Page 4 of Fever: Love In Scrubs

SILVER RUN, COLORADO.

I couldn’t believe I was back here.

I sat outside of Saint Ambrose Memorial Hospital, attempting to get my life together. This wasn’t my intended destination when I was forced to return home after all these years. It had been a whole lifetime since I’d lived here, and it was the last place I wanted to be.

It took everything in me to make this trip.

Guilt was eating me alive. I hadn’t slept since I got the news two days ago.

My aunt had to force me to eat. All I wanted to do was lay in bed and cry my eyes out.

My father was gone, and I hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.

Coming here knowing that he wasn’t where he should be didn’t sit right with my spirit.

Home held nothing but painful, pitiful memories for me. The most painful reminder was right inside this hospital, only he wasn’t a doctor or nurse. He wasn’t a staff member or even a patient. He was now simply a body in the morgue.

My father was dead.

I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years and every bone in my body regretted not coming home to see him.

I was so angry with him for letting me go and I held on to that anger.

Every time we argued, it boiled over a little more.

Every time he refused to let me help him, the crack in my heart got a little bigger.

I reverted back to that child begging him to choose me.

Sadly, it never happened. I lived with my Aunt Kira, my mother’s sister, until I left for college.

My father’s hoarding put a terrible strain on our relationship.

I loved him, but I held so much resentment toward him for the way I had to live and the fact that he couldn’t get it together to get me back.

Our home was cluttered with everything one could imagine: newspapers, magazines, clothes, artwork…. you name it, it was in there. He couldn’t let her go. Anything that reminded him of her, he had to save it or buy it.

There were rooms with floor to ceiling boxes of pure junk.

There were stacks of artwork he thought she would love that he never got around to putting up.

According to him, she loved figurines, so he bought a bunch of them to display.

They were everywhere. If he happened to break one, he refused to throw it away.

He’d simply put the broken pieces in a box, claiming he would put it together later, but he never did.

There were furniture pieces. Books. Movies.

Electronics. There were clothes in his closet that belonged to her.

Her side of the bed was just as she left it when she passed away.

Her makeup and hair products remained in the bathroom.

Combs and brushes with her hair went untouched.

It was like time stopped when she took her last breath.

Now he’d taken his.

The saddest part in all of this was my father dying alone in that house surrounded by all his things.

If his boss hadn’t called for a wellness check, there was no telling how long it would have been before someone found him.

It hurt me that he hadn’t been able to retire.

He’d put himself in debt trying to keep the memory of my mother alive, so not working wasn’t an option for him.

I helped him where I could, but I couldn’t take care of two households.

That was the whole reason I asked him to live with me.

I still didn’t know his cause of death, which was another reason I was here.

My aunt offered to come with me to claim his body, but I told her this was something I needed to do alone.

I needed this time to make peace with this man because it killed me that I hadn’t done that when he was alive.

We spoke to him once a week. He always told me he loved me and begged me to come see him.

I just couldn’t go back to that house and see him living like that.

So many times I offered for him to come live with me, but he refused to leave his things behind.

A few weeks ago, I thought I was finally putting my foot down.

I told him he could either choose to have a relationship with me or choose his possessions. He gave me his answer when he hung up in my face and never answered another call. Part of me felt like I should have done more, but you can’t make a grown man do anything.

Still, as I sat in this parking lot, I was consumed with guilt.

I sniffled as I wiped away the tears stinging my eyes. “Get it together, Wynter.”

After a few deep breaths, I finally got out of the car and headed into the hospital. I stopped at the front desk to get directions to the morgue before making my way down. The entire walk, I tried my hardest to stop my heart from racing. My thoughts were filled with wonder.

What did he look like?

Did he suffer?

Is he at peace?

I stopped in front of the morgue door, nervously wringing my hands together. With a trembling finger, I pressed the call button. A few seconds later, the door opened and there stood a tall, handsome, muscular man in scrubs. He smiled softly.

“Hi. How can I help you?”

“My name is Wynter Driscoll. I’m here to claim my father, Frost Driscoll.”

