A/N: Thanks for still reading this and even leaving a review! And of course a big thank you to 6footer who has betad for me =)
29. Fading – with each day we leave this place a little more
K.
Time flies by. Sandy would be a match for Ryan's donation, but there are still too many cancer cells dancing around in his body. He can't get the transplant now. I watch him sleeping. That's what he's doing most of the time now. When he can stay awake for more than an hour in a row we can consider it as a good day. At least he has accepted us being around him. The whole family takes care of him. We'll never leave him alone at home. He won't survive on his own. He's so pale and thin. He looks like a skeleton. There's nothing left from the healthy and well shaped boy he had been. He's nothing more than pale skin, veins and fragile bones, which can't carry him anywhere. At this thought my glance wonders over to the wheel chair at his bedside. This, or Sandy's or my father's man power, are his mobility. He's too weak to walk even from his bed to the bathroom. It's awful to watch him fading. Everyday he's less: less strong, less body, less awake, until nothing is left. I can't think of it, but these thoughts are inevitable. His doctors don't give us reasons for much hope. Ryan is just too weak and the cancer is way too strong. The worse is: it's not the cancer that made him weak like that. It's the treatment, which was supposed to help him recover. When I realised how bad it was about him, when Ryan collapsed in the entrance hall of our home, I started crying. Not in front of him, because I didn't want to distress him, but at night, in my bed. Lying next to Sandy, my husband, and listening to his light banter about hope and that the battle wasn't lost yet, made me sad. It's hard to keep the façade of hope upright, while witnessing day after day that it keeps shrinking. The positive thoughts are more and more replaced my negative ones, and hence staying positive is a tough challenge. I'm glad that Seth is around more often now. He seems to have realised the hurtful seriousness of the situation as well. He keeps our mood up, and all for most he keeps Ryan's up, not letting him fall into a hole of depression. What amazes me is that Ryan allows Seth to cheer him up. He has stopped fighting and accepts us now. Still it is strange that he gets along that good with my father. Sandy is still jealous about the relationship the two of them have, but it's easy to explain, why for Ryan it's so much easier to confide into my father than into him. My father had never pretended to be or do something, not taking into account other peoples' feelings. He's a thoroughly honest person and Ryan knows that. Ryan has won his trust to Sandy back and they can talk to each other and Sandy has gotten back his ability to read Ryan and speak out aloud what Ryan's hiding. Their relationship of trust has experienced a major fracture though, and Sandy has to live with it. I watch Ryan's body shifting in bed and I walk over to him. He opens his eyes. They are clouded. Their colour is more greyish than blue. I miss this sparkling blue.
"Hey." He whispers. His voice is hoarse from all the puking, and it's weak. I can hear his exhaustion.
"Hey, how are you?" I ask him. He has had a treatment a few hours ago, and since we've come home, he hadn't been awake. He shakes his hand in a wavy motion: so and so.
"Would you like something to drink?" I ask, already pouring some juice into the glass on the nightstand. He doesn't have a choice. He needs to stay hydrated otherwise he'll be back in hospital sooner he wants to. He takes the glass with shaking hands and takes small sips. He has to be careful, no matter what he does.
"Wanna go back to sleep?" I ask him carefully.
"Nah…how about the chance to get me down stairs, before I suffer a serious case of cabin fever?" He asks me back. I'm relieved that he doesn't fall into a hole of hebetude.
"I think we can do that." I let him know. I'm happy he doesn't retread depressed in this room, but seeks the company. I never could have imagined him being such a social person, but in fact he is. He's only awfully shy and it not only needs a lot of time to melt the ice, but also a lot of warm-hearted talk to encourage him taking the indicative on his own.
R.
I sit up and get prepared for the trip down stairs. It's only a few meters to the den, but just getting down the stairs is a huge effort for me. I sit on the edge of the bed and try to push myself up onto my feet. I ignore the wheel chair which is standing at the side. The phase of embarrassment already subsided. It's a thing of need, and I can't defend myself against it. Acceptance, in capital letters, became my motto. It's useless hiding and fighting the inevitable.
I have to hold onto the bed when I'm on my feet. I try to stagger towards the bathroom. It's not far. I should make that. I'm not that crippled yet. I can do it. I put the first feet in front of the other one. The first step is done. I only need ten or twelve more. I can make it. I take the next step. Carefully. I have to wait for keeping my balance. I don't want to fall. I have enough bruises and the whiteness of my skin makes them so much more obvious. The third step is a crucial one, because now I'm standing in free space: nothing to hold onto. I have to be very careful, and although I should be glad to have managed already three steps, I'm annoyed at the time it takes me to actually get to the bathroom. The fourth step and I feel how my heart starts racing and sweat trickles down my temples. This can't be true. Not now. This never happened that early. Yesterday I could make it to the middle of the way, before I started sweating. I take the fifth step.
"Hey, Ryan!" A dark male voice bursts into the room. I turn my head back in a reflex, not looking at my step. I feel how my leg starts to buckle. I search for something to hold onto for support, but my hands touch into the emptiness of the room, and I find myself in a free fall.
"Oh no." I hear the voice again, and than firm hands grabbing me at both of my shoulders before I can meet with the floor.
"Where did you think you're going?" The voice asks me, when I'm back on steady – supported – feet. It's Caleb. Now I am too embarrassed to say it and only nod into the directions of the bathroom.
C.
