Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
The doctor said within the next three to four weeks.
But from the way Ty-Ty was rapidly declining, I knew that it wouldn’t even be that long.
A week and a half if we were lucky. Maybe even less.
I just knew that he wasn’t fighting to hold on anymore.
He’d already fought a long, hard fight. A fight no child should ever have to fight.
And his little body had given up.
“When is Uncle Tyler coming back?” he asked, sounding sleepy.
He had just woken up from a two-hour nap, and it was only eleven o’clock. He shouldn’t be that tired yet.
This was all just so fucking unfair!
“He’s going to try to come back after work, but he caught a case this morning. Do you know what happened?” I asked, trying to find something to distract him from falling asleep.
I wanted him to talk to me for hours. I wanted every single second with him that I could get.
But one look at his drooping eyes, I knew that wasn’t going to happen this time. He was just too tired.
I walked over to where he was laying on the couch and lifted him up in my arms.
Once he was settled in deep, he sighed and moved to lay his little bald head on my chest, tucked underneath my chin.
“Daddy, do you think dragons are real?” he asked, sounding wistful.
I pressed my lips to his smooth scalp. “I think that if they’re real, they’re very, very good at hiding so I don’t think we’ll ever know if they’re real or not.”
He let out a breath of sound that was close to a laugh. “You’re right. I think they’re real, though. How else would anybody have any idea what they might look like?”
This kid never failed to astound me with his insight.
How had he gotten so smart? I know that he didn’t get it from his mother or me. Granted, both of us were smart…but the kind of intelligence that Matias had was something of genius levels.
And I knew neither Tara nor I had that.
At least not from what I was aware of.
There were times that I wondered if Tara even realized that she was an adult, so I doubt she registered high on the IQ scale.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, Ty-Ty?” I slumped down farther into the couch, feeling my own eyes get heavy.
“Do you think that it’ll hurt?”
I knew what he was talking about, and I felt yet another freakin’ lump lodge in my throat.
“No, buddy,” I answered immediately. “I called your doctor today. He has someone calling me today to discuss how we can manage your pain over the next few weeks.”
Few weeks.
God.
It was hard to think about the fact that my son would no longer be here in just a few weeks.
My entire life had revolved around him for so long that I wasn’t sure how the hell I was going to function without him.
No more doctor appointments or grocery store runs. No more Hiccup or dragons in general. No late-night discussions on the phone about who I thought was the best superhero and why. No more waking up to find that he’d wet his bed or puked on his sheets.
“Good,” he said softly. “That way you won’t hurt if I hurt.”
I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, willing my tears not to fall.
The fact that he cared more about me than he did himself fucking sucked.
I hated that he loved me sometimes. It’d be easier if we’d never met.
This pain in my chest wouldn’t feel like my entire world was ripping apart piece by piece.
Then again, if I didn’t have my son, I wouldn’t have had four years of his smiles, hugs and little boy giggles. I wouldn’t have watched him learn how to army crawl or seen him take his first steps. I wouldn’t have held his trusting body while he slept for hours and hours on end. I wouldn’t have fed him peas and carrots that he’d just spit all over my shirt.
I wouldn’t have learned how to live.
And that, in itself, would’ve been the biggest tragedy of my life.
“I love you, buddy,” I said suddenly. “You know that, don’t you?”
He made a tired sound of agreement. “Duh. I’ve known that since forever.”
The rumble in my chest sounded like laughter, but only I knew that it was my body’s attempt to hold the screams of denial at bay.
I wanted to know why him? I wanted to know why God had decided to take my son. I wanted to know why…so many fucking whys.
“I want you to tell Mommy that I’m not mad at her, and I don’t blame her for being scared,” Matias whispered.
I felt a tear slip out past my clenched eyelids.
“And don’t be too hard on her. There’s more than you can see,” he continued.
His little hand clenched onto my shirt, and he sighed. “And don’t push Izzy away. She needs you as much as you need her.”