Page 50 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

“Exactly,” I nodded. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t look like this.”

“Well, I’ll leave you folks to visit,” Nurse Shaw patted Grandpa gently on one shoulder before walking toward me. “He’s okay, Nelly. But starting now, I’d visit daily just in case.”

I nodded at her, understanding what she meant. This was why I’d gotten the hotel suite nearby. So, I could be here every day, so I wouldn’t miss my last chance to talk with him and hug him.

When she left, I rushed to his hospital bed. I leaned down and hugged Grandpa, feeling his shoulder bones press against my arms. I buried my face in the scratchy flannel of his pajama shirt, breathing him in—the fresh cut grass, the apples, the scent of sickness I wished to God would go away.

For a minute, I didn’t care about the house, or the car, or the empty hotel room waiting for me. I just let myself be a granddaughter, holding onto her favorite person, trying to make the moment last.

I didn’t let go until he did.

13

NELLY

Two days after selling the house…

[Eight months & twenty-nine days ago]

Goodbye, Tacoma

Someone once said that death comes like a thief in the night.

I didn’t know who that someone was, but I had to imagine back when they coined the phrase, they were standing right where I am now—in a state of surprise, confusion, trying very hard not to slip into denial.

Things made more sense when they happened in daylight.

When tragedy happened during sleeping hours, when the world was at rest and should be peaceful, it was harder to correlate.

For Grandpa, death slipped in between moments of soft laughter and slow chess moves, between bites of warm cherry pie and gentle smiles offered to his wife. It slipped in when I stopped expecting it to, when I’d regained a sliver of hope.

I stood in the hallway of Serenity House, my fingers brushing against the wall for support, as the doctor explainedthat Grandpa had passed peacefully in his sleep. His words felt impossible, almost foreign as if he was speaking a different language.

Who was dead?No one I knew. Besides, I'd just seen Grandpa yesterday, looking better than ever. His cheeks were flush with life; his bony hand didn’t shake as he captured my knight and set himself up for victory. Seeing him like that had almost convinced me my future was still in Tacoma. I didn’t need to leave to be happy. I could learn to love this city again.

"But he was fine yesterday," I whispered, my voice childlike and uncertain. "He was eating. He ate that whole slice of pie after cleaning his plate. That’s… that’s more than he’s eaten in forever at one time."

I couldn’t accept the fact that Grandpa was gone. Even though I knew that it was his body on the medical bed, covered with the flower-dotted cotton sheet, no longer breathing. I’d already identified him when they’d lifted the sheet. I’d nodded, caught in this new nightmare. The doctor said something to a nurse and stepped out of the room. That nurse left too. Moments later, Nurse Shay from memory care walked in, her eyes filled with practiced sympathy that made my stomach turn because it reminded me of something Grandpa said not too long ago.

‘This isn’t the end of the world, just the end of a world.’

“Nurse Shay, I don’t understand.” I stumbled forward, reaching for her. Her hands gripped my elbows, steadying me. “He was fine. Didn’t he look fine?”

“Oh, honey, I know. That happens sometimes. It's called terminal lucidity. A rally before the end. Sometimes it’s days, or a day, or hours. Our policy is not to warn families outright. We try to encourage frequent visits instead. It’s just too unpredictable."

A rally. Like a sports event. Like Grandpa had been playing some game with death and decided to score a few points beforethe final buzzer.I couldn't wrap my mind around it. Only fifteen hours ago, I'd pushed his wheelchair down to the dining room so he could eat dinner with Grandmother. He'd reached for her hand across the table. Her eyes, which had been glazed over, cleared for him. They'd gazed at each other like teenagers, their wrinkled hands intertwined atop the cotton, embroidered tablecloth.

"Rich," she'd said, "you look so handsome today."

And he had. His cheeks held more color; his eyes were bright. He'd combed his thinning silver hair back from his forehead, and a nurse had helped him put on a button-down shirt and slacks, instead of the hospital gown he'd been wearing for weeks. I’d stayed on the sidelines, letting them have their little faux date. Grandmother hadn’t recognized me anyways.

After lunch, I'd taken Grandpa back to his room, and we'd played chess. A real game, with strategy and jokes and Grandpa checkmating me with a triumphant"Ha!"that echoed off the sterile walls. Before I'd left, he'd squeezed my hand and said,"Love you, Nelly."His voice had been clear, not the raspy whisper of recent weeks.

I’d been so scared a few days ago when I’d sold the house. I’d rushed here, ready to grieve—even though the nurse hadn’t said he was dying, she’d only said ‘could’ and ‘soon’. Grandpa had been so weak for so long... I shouldn’t be surprised that the moment had finally arrived.

Why had I stopped expecting the inevitable?

When had I let hope creep in so completely?