So Much More(76)

The doctor returns with more news. More words. “Critical condition. Sedated. ICU. Monitor closely. No visitors.”

Though his body still looks alert and determined, the light is still absent from Seamus’s eyes, exhaustion and fear have drained him. “I need to see him,” he pleads. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. McIntyre. The situation is too unstable at this time to allow visitors.” I can’t see through my tears, but the doctor sounds sadly sympathetic.

Seamus was keeping it together. Not anymore. His eyes are glassy. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, he’s struggling to keep his composure. “He’s my son. Please. He needs to know I’m here. That he’s not alone. I need to see him. I just need to see him to know he’s okay.”

The doctor offers another, “I’m sorry,” before he disappears down the hall to our son.

Seamus hesitates for a minute before he rises and marches down the hall leaning heavily on his cane. I know where he’s going, but I don’t stop him.

The nurses do. “Sir, you can’t go back there. Sir, stop.”

Seamus doesn’t stop and disappears behind a door.

Only to reappear moments later escorted by two males in scrubs.

“He’s my son! I have a f*cking right to see him!” His shouting is pain, nothing more. Sadness and fear have grown so great they’ve turned into pain.

The men are holding his arms tightly. They look small flanking his tall frame. “He can’t be back there,” they say to me when I approach. “Get him under control,” one of them adds rudely, as if Seamus is the first person to ever act out under stress in this facility.

I nod. “He’s upset.”

“Upset doesn’t mean you don’t have to follow the rules, ma’am.” He’s laying down the law like Seamus was caught trespassing on private property, there’s no emotion involved. And then he repeats, “Get him under control or I’ll call security and have him removed. Understand?”

I step to him. “Do you have children?”

He shakes his head.

I lower my voice and the barracuda in me comes out. No one is going to f*ck with my family today, Seamus included. “Then you have no idea what he’s going through. Don’t be an *. I’m not asking you to break rules, but back off and show some goddamn compassion. His son is fighting for his life back there.” I point to the door in a violent manner because punching this guy in the teeth won’t help our situation. “There’s no need to make threats.”

He’s unblinking but unhands Seamus. Words are over. My dirty looks aren’t, my scowl follows them as they retreat behind the door.

“I need some air, are you good with Rory and Kira?” He’s a shattered man and it’s killing me knowing I’ve done this to him. I’m responsible for all of the pain in his life. All of it.

“We’ll be fine. They’re sleeping. Go outside. Take your time. We’re not going anywhere.” I wish I could help him. All those years when he needed me and would’ve accepted and welcomed my help, I ran the other way. Now, when I want nothing more than to be the one he turns to, it’s his turn to run. My timing is absolute shit.

Watching him walk away makes me realize that when you love someone, you only want what’s best for them. And how much I wish what was best for him was me. It’s not. It never was, and it never will be. And then I sit down in a chair next to Rory and Kira, who are both sleeping, and I bawl. It’s crying that wets my cheeks and demolishes my soul. The tears are for Kai. And Seamus. And me. And my grandmother. All for different reasons. I can’t get the visual of Kai lying crumpled, bleeding, and unmoving on the street out of my head. It was an accident.

Accident.

An innocuous occurrence.

Until it involves my little boy on a bike being hit by my car.

Or my grandmother riding in the seat next to me.

There should be a different word for this type of accident. Accident seems too mild when tragedy is involved. Accident—Kai and my grandmother are meshing together in my mind until they’re one bloody heap that I feel wickedly responsible for. For years, I’ve tried to ignore the guilt that crushes me regarding my grandmother. It has a far weightier companion now.

When Seamus returns, I’m cried out. For now, anyway. I excuse myself to the restroom.

Bladder relieved, face splashed with cold water that does nothing to relieve mental or physical anguish, the waiting room receives me back in like an unwelcome guest. I wonder if Seamus can feel my guilt, it’s a larger presence in the room than I am. I need to tell him what happened and face his justified wrath.

Rory and Kira are huddled together, still sleeping in one big chair under Seamus’s jacket. Part of me wants to close my eyes too, but even if I did, I know I wouldn’t be able to sleep, my waking nightmares are worse than anything my imagination could dream up. I may never close my eyes again and just endure the torture.

I drop into the chair across from Seamus. He’s sitting up straight in his chair, but it’s contradictory to the exhaustion and sorrow in his eyes.

“You can talk to me, you know?” he says. It’s quiet, I’m sure because of the late hour and the kids sleeping next to him, but it’s also his concerned voice. A voice I haven’t heard in years. A voice that wraps me up like a warm blanket.