Remembering Phoenix (30 page)

I fall onto my knees, beating my fists against the floor because it’s the only way I can feel anything other than heart crushing pain. This feeling, this truth that I’m living right now—monumental pain.

“Bro,” Stetson says, crouching on the floor beside me. “I don’t really know what to tell you. But I need to get back to my wife, so I’ll help you if you want. I think this whole idea you have is insane, but if me jumping on this crazy train helps you, I’ll do it.”

I nod, and when I finally get myself up off the floor, Stetson brings me in for a hug, clapping his hand on my back. “Thanks,” I hush out. I’ve gone from a grown man to a freaking morsel of a human.

“I love you, Slay. Just promise me you’ll keep this together. I can’t have you and Lizzie completely falling apart. I’m worried about her, man. About her and the baby. Let’s find whatever it is you need, and get back to our girls. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

We spend the next thirty or so minutes combing through Charlie’s bedroom—nightstand, under the bed, and closet—coming up empty handed. I’m about worn for the wear, ready to give up when Stetson calls for me. “Come here.”

I get up from the pile of things I’ve just sifted through and walk towards the bed where Stetson sits. “What is it?” I ask, looking down at a journal of some sorts in his hands. I jerk it from his grasp, flipping through the pages, curled up and stiff from being wet. My eyes snap to his. “Where did you find this?”

“In the box right here,” he says. “It was wrapped around this blanket. It just fell out.”

I grab the blanket—baby blue with little airplanes on it—from him. It’s tiny like a baby blanket, soft and warm.

I flip through the pages some more, looking at dates, reading lines, reading
memories
.

Charlie’s memories.

“Stetson,” I say. “This is it. Holy shit.”

April 20, 2007

As I sit here and rock you back and forth in my arms, I can’t help but wonder how I got so lucky.

Your hair-I can already tell it’s going to be blonde just like your
mommies
mommy’s. (sorry for the scribbles. I’m one handed right now.) You came almost two weeks early. I wasn’t prepared. Your bags weren’t packed. But thanks to your Aunt Lizzie and Honey Kathy, we got everything ready in record time.

You are beautiful. Your skin is so soft. I can’t believe you’ve been on this earth for twelve hours already.

I knew the very moment I
herd
heard your cries that you were the most beautiful thing in this world. Your cry is the music to my heart. Your touch soothes my soul.

My little Phoenix Blake McGee, I love you more than all the fish in the sea.

I can’t wait to watch you grow.

I’ll try to write in here every single time we do something worth remembering. We’ll call it: Remembering Phoenix.

I love you- Mommy

I place the book mark in the journal and close it. My throat is dry from reading, but I’ll read every last page. It’s the only thing I can do that I feel like is helping her in any sort of way. Nothing has changed. We’re at the twenty-four hour mark with no progress.

The doctors are all but optimistic. “She has some brain activity,” they say, “but the longer she’s in this coma, the meeker the outcome looks.”

I don’t give a shit what they say. She has no choice but to pull through. Her parents said to give it all they’ve got. They refuse to lose her, too.

I bring my eyes up to Charlie, her chest rising and falling with the ventilator. The monitors beep, letting me know her heart is still functioning.

Her parents, Lizzie, and Stetson left a few hours ago to get some rest. Their jet-lag, on top of everything else, has drained them. I’m not leaving, though. Not unless I leave with her.

“Would you like a water?” the nurse asks, holding her very pregnant belly.

“That would be great. Thanks,” I reply.

I reach up and hold onto Charlie’s cold hand. “Come on, baby. Wake up. I need you.” I bend down, brushing my lips across her knuckles.

The nurse brings me a water back and I take a sip, quenching my dry mouth.

They’ve succumbed to the fact that I refuse to leave her, so every nurse has gone against protocol and let me stay in here as long as I don’t cause trouble. I’ve been sitting here, motionless, for hours. It’s amazing how sitting can drain a person, but it does.

I lean up, laying my head on the bed beside Charlie, and I doze off.

A light tap on the shoulder brings me out of my sleep. I lift my head up and rub the sleep out of my eyes. “Slayter,” Charles whispers. “Take this.”

He hands me a coffee and bagel, which I graciously accept. “No change,” I say, hanging my head in defeat.

“I know. I’ve been in here for almost an hour. That day nurse is a nice one, going against visiting hours for you and me.” He smiles. “And no change is better than worsening,” he assures me. His eyebrows lower as he looks at me. I can see the concern washed all over his face. “You need to get some rest, son.”