"Ah…okay, then let's go." I reply, not letting him see that I've noticed his slight embarrassment about the situation. It's painful to see a young and former strong man like him being dependent as if he was a hundred. If someone was supposed to start to be needy then it was me. I have reached a good age and I have fulfilled my dreams. I have no open plans left. I've realised all of them. I can enjoy watching them thrive. I can close my eyes forever without regrets and wishes, but this boy! Hell, he has so much ahead of him. I can see that there's still the fire of life burning in his eyes. He isn't ready. I help him to the bathroom door.
"You okay from here?" I ask him. I don't want him to see the pity that flooded me after what I've seen.
"Hope so."
His face is defeated when he steps out of the bathroom. I can't even express how this must have felt for him. He used to value his privacy highest and now? He can't even keep that. This damn disease is not only taking away the health, but all elements accounting for human dignity as well.
"Okay, still ready for getting downstairs?"
"Yap." It's the same procedure as usual: I steady him with a tight grip around his waist, and he tries to support himself with the help of my shoulders. We slowly make our way to the den, where he settles down on the sofa, exhausted.
"Maybe it'll be better if you wait for help, before you get out of the bed." I warn Ryan. It's a harsh way to approach this topic, but we're both men of little sentimentality. There's no need for wrapping everything into nice shiny words, whilst the content isn't nice and shiny at all.
"Yeah, great. I'll think of it."
"Do you want anything special for dinner?"
"Don't know, but preferably nothing including rice and apples, and especially not in this combination." He replies.
"Well, we can order Mexican then." As he's throwing up anything he eats anyway, he at least should eat something he enjoys eating.
K.
The evening passes by uneventfully. I watch Ryan and my father talk to each other. When Ryan first came to live with us I've never thought about this being possible. But indeed, it is. I can lean back and relax a little. Things went smooth for a while and I'm thankful for it. After Sandy told Ryan about their relation things had been a bit bumpy, but it smoothed down soon and life was as it was before. My father took me aside to let me in into the previous encounter with Ryan. He's getting weaker and weaker and all we can do is watch and hope. My hope rises a little, when I notice that Ryan enjoys dinner with us and later sits together with us, without his usual emergency trip to the bathroom. But his presence doesn't last long, and soon he's exhausted and asks my father to help him back upstairs. I should be glad about his late energy, but it's not enough for me.
C.
I stay and wait for Ryan emerging from the bathroom, just in case he'll need me again. He opens the door and comes out slowly.
"Do you need any help?" I ask him. He wants the proof that he's still independent, but I watch him staggering and in a reflex I'm by his side and help him to bed.
"Do you need anything else?" I check, before I'll leave him.
R.
"No, I'm fine, thanks." I answer, but with my thoughts I'm not with him anymore. I don't know what to do. I only know that I don't want this anymore. I feel their looks, though not pitiful, but still concerned. I don't want them watching me helplessly falling apart. They shouldn't be bothered by that. I can see that it's hurting them and I don't want them to hurt. It hurts me to watch them pulling their legs out, only to make this more comfortable for me, without succeeding. This is not fair and they don't deserve it. These are the last people who deserve to watch this. I don't want them to.
"What's on your mind?" Caleb asks me, dragging me out of my thoughts I got lost in.
"I think I don't want this anymore." I answer him, not even thinking about what this sentence might mean to someone who isn't in my head.
"You what? Ryan, you can't give up now!" He answers shocked. Shit. I really should have chosen my words wiser than this.
"No, no you got it wrong. What I mean is that I don't want you to take care of me any longer." I try to rephrase my idea, but still meet a sceptical face.
"I think I still don't understand what you mean."
"Look, I can't even manage going to the bathroom on my own. It's depressing and it keeps getting even more depressing. I don't want you to do all this carrying and feeding and swabbing and cleaning any longer. Actually, I can't take it any longer. It's awful. I don't want to remain as a memory of a wearying nursing case. I can't…it's…too much." I answer him, knowing he'd get what I have to say, other than Kirsten, who would think I would try to leave them behind again. It's an attempt though, but not one under the worse meaning. It's just a small step back, to create some form of distance. Well, if I think about it, it isn't even meant as a step back, rather as a way to create a memory which isn't laced with agony, hard work and sweat. I don't want them to remind solely how they took care of me. That doesn't seem to be right to me. And added to that: this distance might protect them a little. It'll give them space to get back to their own lives and make them getting used to me not being around.
"And why don't you tell my daughter about it? I guess she really liked to know about these feelings of your's."
"Sorry to say that, but I'm quite sure that she would get the wrong end of the stick and it'll all end in drama and I have no nerves for that." I have a point here, one he can't deny, because each time I express any kind of concern about this situation Kirsten managed to reflect it onto herself, thinking I wanted to hurt her or something. Despite the fact that this is a very self-centred reaction in my point of view – something that can explain Seth' self-centredness – I don't want to have to explain to her that she didn't understand the point of it.
"I would lie if I said that I don't understand your point behind this. Nevertheless, I have the feeling that you try to run away from something again." He has well founded doubts. The past months I haven't proved to be the most honest person.
"This isn't just another attempt of yours to shift away from us again, is it?" He asks again and with that putting a finger on a small sore spot. Busted. I can't answer 'no', because it would be at least a semi lie. I can't say 'yes', because I don't want to get another conversation rolling. I can't deal with all of this anymore and nobody seems to accept it. I can't watch them growing tired and exhausted over this. It wouldn't be right taking all their efforts for granted without acknowledging that they're putting themselves under strain each day only for me having it comfortable.
"Well, I leave it with that and I'll try to talk to Kirsten about this as smoothly as I can, but I can't promise that she'll stop hovering and worrying, once you got your will. The opposite, I'm sure that she'll be worse than ever. So, be prepared."