Sunsets

***NOTE: This story contains themes and mentions of death.***

The summer nights’ tranquil breeze dances in my hair as I sit blissfully on the roof, watching the sunset behind the ocean. It has always been one of my favorite summer pastimes. The sky melts into shades of pink and gold as dark purples and blues take their turn to shine. As I stare at the gold, I can't help but imagine how things could have been for us and if I'll ever really enjoy this view again. 

“Another beautiful sunset.”

I turn to see my Abuelo standing at the window. His gray hair was brushed back in its usual state, brown eyes soft yet focused, and his hand clutching his cane. I smile at him before turning back to the sunset. 

“It’s always beautiful here,” I remind him. In all my years of visiting him here, there has yet to be a sunset that hasn't taken my worries away. He takes his seat at the window sill, his movements slow and careful. When I was younger, he used to sit on the roof with me, but the years have not been too kind to him. They have made him slower and more tired than the man who used to throw me on his shoulder and run on the beach. Now, the window is the most he can go, and deep down, I know it bothers him. But the view, no matter where in the house, doesn't change. It's the same sunset no matter where you're standing, but that wouldn’t make him feel any better. As he sits, I hear him sigh. It's as long and deep as the waves crashing into the shore. He’d always been a fun and tranquil old man. Maybe it's the area, but I had always associated him with the water. Mischievous, calm, and sensitive. At least, that’s how he used to be. 

“In all the years I've lived in this house, I never imagined what it would feel like to have to leave it.” I know what he was referring to: the nursing home. He never wanted to leave home, and to him, the nursing home was the worst possible place for him to be. He always said he’d miss the view of the sun, but to my mother and I, his health was more important than this replaceable view— a view I haven’t enjoyed in a while.

“I know abuelo, but the beach will always be here,” I try to remind him, my voice filled with understanding. But he shakes his head, his eyes filled with a sadness I hate remembering.

“Not like this.”

I sit silently. The sun is now semi-visible. The shades of the sky are cooler, yet the gold refuses to vanish. Much like how Abuelo refuses to leave. I close my eyes for a moment, taking in the sound of the waves. If I breathe loud enough, it almost sounds like I'm a wave too. Just swaying back and forth without a care for the time. If I breathe quietly enough, I can imagine I'm not here. That these sounds are not the last I'll have of this view. That this moment is not the end of our time here, but it's all just my imagination at the end of the day.

It's hard to pretend I’ll never regret the look of sadness that manifested on my Abuelo's face when my mother broke the news. Our endless summer sunsets had reached an end, and I wasn't ready for it. I wasn't ready to say goodbye.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” I admitted to him, opening my eyes to continue taking in the view. Abuelo didn't answer, but I could tell he nodded. His presence is just that strong. I used to say to him that a man like him was hard to keep down. No matter how old he had gotten, he was always visible and alive. I loved that about him. He had the ability to turn the biggest nothing into the most beautiful something just by being present. We let the waves do the talking as we watch the sun fully set. In those few seconds, I knew what I had to say. It was finally time. 

“I'm sorry you didn't get to see it again,” 

“Get to see what?” His voice was quiet and tired, and I knew I’d soon long to hear that voice once again. I took a breath as I watched the sun disappear.

“The sunset. I'm sorry you didn't get to see it before you died.” It got silent. Not even the waves made a noise now. I turn back to see the empty window behind me. There was no sign of anyone having been sat there. I turn back to the now night sky. The sky was no longer gold. It was now blue and dark. Our moment had finally reached its end. 

Abuelo had died a week ago at the nursing home, far away from his sunset view. I haven't been able to shake his sad expression since. At the funeral, everyone wore black to mourn him. Mom and I wore gold. We wanted him to have something close to a sunset before the casket closed on his light forever. Sitting on the roof without him was different—a harsher truth than the phone call we received that night. I hadn't seen the sunset since he’d been put in the nursing home, and without him to watch it, there was no point. I hear quiet footsteps behind me. When I turn, I see my mother in a state I have never wanted to see her in. She carefully steps out the window and sits behind me. I rest my head on her shoulder. 

“Do you think he’s still watching the sunsets?” I ask her softly as I let the night sky wrap around us like a protective blanket. The wind dancing through our dark hair. I hear a small, breathy laugh come from my mother. 

“Knowing him, he's not watching the sunset. He is the sunset.”