DEATHBED CONFESSION

DEATHBED CONFESSION

Bill Mason gasped for air. His hand reached feebly for the oxygen mask lying beside him on the pillow. He was so weak, he could barely grasp it. He fumbled as he tried to attach the elastic strap around his head, and ultimately found it easier just to hold it in his hand and press the cup to his face.

 He knew his time on earth was short. Any day now, maybe even less, he would draw his last breath and give up the ghost so to speak. He had been given the option of staying in the hospital under the care of the medical staff or going to a hospice but he had opted to spend his last few days at home in familiar surroundings.

 His son Willy was on his way, and he hoped that he would make it in time to say his last goodbyes. Will was a good kid, always had been. He wasn’t really a kid anymore. Thirty-six now, or maybe it was thirty-seven. Things were getting a little fuzzy lately.

He had little to do these days except to reminisce about the past. His wife Helen had been gone for five years now, God rest her useless soul. They never had got along and he never would have married her if Will had not come along unexpectedly. But it was the thing to do at the time, be a stand-up guy and take responsibility for your actions. That was probably the one and only time he had been the stand-up guy. He hadn't always done that in his life, that's for sure. He had always tried to do his best by Will though, man, he loved that boy. He was all that Bill had wanted to be. Smart, determined, dependable, and athletic, the list of Wills's good characters seemed endless. It wasn't just his biased opinion of his own son, everyone loved and respected Will. Will had tons of trophies that he had won for sports, including Most Valuable Player, and Best Sport.  He was valedictorian at the university and the youngest vice president in the history of his company. How Will had achieved all that with his parents was beyond belief.

Will had driven two hours every Friday to spend the weekend with his Dad since the doctors had confirmed with Bill that the end was coming sooner than anticipated. Will paid for the round-the-clock nursing care that Bill required once he left the hospital and decided not to go to a hospice where they offered palliative care and emotional support for the terminally ill.

Bill heard the sound of footsteps in the foyer and heard the sound of Will and Nellie, his nurse, exchanging pleasantries as she left for the weekend, knowing her patient was in good hands with his son. He eagerly waited, watching the door, waiting for it to open and for Will to walk in. It was the highlight of his week.

 The front door closed and Will's footsteps could be heard quickly coming down the hallway.

The door opened and there he was, tall handsome with a lopsided grin pasted on his face.  Bill knew the courage that it took for his son to see him like this, and keep up the facade of a good patient visitor.

Will crossed the room, tenderly kissing his father on the forehead and hugging his fragile body like he was cradling a newborn infant. He was fragile though, Bill thought. He certainly felt fragile, like any moment his skin would sag into himself, and he would become a pile of ash and dust—all too soon. He quickly closed off that part of his mind.

“How are you doing Dad?” asked Will, his voice gruff as he tried not to break down in front of his Dad.

“Never better,” quipped Bill trying to break the ice, and bring a moment of levity to the situation. 

“How’s that Nurse treating you?”

“Good! Good, but I think she has the hots for me. Every time she gives me a sponge bath, she starts breathing heavily,” answered  Bill.

“Yeah right, probably she's breathing heavily from rolling your bulging muscles around the bed.”

At one time Bill had spent a lot of time in the gym and working out, running in the sun on the nearby beach, he had been fit, and tanned and had actually had a washboard stomach and a ripped body. Now, however, his crepe paper white skin matched the stark white sheets on his rented hospital bed.

His muscles had turned to a jelly-like consistency and the nurse had to hold his drinking cup with its straw to his lips so he would not spill it all over himself like a toddler.

“How was your week,” Bill asked. “Did you get that big account that you were hoping to bring in?”

“Sure did,” stated Will and told his father all the details of his work week.”

“You look tired Dad,” he finally said, “Why don’t you rest and I will heat the meal your nurse left in the fridge.”

“I'm not really hungry,” Bill responded.

“Come on,” cajoled Will, rising to his feet and heading for the bedroom door, “she said it was your favourite …  beef stroganoff. You have to keep up your strength.”

Bill paused for a moment then, with a touch of reality, said, “We both know that that's not going to happen. Will …” he took a laboured breath, “it won’t be long now.”

“I know,” choked out Will. He exited the door.

Will checked on his father every few hours during the night, but his father seemed to be in a deep sleep. Will placed a hand on his Father’s chest every time he entered the room. Sleep for Will was almost impossible.  He couldn’t stand the fact that within days, or maybe even hours, his father would be gone.

The next morning Will entered the bedroom door and found his father awake and his condition somewhat rallied.

“You are looking stronger this morning,” he said feeling suddenly, somewhat optimistic.

“Will, take a seat,” Bill motioned to the chair beside the bed. “I have been doing a lot of thinking over the past few weeks. I have already told you that you stand to inherit all I have, the house, my car, my bank accounts. I told you there is a little something left for my nurses, they aren’t expecting anything, but I wanted to give them something, they have been so good to me. I already gave you a copy of my will and told you the name of my lawyer.”

“Yeah, I know all that Dad, you don’t have to worry about any of that. I’ll make sure that everybody gets what you want them to have.”

“I know, you’re a good boy.”

Will reached out and gently grasped his father’s hand, remembering how strong his father’s hands were all those years ago and now, how they were barely able to squeeze back in response.

“I just want to say how proud I am of you, always have been, and always will be … till I take my last breath. I love you son.”

“I love you too Dad,” the tears ran unchecked down Will's face.

“Will, I have got something that I need to get off my chest. Something that has been eating away at me for years, Something I did many years ago. Something I have kept secret all these years.

Will straightened in his chair and leaned forward.

“It’s time to come clean.”

“Come clean? What are you talking about Dad? You sound so, so… serious.”

“This is serious, son. I’ve been a fool, It happened in my darkest times, and I felt I had no other options at the time.” I was out of work. Your mother was expecting you, we were living in poverty conditions. I felt I had to do something desperate, and I did, but it turned out to end tragically, I never meant that to happen. I swear I didn’t.

“Will, go over to the closet there and bring me the big wooden box on the top shelf, left-hand side.”

Will crossed the room and opened the closet door. “I remember this box, it's been there forever. You always told me as a kid never to open it.   So, I never did.”

“I know,” said Bill softly from the bed. “You were always a good boy.”

“What's in it,” questioned Will.

“Open it, son. Please don't hate me. I never touched any of it. I swear!  Please! Please don’t hate me. I'm so so sorry.”

 Will picked up the intricately carved box with two hands and then transferred the heavy box to the corner of the nearby dresser. He lifted the lid and peered inside. He gasped when he lifted the lid. Stacks of banded bills were arranged in neat piles. Bills from a period long ago. Bills that Will had never seen before other than in old movies. He couldn’t believe how much cash was in the box. He transferred the stacks, one by one to the top of the dresser. On the bottom of the box lay a gun, and under that was a yellowed newspaper clipping. The front page of the Toronto Star.  The headline read “Bank Teller Robbed and Murdered by Masked Gunman.”

Will stood staring at the contents of the box for what seemed to him like an eternity. At last, he turned slowly to the bed. Bill lay motionless, his eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling.