Don't Cry for Me, Son

The boy's gut ached like he'd been punched in the stomach when the doctor approached him at the waiting area.

"He's ready to see you now," the doctor said solemnly.

The boy nodded in understanding. His nerves were shot and he couldn't speak. He was afraid if he spoke now he might embarrass himself and vomit on the hospital tile. This is not the way he wanted his granddad to remember him.

The doctor gestured for the boy to follow him down the hall. The hallway smelled sterile, like fresh lemon and bleach. The boy hated that smell. No matter how hard they tried, he thought, all the chemicals in the world couldn't cover up the sadness in this place.

The walk seemed to take forever, but the boy didn't mind. He wanted to see his granddad one last time, but he was also afraid. His hands shook with raw nerves at the thought of watching his grandpa die in front of him.

The doctor finally stopped at one of the doors in the hallway.

"You ready, Tim," the doctor asked?

"Yes," the boy said as confidently as he could, though his response came out more like a squeak than an actual word. The boy swallowed hard and opened the door.

"Timmy?" he heard a voice say. It sounded like a raspy whisper; not the confident booming sounds he was used to hearing from his grandfather.

"Yes, Grandpa Jim, it's me."

"Come closer, boy. Don't be afraid. I want to get a good look at you."

Timmy shuffled his feet forward moving closer to his grandfather's bedside. When he reached the chair next to his grandfather's bed, he diverted his eyes from the floor and looked at his grandpa for the first time in days. What he saw shocked him.

The man lying on the hospital bed didn't look anything like his grandpa. This man was skinny, wrinkly, and weak; not at all like the grandfather he remembered. The grandfather he knew and loved was a fat and jolly man, with a personality the size of Texas.

"How you doin', little man?" Grandpa Jim asked.

Tim didn't know how to respond. Shouldn't he be the one asking his granddad that question? Maybe it was best he didn't ask. He didn't think he'd like to hear an honest answer.

"Ok," Tim replied vacantly.

"Your guts are probably achin', aren't they," Grandpa Jim said, a statement more than a question. "If you're anything like me, I bet you feel your guts curdlin' like goat cheese."

Tim raised his head, surprised by his grandfather's acute observation.

"Well, if you feel the urge comin' there's a trash bin right next to the bed. Lord knows, I've used it a few times for the same purpose myself."

Tim swallowed hard again to release the knot in his throat, and reached out to hold his grandfather's large and gnarled hand. His skin, once smooth, felt like fine sandpaper.

"I want to say goodbye, Timmy," Grandpa Jim said. Before he could continue, Grandpa Jim interrupted himself with a giant cough that seemed to shake the floor. Tim was surprised a cough that loud could come from a person so frail. He grabbed his grandfather's hand even tighter to calm him.

To Tim's surprise, Grandpa Jim smiled. "It's funny, Tim, how you could have all the money oil can buy, but still can't buy a cure for cancer." Grandpa Jim took a deep breath and sighed. "It's not like I didn't know this day was comin', but it still came too soon."

Tears started falling down Tim's face. He didn't want his grandpa to see him cry, but he couldn't help it.

"Don't cry for me, son," Grandpa Jim said with a smile, a smile that Tim always found comforting. "I know something the docs don't know," he said with a tired wink.

"What that?" Tim said between tear-filled gasps.

"I'm not dying today, Tim."

Tim looked at his grandfather's eyes and felt his own swell as a flood of tears washed over his face.

"Do you know why I adopted you, Timmy?" Grandpa Jim asked.

Tim rubbed the tears away with his sleeve and nodded.

"I never could have kids. The doctors always told me so. So I adopted you some years ago, and you've called me grandpa ever since."

Tim was familiar with this story.

"You are my miracle child, Timmy. Did you know that?"

Tim lifted his head and looked at his grandfather curiously. His grandpa had never called him that before.

"Money can't buy a cure for cancer, but it sure can buy a miracle. I needed an heir, and here you are," he wheezed then chuckled. "You're my second chance at life, Timmy."

"What do you mean, grandpa?" Tim asked.

"You're more than a son. You're all that's left of me. You are me. Do you understand, Timmy?"

Tim didn't understand. He was still sobbing, but looked as his grandfather wanting to comprehend the old man's words.

"Science is death's enemy," Grandpa Jim continued. His breathing was labored now and Tim could tell it was getting harder for him to speak. "Years ago, I copied my genes. Nine months later you were born. You see, Tim? I know what you're going through because I am you."

Tim stopped crying now and understood. "Grandpa, please don't go."

"I'm not leaving you, son. I will always be a part of you," said Grandpa Jim's voice in a whisper so faint Timmy could barely hear. Grandpa Jim started coughing and wheezing again, then arched his back in a fit of labored breaths.

Tim yelled for a nurse then left the room, and an hour later Grandpa Jim was gone. He thought about their last conversation and what Grandpa Jim told him. He wanted to cry again, but knew his granddad wouldn't want him to. He was a dying man's second chance, and he intended to make his grandpa proud.

THE END

Bio: Ms. Coan spends most of her spare time reading and writing. The rest of her time is spent carrying out the will of her two Shih Tzu overloads.

E-mail: April Coan

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