Chapter 26 - when martin became sick lucy finally let somebody else stay
Cancer.
Pancreatic.
The kind of diagnosis that changes a room before anyone says prognosis.
Martin was seventy-six.
Lucy sixteen.
The man who once seemed physically indestructible became thinner every month.
Lucy reacted differently this time.
No medication spreadsheets.
No obsessive phone calls.
She visited.
Did homework beside him.
Watched baseball.
Let nurses do their jobs.
One evening Martin asked:
“You’re doing better.”
“At what?”
“Not managing me.”
Lucy rolled her eyes.
“Therapy.”
“Expensive?”
“Yes.”
“Your father paying?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
I objected.
Ignored.
Martin chose hospice at home.
Lucy wanted to skip school.
He refused.
“I’m dying.”
“That’s not homework.”
She cried.
“You do not honor me by making your life smaller.”
That became his final major lesson.
Three days before he died, Lucy climbed into bed beside him.
She whispered:
“I’m scared I won’t remember your voice.”
Martin said:
“Then remember I talked too much.”
She laughed through tears.
“And if you forget my voice, that does not mean you forgot me.”
He died three mornings later.
Quiet.
At home.
Lucy slept in my room that night.
Sixteen years old.
No embarrassment.
Grief temporarily ignores age.
Brooke slept in the guest room.
No intrusion.
At 2:00 a.m., Lucy whispered:
“Grandpa came when I needed him.”
“Yes.”
“Now he can’t.”
“No.”
“What do I do?”
“You call somebody else.”
“Me.”
“Brooke.”
“Molly.”
“Whoever.”
“Not same.”
“No.”
Nothing replaces people.
May you like
Different support is still support.
It took months for either of us to believe that.
