm here."
"Samuel," she whispers back hoarsely, reaching for my hand. Even though she's lying underneath a pile of blankets, I'm shocked at how cold she is -- as cold as death itself.
The thought sends a chill up my spine. I ask her if she wants to eat anything, but she refuses.
And then I wonder if that's what she's thinking. Does she want to die? Does she want to join her son?
And when her eyes light up at the sight of the bottle of sedatives sitting on the table next to her bed, my fears are confirmed.
Well, sorry, Delia. I'm not going to let you die.
When I take the bottle away from her, she looks as if she wants to kill me.
Oh yes, Delia. I know what you're going through. I know how it feels to lose a child. I understand all too well the same pain that you're feeling right now.
I glance at my left wrist.
Oh yes, Delia. I know all too well.
Even though it's a part of my past that I'd rather not discuss, I decide to tell Delia about my own suicide attempt when my son died. Even though it's painful for me to talk about it, if my experience can keep Delia from taking her own life, it's worth reliving all the pain and shame that I felt when I slit my wrist.
I still have nightmares about that day. Blood pouring everywhere – over my research papers, my clothes, the floor, even on the poor, frightened Rattata that wandered in when it heard my cries.
I still thank God that Spencer found me when he did. But even today, I can clearly see the look of horror on his face when he came into the lab and saw me covered in my own blood.
And even now, I don't enjoy having to perform surgery on Pokémon because the metallic smell of blood causes me to have flashbacks to that horrible day.
Delia is horrified, but sympathetic. For a moment, I think I've gotten through to her, but then she says that at least I have my grandchildren.
"I don't have anyone now," she wails. "No husband, no child, no relatives, no one. I'm all alone now. No one will miss me if I kill myself."
"But I would," I say as I reach for her hand. "I would."
Even though Delia and I have known each other for years, lately we've become good friends. Ever since my wife died, I miss having someone to talk to. And Delia's been especially lonely ever since Ash left on his Pokémon training journey. Our mutual loneliness has drawn us together, and it seems as if every afternoon I find myself heading over to her place for some lemonade and cookies. Matter of fact, I had just arrived for our daily visit when Officer Jenny called.
I had hoped that my words would've been of some comfort to her, but she breaks down once more. All I can do is stroke her hair and back, but she's too lost in her own grief to notice that I'm even there. Finally, the sobs subside, and she falls into an exhausted sleep once more. As I tuck the blanket around her chin, she looks so ravaged and ashen that I wonder how much more of this she can take.
But you're not going to go through this alone, Delia. I'm going to stay here with you.
But first, I search the bedroom and the adjacent bathroom thoroughly, opening drawers and closets to make certain that there's nothing there that Delia can harm herself with. Despite our talk, I still believe that Delia is so distraught that she would try to take her own life if she had a chance. I confiscate a razor, a bottle of cough syrup, and a packet of cold pills. I then lock the door – she's not going to leave this room without my knowledge – then pull up the armchair sitting next to the bed and settle myself in it.
For several hours, I watch her as she sleeps. Sometimes, the slow, steady breathing will be punctuated by a whimper, and I'll reach out and stroke her hair comfortingly until the whimpering ceases.
As the night wears on, my eyelids grow heavy -- this day has been exhausting for me too. Finally, I give in to my own exhaustion and fall into a dreamless sleep.
To be continued…