Page 45 of Caught in Us
“Here.” She moves one of the chairs closer to the bed and motions for me to come sit. Theresa leaves the room quietly, the door clicking shut with her exit.
I settle into the seat, grounded by my son’s steady breaths, and reach for my father’s hand. He probably can’t hear me. His eyes are closed. My words are wasted. But a part of me wants for this moment to have some semblance of normalcy. “Daddy?” I squeeze his hand. “Daddy, I want you to meet the most important person in my life.”
Gently, I lift his hand and rest it on Matthew’s back. We’re connected by touch, the three living generations of Martins. I bet my father never imagined it’d be his daughter passing on the family name. The thought brings a somber smile to my lips. I’m incredibly thankful for this moment, but it’s tainted by sorrow too.
“This is your grandson.” I inhale a shaky breath in a vain attempt to calm the storm of emotion inside my chest. “I hope he gets all the good pieces of me, and you, too. I hope I can raise him to be a good man. But I wish I had your help.” My eyes sting and tears threaten to fall. “I’m sorry I didn’t come home sooner. I’m sorry for so many things. For not spending more time with you. For all the things I’ve done wrong.” Tears leak from the corners of my eyes and stream down my cheek. “I hope you know how much I love you. How much I miss you.” My voice cracks, a sob breaking free.
My father coughs, the throaty rough sound startling. His eyelids fly open but he doesn’t look around or make eye contact. Instead, he stares at the wall, coughing again, this time harder.
Matthew stirs, his body warm against my chest. His eyes blink open, disoriented as he pulls himself upright on my lap. He rubs the sleep from his face, smiling when our eyes meet. “Mama.”
“Yeah.” I smile through my tears and the lump in my throat. “I’m here.” I move my father’s hand back onto the bed.
Matthew’s gaze follows my movement. “Papa.” His eyes widen with recognition. “Papa!”
“Yes.” More tears fall, but they’re happy ones. Because my son recognizes his grandpa. We video chat with Dad’s nurses, but it’s so one-sided and I never imagined he’d be so happy.
“Papa! Papa, hi!” Matthew leans off of my lap, trying to catch his grandpa’s attention. “Papa. Hi, Papa.” Each time he repeats the words it opens up a fresh wave of sadness inside me. Because my dad can’t acknowledge or greet his own grandson.
This isn’t the meeting I ever imagined for them.
“It’s Grandpa.” I smile through the ache in my heart. “Can you give him a hug and a kiss? Be gentle.”
Matthew leans forward, giving his grandfather a kiss on the arm. “Hug. Papa.” He glances at me before resting his head on my dad’s chest.
Emotion constricts my throat. Fullness expands in my heart. It’s bittersweet, but it’s real. “You’re such a good boy.” I smooth the hair back from my son’s face and memorize everything about this moment. His innocence. This simple perfect moment.
The door creaks open and I lift my gaze to find Simon enter.
“I thought I heard you get back.”
“Si-mon!” Matty scrambles off my lap and races across the room.
“Hey, mate!” Simon scoops him up. “Did you have fun today?”
“Mama! Truck!” Matthew’s eyes widen with alarm as he remembers the toy truck Chase gave him.
“Let’s go find it.” I stand from the chair, lean over and give my father a hug. “Love you, Daddy.” I swear he meets my gaze. That he knows me and how much I love him. Hope steals my breath, but it’s over too soon. His unfocused stare, the slack in his jaw are back in place.
Theresa comes back into the room before we all leave. “Did you have a nice visit?”
“It was perfect.” I nod, wiping away the evidence of my tears. I’m not embarrassed by them, or to cry in front of her. She’s witnessed all my emotions over the phone. “Thank you. For always taking such good care of my dad.”
“Of course.” She nods, her smile tender.
I move into the hallway where Matty grows impatient, squirming and kicking to get down from Simon’s embrace. “Mama! Truck!”
“Yes. We’ll get it,” I reassure him, then look at Simon. “Chase bought him a toy from the museum gift shop.”
“I take it, it’s a truck,” Simon deadpans, setting Matty down and holding his hand as we walk down the hall.
“Now, where did you get that idea?” I snicker and roll my eyes.
“But it went well?” Simon touches my arm, his gaze full of worry.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Better than I thought.”
“That’s good.”
