One day at a time

A shrill cry tore the quiescent hospital room.

The corridor erupted in joy.

Dalton burst into tears, laughing, as his friends patted him on his back, hugging him, congratulating him.

Another cry rang through the white tiled hallway.

“Those are some strong lungs,” his friend, James said hugging his best friend. “It’s a warrior’s cry.”

Dalton beamed.

Colton James Baker.

His son.

A warrior.

                                       ***

“I can’t do this anymore,” Lizzie sobbed in Dalton’s chest.

They had spent the whole night, taking turns, with little Jamie in the bathroom, as their little boy threw up his guts.

They held his little body, as it shook violently in their arms, as he hurled.

But it wasn't these episodes that became unendurable.

It was his little whimpers after, that ripped her heart out of her chest.

Lizzie wiped her son’s mouth and slowly picked her up in her arms. She started rocking her baby to sleep. It didn’t take much time. The tired boy’s eyes drooped as his head nodded off to sleep in his mother’s shoulder.

Lizzie laid her son gently on the bed, tucking him tightly.

She switched off the light and lingered over his doorway.

Dalton saw his wife standing over their son’s doorway. He walked up to her and slowly rubbed her shoulders.

“He’s asleep?” he asked softly.

She nodded, wearily looking at her husband.

Her Dalton.

Her rock.

Her Jamie looked just like his father. They both had the same brown ringlet, that bounced every time he laughed. At least when Jamie used to. His laughter rang like calming church bells in her ears. He had his olive skin, which now looked pasty, the sign of sunniness slowly fading away. His dimples had vanished in the sunken cheeks.

Her green eyes met his chocolate ones.

Seeing her husband, calm and collected, she couldn’t contain herself any longer. The dam inside her broke, tears flooding down her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and buried her face in his chest.

“I can’t take this 

anymore.”

Dalton hugged his wife back, tightly, tucking her head under his chin.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said, firmly, believing every word he said. “We are going to be fine.”

Pause.

“He’s going to be fine.”

                                        ***

“No,” whispered Lizzie.

Dalton looked at the doctor, straight face, lips pursed in a thin line.

“No,” this time Lizzie choked on her own words as tears escaped her green eyes.

Dalton was rocking the four-year-old Jamie as he squirmed sleepily on his father’s lap.

He didn’t say a word.

He looked at the doctor, again, his sleeping son and the report that was laid on the doctor’s desk.

The result was glaring at them.

The letters welting on them.

Leukemia.

That one word had gotten his wife scrunched in the chair next to him, sobbing. He could feel his soul slowly being sucked out of him. His wife’s sob began to ring on his ear, everything around him dissolved. All he could feel was his son’s heartbeat thumping softly on his chest. He clutched his son tightly, afraid to let him go.

He gulped, inhaling deeply.

Not a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“What do we do, now?” he asked in a stony voice.

The doctor looked at the grieving mother, and the father not a flicker of emotion. Her heart went out to them. Telling the parents that their young children had a terminal illness was always difficult. Every time she gave the parents the news always felt like a jab in the heart.

 Never got easy, even after twenty years on the job.

“We can start……………………”

Dalton heard the doctor’s voice, just couldn’t listen to a word she said. All he could hear was his wife’s sob, the doctor’s voice somewhere in the distance.

                                             ***

“How’s my superman doing, eh?” James had Jamie hauled on his shoulder.

Jamie giggled softly.

Today was a good day. James had come to visit his godson. He visited as often as he could. He had spent most of the weekends with the Bakers. And staying away from Jamie always left a hollow in his stomach. And every time he came over, it was like bringing festivities to the young boy.

“Slowly there,” said Lizzie coming out of the house.

Dalton smile, as he ruffled Jamie’s hair.

“It’s okay, Superman should know how to fly.”

Lizzie set down a tray on a snack on the lawn, where the friends were sprawled on. James now had Lizzie pinned on the ground and was having a tickling fest. Jamie was laughing so hard, tears began bursting out his eyes as he squealed delightfully.

“Okay champ,” James said, slowly helping the boy to sit up straight. "Time to eat something.”

Jamie picked up a cracker 

and slowly nibbled on it. The little boy was scared to eat, because every time he did, the food would come rushing up. After Jamie finished the cracker and did not feel queasy, he happily munched on the chocolate cookies. His parents' eyes twinkle seeing their elated baby.

James looked at his best friends.

He reached over Lizzie’s hand and squeezed it.

“How are you holding up,” he asked.

Lizzie shrugged. She was scared if she spoke, her emotions would betray her and she would start sobbing hysterically. She licked her chapped lips, rubbing her puffy eyes.

James just nodded. He knew he would not be able to understand the pain that they were going through. But he could see Lizzie was being torn into shreds. Dalton, he was a different story. He still had a sincere smile on his face. His eyes would light every time his boy burst into a fit of laughter. This worried James.

Dalton had bottled up everything inside of him, also taking in the sorrows of his wife and son.

“And you?” he asked Dalton. He knew the answer.

“Today’s a good day.”

That was Dalton.

One day at a time.