He nodded. “Yes ma’am. My condolences for your loss. You can come in.”

He opened the door wider to allow me entry. I stepped into the room and a chill ran up my spin. It was cold, dreary, and a little creepy.

“I’m Dr. Pierre, by the way.”

“Is it always so cold down here?” I asked, hugging myself.

He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And you work alone?”

“I’m never alone.”

“Right… the bodies.”

“That and my assistant.”

He nodded to a young woman behind a desk typing away on a computer. She offered me a warm, sympathetic smile. Dr. Pierre walked over to his desk and picked up a plastic bag with a yellow label.

“These are the belongings he had on him when they brought him in.”

I took the bag from him to examine the contents.

Inside was my father’s favorite wristwatch, his wedding ring, and what I knew to be my mother’s ring on a chain that he never took off.

Dr. Pierre walked over to the refrigerated drawers, motioning for me to follow.

Slowly, I made strides toward him. He peered down at me with a sympathetic smile.

“You ready?” he asked, grabbing the handle.

I nodded. Just as he went to open the door, I grabbed his hand.

“Wait!”

“Take your time. There’s no rush here.”

“I just… I haven’t seen him in fifteen years. I don’t know what to expect.”

He squeezed my hand. “I cleaned him up to make sure he was presentable. He looks peaceful. It was an aneurysm that took his life. Most likely, he wasn’t in any pain and died in his sleep. He was in his recliner when they found him.”

I sniffled. “He loved that damn recliner.”

I stood there for a moment, holding his hand. I wasn’t ready for this. I didn’t want to do this, but it had to be done.

I took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

Dr. Pierre released my hand and opened the cooler. Carefully, he pulled out the drawer. I closed my eyes as he pulled back the sheet. He grabbed my hand and gave it another gentle squeeze.

“Take your time.”

For a minute or so, I stood there until I was certain I could open my eyes.

The moment I did, I felt the tears return.

Rounding the table, I stepped closer to my father.

With a trembling hand, I reached out to touch and caress his face.

He was cold and his skin felt rubbery. I noticed the bites on his skin, undoubtedly from bedbugs.

The years had aged him slightly, but he was still as handsome as I remembered him.

“Daddy…” I whispered, as the tears fell down my cheeks.

Once the first one fell, I couldn’t stop it.

I placed my forehead to his and cried my eyes out.

Years of pain and guilt emerged through my audible cries.

I felt strong hands on my shoulders as Dr. Pierre lifted me up.

I fell against his chest, crying profusely.

He didn’t fuss as I stained his scrub top with my tears.

He simply stroked my back in a soothing manner.

When I was finally able to get it together, I apologized.

“I’m sorry,” I said, dabbing my eyes.

“No apologies needed.”

I took a few steps back and hugged myself, attempting to self soothe. “I um… I contacted Jefferson Funeral Home to get him. They said they would be here this afternoon.”

“Yes ma’am. They made arrangements. I just need you to sign the release forms.”

I nodded as I pulled out my sanitizer again. He pushed my father back into the cooler and closed the door. I followed him over to the desk where the paperwork was. I felt like I was signing his life away as I wrote my signature.

“That’s it?” I asked, quietly.

“That’s it. You take care of everything else with the funeral home.”

“Thank you.”

I started toward the door, but he stopped me.

“Ms. Driscoll?”

I turned back. “Yes?”

“Again, I’m sorry for your loss. I know there isn’t much I can say to comfort you right now, but I do pray you find peace.”

“Thank you. My dad and I… we’ve never had a great relationship, but he was the only parent I had. Of course, I loved him. I just… the way he chose to live, even with me there, caused a rift between us and it was never repaired. I’m… I’m struggling right now.”

I didn’t even know why I was spilling my guts to this man right now.

He gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to hear that. I read the initial report so I know a little of the way he was living. My prayers are with you and your family. I doubt we’ll ever see each other again, but know that.”

“Thank you, Dr. Pierre. I really appreciate that. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

He offered a warm smile as I walked out the door. I took the solemn walk back to my car and climbed inside. For a moment, I just sat there, reality finally settling in.

I had to bury my father.