Two weeks had gone by since my brother's funeral. Unfortunately, my dreams had not remained benign like my first night home from the hospital. In fact, they were torturous, my brother and Callie were in them all. One of them, or both, perished in every nightmare I had. Each time, I saw my brother's face right before he died, blood draining out of his mouth. I was sleeping 14 hours a day, and spent the rest running or walking outside, trying to quiet my mind. I didn't go to class, despite Teddy's attempts to drag me there. What was the point? I couldn't take the pain of learning the details of the human body when my brother had succumbed to its weaknesses.
I knew no other solutions. I had no other alternatives. Time as gone. In a moment, I lost him. Had we left a half second later that afternoon, or perhaps driven slightly slower down that road, Tim would still be here. He would be calling me from the airport, telling me not to miss him while he was deployed. Or maybe he would have come to his senses and decided not to leave. Maybe he would have moved to Seattle. He could have moved anywhere; at least he would still be here. At least I would have the chance to tell him how much I miss him and how grateful I am to have him as a brother. He would laugh me off of course, tell me I am being too sappy, but at least I would get to hear his voice. That is all I would ask for, now. A chance to talk to my brother one last time.
It sounds so cliche, doesn't it? I can't help but fit into every cliche since he died. I find myself holding baby pictures of us, sobbing. I wake up in the morning grasping at dreams he was in. I'm mad, all of the time, at everything, the littlest things, even though it all stems from losing Tim.
No one knows how to help. Not my parents, who more or less have radio silenced me since the funeral. Not Teddy, who encourages me to go to class and "get out". Not even Callie, who is giving me the space I asked for. Yet, I know she calls Teddy every day, asking how I am doing. I know she has sent three different staff from the medical school over to talk to me. She has sent me at least one meal every day since the funeral. She always writes a name other than her own on the cards that accompany the meals (typically mom, dad or grandma), but I know they are from her, all my grandmas are dead. I have even caught her watching me from her car while I am on my endlessly long runs. She's around, I feel her everywhere, but I am not ready yet. She can't see me like this, especially as pregnant as she is.
I am a bitter, heartbroken, monster of myself right now. I hate the world and everyone in it. I am so angry, about the hand my brother was dealt. How can the world go on spinning, completely unaffected, which such a lightness like Tim has passed? It's like the universe has slapped me in the face with the reality that my loss means nothing. How demeaning, how cruel. What's the fucking point of this life if I have to lose everyone that is important to me along the way?
What keeps me holding on, is knowing that I have been this low before. Losing Calliope those months ago was different. It was a sharp break, a clean cut. It hurt like hell. It crippled me, for months. But I healed and I was stronger for it. This, this loss was a dull ache. It waxed and waned in severity, but was always present. It didn't stop me, it didn't impair me, it just made everything so damn hard. It made me feel unfixable, like this storm would never pass.
Two weeks after my brother's funeral, my phone rang. I was about five miles into my run and assumed it was another person from the medical school, begging me to return to the program. Maybe it was a relative, I thought, someone Callie had contacted to reach out to me. But it was a number I didn't recognize. Maybe it was the mild elevation of my mood from the run, or maybe it was curiosity. I answered the phone.
"Hello?" I said.
"Arizona! Great, you answered. I heard I would have a hard time reaching you..."
"I'm sorry, who is this?" I asked.
"It's Addison Montgomery. Your preceptor?" Addison said into the phone. I paused, considering hanging up the phone right then and there.
"Don't hang up. I want to talk. Just for a moment. Ok? Nothing about your brother..." That word, brother, stung every time. Would that ever go away?
"Okay" I said.
"I'll keep it short. I want you to come work with me the next three days" She said.
"You have a scribe already" I stated.
"I do and I don't need another one. I want you to be my intern for the next three days"
"Dr. Montgomery, I am not even a medical student anymore. I don't think I would be of much service to you"
"You worked next to Dr. Torres for almost a year. You were, are, the smartest, most talented student in your medical school class. While this doesn't earn you an MD behind your name, I think you can act as an intern, under my supervision, for the next few days" She said.
"Why are you doing this for me? You hardly know me..." I whispered into the phone.
"For starters, I hate seeing talent go to waste. I want you back in school, where you belong. I hope this is going to inspire you to get there..."
"And?" I inquired.
"And, Dr. Torres contacted me about you. I was, am, your mentor. She thought of this whole intern idea and ran it past me. Dr. Torres is my friend, one of my best friends actually. She is brilliant and intuitive; if she says you're worth going to bat for, you are" She said confidently. I let the silence hang between us for a moment. Did I have a say in this at all?
"I will see you tomorrow morning, 7:00AM sharp, outside my office. Don't be late. I don't give second chances" Before I could respond, the line went dead.