                                       ***

“You are doing it again,” Lizzie said smacking her husband gently on his head. Her blow was cushioned by his thick curls.

“What?!”

Dalton sounded defensive.

Lizzie looked at her husband who was lolled on the bed, next to their sleeping son. He was staring intently at the little bundle.

“He’s breathing just fine,” she said shaking her head. She sat on the bed, dumping a whole load of laundry. She began folding as she threw a few of the clothes at her husband. Dalton got up and began folding the thrown jumpsuits.

“Of course he is,” he said shaking his head. His forehead was scrunched almost offended that Lizzie would even suggest that.

“Just saying,” Lizzie smiled. It was a thing that Dalton would often do. He would watch their son when he was sleeping. Every time his chest wouldn’t heave up and down, as usual, Dalton would check if his son was breathing. Being a first-time parent had made him stupid and paranoid.

 “I like to watch him sleep,” he said after a pause looking adoringly at their son.

“Said no creep ever,” laughed Lizzie. This made Dalton groan.

He tackled his wife on the pile of clothes, pinning her down. She giggled underneath him. He bent down slowly, nipping her ear. She gulped.

“Jamie is still here,” she said breathily.

“He’s asleep,” Dalton said, tracing her neck with kisses. “ And he is too small to remember.”

“If he does wake up,” she squealed as he bit her lips.

He raised his head, looking at her with a mischievous look.

“We can, maybe, dip into his college fund, for therapy.”

“No, we will not,” laughed Lizzie.

                                           ***

The numbers were worrying her. She was looked at the papers frowning.

“Hey, go easy on the frowning. I don’t think we can afford anti-wrinkle cream,” Dalton made a feeble attempt to joke.

She looked at her husband, who now sat in front of her. Dalton looked at her. She was now a wilted flower on the verge of crumbling. He wanted to scoop her in his arms and fly her away in neverland, somewhere safe and warm.

“How will we manage,” she asked, worried.

Dalton knew what she was talking about. Their bank statement was worrying. The mortgage they had taken on the house after marriage. The chemotherapy was expensive, especially now. Lizzie had quit her job so she could stay at home, taking care of Jamie. With the income cut off by half and expenditure doubled, they were hanging by thread to stay afloat.

“We will make it work,” he smiled, gently, taking her face in his hand and slowly rubbing her temple with his thumb.

Lizzie couldn’t believe the man in front of him. How could he stay so calm when they were forced into his pile of rubble of sorrow. She shook her head. She knew being optimistic wasn’t going to pay the bills.

She hated what she was about to suggest.

“We may have to use the college fund,” she said looking down. She didn’t have the fortitude to look at him. It was the money that both of their parents had put aside trust in their only grandchild’s name.

“No,” he shook his friend, firmly.

It was his son’s money, for college. There was no way he was going to use that money, now

“That is our son’s money, that he will use in the future.”

“If we can’t pay the bill for his treatment,” Lizzie let out a breath of frustration. “What’s the point of saving for the future, if he doesn’t live to see the future.”

Lizzie hated herself as soon as the words left her mouth. She felt ashamed for even thinking that her son might not have a chance in life.

Dalton looked at his wife, his eyes glassy but a firm determination did not leave his face. He scooted closer to her and scooped her in his lap. She felt so small against him, even fragile. He snaked his arms around her, tightening his grip.

“He will have a future, baby girl,” he asserted.

“He’s a fighter, that little boy of ours,” he lowered his voice.

“He will graduate from elementary school then middle school. When he gets his first crush, and I am going to have a blast pulling his leg. He will go on his first date, and I will chaperone. He will go to prom and we will help him pick up his suit. You can even make a corsage out of our garden flowers. I may even book a limo. And he gets a pass on drinking that day. To a limit of course. And oh, I don’t think I will enjoy giving the birds and bees talk to him. I will attend his every ball game. Then I may shed a tear on graduation. Maybe. Just a little, Then…………………….”

                                            ***

Dalton got up, Lizzie was asleep. He pulled the blanket over her. He tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. She was breathing softly against the baby blue pillow. She looked at peace.

He kissed her on the forehead.

He walked into the bathroom, turned in the shower. He had just promised his wife, what his son’s life was going to be. He had just promised her, the life his son may not have.

Water began running down his body. Warm water slowly washing away the front he put up with. The face he had to put on.

The mask he had pulled .

Jamie was just five. He didn’t deserve what life had thrown at him. And it was his job as his father to protect his son. To keep him away from any harm.

And he had failed.

He had failed with every time his little boy spent nights after nights in the toilet hurling. He failed with every time he would wake up in the night gasping for air. With every sleepless night that he tossed in pain. At times he was so drugged up on pain medication that his boy couldn’t enjoy one episode of Tom and Jerry.

He failed him, every single time.

He was supposed to keep him safe.

But his little boy was fighting a losing battle against life.

He broke down, dropping on the ground.

The storm brewing inside of him finally broke out , as he howled in pain . The piercing cry echoed in the tiled bathroom. His agony was drowsed by the hot running water. He sobbed away from his wife and child.

Broken.

Shattered.

He cried.