“I just woke up.”

He sits on the end of the bed, crossing his arms across his chest. “I didn’t say sleep, I said rest. You can’t get that at this hospital.”

I take a sip of my coffee and place it on the floor beside me. “With all due respect, sir, I won’t get any rest until I know Charlie is going to be okay.“ I grab her hands. I need to feel her. I need to touch some piece of her to know she’s still here. With me. Fighting.

“Slayter,” he says, his voice low. “I know she’s dealt with so much since her accident. I know she was depressed. I thought she was taking her medicine. And she always seemed like she was okay when I saw her.” He shakes his head. “I guess that’s my mistake for not being the father to her I should have been. I should have paid more attention to her.”

“I understand that.”

“I’ll be honest. Phoenix’s death, and the death of the Charlie I knew for twenty-three years, messed with me more than I care to admit. I couldn’t get past the fact that she couldn’t remember me. Remember every memory we had before that moment. When she was growing up, she wanted to do everything with me. She was my sidekick. But since she had the wreck, I’ll admit, I’ve been sort of distant.” Tears form in his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I hope I just have a chance to make it right. Be the father she needs.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I tell him.

He laughs quietly. “It’s hard not to be. I should thank you, though. You’ve been there for her more than anyone. Thank you for that. Thank you for accepting her as she is. Thank you for loving my Charlie Girl.”

“Yeah.” My voice fades. “I just hope my love is enough to make her come back.” He slaps my shoulder before walking out of the ICU cubicle.

I look over to Charlie. Gripping her hand, I wish so badly she would squeeze mine back. My chest aches, physically ripping apart because I’m so scared that this is all I’ll get. Her—lying in this hospital bed, can’t be the last piece of her I get. That’s not enough. Not nearly enough. I reach up and whisper in her ear, “I’m not done loving you yet, Charlie.”

I pick the journal back up and flip it to the next entry. After taking one final breath, I dive back in to the memories that are Charlie and Phoenix. And when I see the short and sweet scribble, I can’t help but smile in spite of my pain.

December 25, 2007

I just had the most amazing Christmas present ever. YOU SAID MAMA!

I’m still crying. I love you.

Hugs, Mommy.

We’re on day three of no changes.

No progression. No regression.

I’m not giving up. I refuse to give up. I’ve made a dent in Charlie’s journal. I’ve read every single entry up until Fourth of July 2008. Some entries have made me laugh. Some have made me choke up. But one thing always holds true. Every single thing I’ve read only reiterates what I already knew was true—Charlie was the best mother Phoenix could have ever known in his life.

She was kind, caring, loving.

I take a sip of my coffee. The nurses have been keeping it on-hand for me since I refuse to leave. Everyone—from Lizzie and Stetson, to Charles and Kathy, to the nurses—have practically begged me to go home and sleep.

I don’t need sleep. I need Charlie awake.

I pick up the journal, rubbing my thumb over the outside. It’s warn leather. Engraved in the front it is an Ernest Hemingway quote about being destroyed, but not defeated.

I feel the words. They consume me. The power of those words wrap around me like a vice. “Charlie,” I whisper. “You’ve been destroyed, but you haven’t been defeated. Wake up.”

I sit there for several minutes, holding her hand with one hand while gripping her journal with the other. I just watch her. Her short blonde hair is fanned around her head. Her nostrils flair slightly with every breath she takes.

I crack the journal open and rub my hand across the page. Then I start reading…

July 4, 2008

We went out and watched the fireworks today. It was your first time. Last year you were so sick I kept you in. Tonight, though, I decked you out in your red white and blue with your white little Chucks to watch the Independence Day fireworks at the river.

You loved it. I’m so glad you did. I was nervous the loud booms would scare you. Thank goodness for noise reducing headphones.

Every time the fireworks would go off, those bright lights booming in the night sky, you would clap and cheer. You were so excited. So happy.

It made me happy.

It’s crazy to me that you’re not even a year and a half yet, but I have no idea what my life was like before you were born.

I don’t remember what a full night of sleep feels like, but I don’t even care. Waking up with you is the best thing ever.

Having you was the best surprise of my life.

Today is Independence Day, but every day since I found out about you has given me freedom. Freedom from my past. Freedom from bad choices. Freedom from myself.