Moments after Hunter left, Amalia fell to the chair at her grandfather's bedside. She was numb. Her mind had shut off and her eyes stared blankly ahead as her thoughts continuously ran over her argument with Hunter in rapid succession. Their argument haunted her. Even worse, it added that much more guilt to what she had already been feeling. She was overwhelmed. Drowning in her grief and remorse. Facing all this turmoil, she did the only thing she could. She shut down. Her grief, her guilt, and all her regrets became buried beneath a thick layer of stoic solitude.
When the doctor returned to the room he looked at the young girl before him rather skeptically. Only moments before she had been sobbing to the point of being breathless and screaming at her boyfriend.
Now, she sat there, aloof and with a calmness that was almost eery. As a doctor, he wanted to give her counsel. He understood well enough that people handle grief in different ways. But the path she was choosing was long and lonely. Moreover, it was unhealthy. All the emotional strain of those pent up emotions would only harm her in the long run, he had seen it far too many times already.
Doctor Nichols cleared his throat. "Miss, please if there is anything you wish to talk about...I assure you we have a very respectful and professional staff here in the hospital, who are trained to deal with these types of situations."
Amalia looked at the man as though he had three heads. Did he really just advise her to seek therapy. The scorn that flooded her eyes would have been enough to cause even the toughest of men to shrink back.
"Doctor, I thank you for your kindness, but I believe we have something much more pressing to discuss."
Amalia looked at her grandfather laying the bed beside her, her eyes watering only momentarily before she cleared her throat.
"Is there really no chance of recovery?" She asked. Her voice was steady, but her words though calm were only a few octaves above that of a whisper.
Doctor Nichols looked down at this clipboard studying the results of her grandfather's last examination and sighed.
"I'm afraid not. Your grandfather was not well, to begin with. The stroke he suffered when he was rushed here, caused quite a bit of damage to both the left and right side of his brain. To be blunt, even if he does manage to somehow survive without the breathing tubes. He will never be able to move again, nor will he ever eat on his own again. His motor skills are deteriorating at an accelerated rate. Unfortunately, there is nothing more we can do for him."
Amalia listened as the doctor rattled off his prognosis and shut her eyes. Her heart was breaking with every word he spoke and she nodded her head. Leaning over her grandfather's bed she pressed a kiss to his temple.
"Grand...Grandpa...I know...I haven't been around much recently. I...I know, that when it comes to..being family...I am probably the worst. I ..I didn't...spend the time I should have...with you...I know it. But...But I want you to know, I love you. You...You don't have to worry about me anymore. I'll be okay. I..promise.."
Amalia's voice gave out on the last few words. One by one, in gradual procession, her tears fell like light rain on his blankets and skin as she clutched at his hand and whispered in one last farewell.
"You can go now, Grandpa. Please, be at peace." She shut her eyes tight as she held his hand in his final moments and for the doctor to terminate the life support. She didn't ask for forgiveness, it was too late for that, and she didn't need it. She would carry her regrets to her grave as an atonement for taking his gift of love for granted.
Doctor Nichol looked the young girl in front of him crying silently while she had held her grandfather's hand and felt his heartbreak along with hers. With a solicitude and respectfulness that was a credit to his profession. The machines were shut off unobtrusively and he stood by patiently watching the heart rate monitor screen tick down until all the blips indicating his heart still beat slowed to a complete stop.
…..Beeep...
As heart monitor flatlined, Doctor Nichols looked at the young girl feeling tears well up in his eyes. Noting down the time on his clipboard, he tentatively walked over to where Amalia sat and offered his condolences.
"Miss ...I know this may not be what you want to think of right at this moment, but, I believe we have some services that might be of use to you. If you could, please look over these when you have a moment. And let me say, I am truly sorry for your loss."
With that the doctor left the room, leaving behind a stack of papers on the bed. Amalia looked to the papers absentmindedly. Her heart was full and yet empty at the same time. She was broken. She had cried so much these last few days she didn't think she could anymore, yet there sat on her shoulders and mind a weight so heavy she felt as though she would be crushed beneath it.
Picking up the papers she shuffled through them one after another. Grief counseling. Funeral planning. Nothing at all she could even consider thinking of right now. She merely held her grandfather's hand a few moments longer and wished she could go back and redo it all. Had she known, she would have been far more considerate to this man who took her on as a daughter. Now, for the first time ever, she truly felt completely alone.
It seemed as though time stood still as the moments ticked by on the clock. She didn't think it would be so soon that she would have to face yet another funeral. Her hand reached up to stroke his leathery cheek as a sob tore loose from the back of her throat once more. Clinging the bed she cried, her eyes dry while her breathing became ragged as her wails of despair filled the room.
Only when the sounds of her crying could be heard no more did the hospital staff come and remove him from the room. Leaving Amalia alone with her sorrow and self-reproach.
In the days to come a modest funeral was planned for Amalia's grandfather. Much like the one for her father the attendance was sparse. The preacher said a few words of blessing over the deceased while she watched as the casket was lowered into the ground.
Among those attending were a few of the nurses and Doctor Nichol himself, who for the life of him, couldn't help but worry for her. The majority of her uncles and aunts did not attend, and as before, she didn't quite understand why. It didn't matter though. Nothing mattered to her at this point.
Moving forward as the Casket finally reached its final resting place in the ground, Amalia let a single rose fall on the faux mahogany wood.
"Watch over Dad for me please Grandpa, I promise, to take care of myself and not make you worry anymore."
The last rights having been said the caretakers began to shovel dirt onto the coffin. Amalia took a deep breath, and as the procession of guests began to take their leave she followed behind sealing all her heart and emotions in the funeral plot with her family.
It was time now, to begin her task in earnest.
Unbeknownst to her, a few meters away sat a lone figure on a Harley, his dark curly hair brushing across the temples of his eyes while he watched her walk away. Cage had been keeping tabs on her for him since their fight. It was breaking his heart not to be able to pull her into his embrace.
He could see the shadows that built up under her eyes, and even after so many days had passed he could tell she was slowly losing weight. He understood she needed some distance right now though, no matter how much his heart ached for her.
That didn't mean he wasn't watching. Nor did it mean he would leave her unguarded. She was a Soldier after all, and the Soldiers took care of their own.