Susan’s Home

I discreetly wipe the tears from my eyes with my left hand, keeping my right hand tightly fisted against my mouth so that the noise desperately trying to escape will not. I do not want Susan to hear or see the tears. She is already dealing with a whole lot; my emotions will not help. But she must have noticed because her breathe goes deeper as she stretches her hands towards me. I notice this immediately and reach out my right hand to hers. I will not cry because I do not want her to be sad.

‘Don’t hold it in, I don’t want you to,’ Susan says. Despite my effort, tears keep flowing down my face, and I know if she could reach, she would have wiped it away, holding me to her bosom. This is how she is, always selfless, and despite the pain she must be in herself, she stills cares about me and my sadness. Sadness currently caused by her state.

She tries to sit up, and I help her immediately, trying to make her comfortable as much as possible. ‘Danny, what did I teach you? Never hold it in, it helps better to let it out.’ She tugs feebly on my hand, understanding what she wants, I put my head on her chest, my cry no longer silent.

Weeping loudly into her chest with week hands stroking my head, I remember when I first met her. I was trying to hold back my tears then, and she had held me, patiently stroking my hair and back until I cried. I had just lost my family in a ghastly accident and nobody but Susan, who ran a home, had been willing to take me in. My world had gone dark and bleak, but she became a shining ray of light for me, and so many others. She became my mother, father, sister, and confidant since then. That was barely 10 years ago, and now I am losing her. Losing everything all over again.

‘I know what you are thinking.’ Her voice barely above a whisper. I know how much it costs her to even talk to me, but she has always put me first since I met her. ‘You are not alone; you have all those people around you. You have a family.’

‘It hurts so much. i.i.. i really do not want to lose you too,’ I finally push through my closed throat to tell her.

‘I know, Danny, I know. I wish I could stay with you forever too.’ Her voice is shaking so I look up to see her tears as well. She is not hiding them from me. She was always big on showing emotions. I hold her tightly and we both cry for a while, letting it all out.

‘Well, that was cleansing,’ she finally says after a while. I smile because that is what she wants. And I will give her what she wants. ‘Now that that is over, I can tell you now that I need you to be strong for the rest of the family.’

I do not need to make any promises to her because she knows I will take care of them. I am not the only one Susan has taken in after having nowhere to go or after being rejected by those who ought to take responsibility for us. She has always told me she wanted me to take over Susan’s Home, I was already helping with the Home before she got sick. It is her legacy; I will treat it as mine and continue to help as many as I can. 

‘We have been avoiding this conversation, Danny. But I do not have much time left. I need to know you will be okay. Promise me you will be okay.’

‘I will, Susan. I will be okay. I will protect the Home and everyone. You don’t have to worry.’

‘Silly Danny,’ she says, smiling painfully. ‘I know you will take care of the Home and the kids. I mean you. You have to be. Pinkie promise?’

I smile myself, remembering how I used to ask for pinkie promise every time she went out when I first went to the Home, making her promise to come back. I was so afraid of losing another person then, and not minding, she always did. I take her hand and form it with mine. I am losing her now, and there is nothing I or anyone can do about it. The doctor already told me she has hours left at most. 

‘Did I ever tell you how proud of you I am?’ she asks. This is another norm for us. ‘Not nearly enough,’ I respond as I usually do, expecting her to laugh, then tell me how much she loves me, as she usually does.

But her face becomes serious. ‘I am very immensely proud of you, my Danny. You are one of the best things that happened to me. And do you know what?’ she asks as her hand tightened on my mine, ‘You can do anything you put your mind to, because you are the best. You have my heart, my fire, and my blessings.’ She finishes. I put my face on our hands, feeling her words pour over me. 

Not more than a moment later, I feel her hand going limp and look at her face, she is smiling. Smoothing her face, the machine beside her starts beeping. Before I can make a sense of what is happening, nurses and the doctor floods the room as I am pushed aside. I feels like I was growing farther and farther from the room with a consistent beep.

I will always hate winter for more than its coldness, I thought as I open my eyes. It has taken Susan from me. I can feel the tears on my face, my hands are tightly fisted. I was dreaming of Susan. It has been two weeks since she passed away, and I dream of our last moments almost every night, no matter how exhausted I am. It changes every night, but they are always about a conversation we have had in the past. I try to stand, but the pain is so much. I am tightly curled on the bed, hitting my chest to relieve the pain. No one can ever adequately describe how much it hurts losing someone you care about, and from my experience, the pain never goes away. Susan made mine better after losing my first family, now she is gone. I cannot deal with the pain. I do not want to deal with the pain, I thought, crying silently into my pillow. This has also become my routine.

My phone started beeping. It must have been what pulled me out of my dream in first place. My world has gone dark again, and it is the responsibility for the Home and the kids that keeps me going. It must be time to get up, time to put myself together. That has also become my routine. Since Susan was gone, I have the full responsibility of running the home. I have responsibilities that cannot be paused to handle my grief, no matter how great. And being in charge means I have to smile for the kids, they can never see me break down or they will not be able to move on as well. I must be a boulder for everyone. 

My phone beeped again. It is not my alarm as I had first thought. I finally remembered it was my day off. The staff had pushed for me to take a break, promising mutiny if I showed up earlier than noon at Susan’s office. I opened the message that caused the beeping and frowned. It is a message from Brian, the lawyer we use for the home, requesting I ring him urgently.

He picks up at the first ring. ‘Danny here. I received your message.’

‘I did not mean to worry you, but it quite urgent.’ He says, foregoing pleasantries.

‘That is all right. How can I help?’ I cannot help the feeling of foreboding that was crawling in, dreading what he was going to says, and that is confirmed when he says, ‘I am afraid I do not have good news. The funding for the home is being reviewed because it was a grant made for Susan. With Susan gone, the board is considering pulling the funding.’

That was decidedly unexpected, and my brain seems to have shut down, trying to process what he said. They are going to close Susan’s Home? Susan’s dream and everything she worked for, for more than 15 years. Some people somewhere, who do not understand her sacrifice and what this house means to her want to shut it down? This home helped me, no, helps me, just like its helping hundreds of people yearly. 

‘Danny, are you there?’

Pulling a breath, ‘Yes, I am. I just don’t understand. Why would they want to do that?’

‘I know it is a hard news coming at the worst time. But the grant was made available because of Susan, now that she is gone, they would try to redirect the funding. They honestly do not believe anyone can take her place.’

I agree with them, no one can take Susan’s place, not even me. But I cannot let the place she has poured her all heart to go down the drain. And all the kids, what will happen to them? Probably not a good thing, but this has pushed my grief aside and anger is becoming dominant.

‘What can we do?’ I ask because there must be an option. There has to be a way out.

‘I reviewed the finances when I got the news. The current funding will run the Home for another month, but after that, we will need to make alternative arrangements for the kids.’

‘I understand what you mean,’ I say a little sharply, I cannot help my tone right now. ‘I am asking what the options are. Susan left this place in my charge, and I cannot let it go without a fight.’

‘Well, we can look for alternate funding, but that will be difficult, especially with the timing. The other option is to convince the board that you can manage Susan’s position. We can start by asking for extension, until they can be convinced you are the right woman for the job.’ I can picture Brian doodling on a notepad in front of him, probably thinking it is a lost battle. I can hear that in his voice.

But I remember the dream I had and the conversation with Susan, it is like she is guiding me from the beyond. It makes me feel like she is close to me. I remember all the kids that cried in the past week, comforting me while I comforted them. All the kids that have gone through the Home that showed up and spoke during Susan’s memorial, telling stories of how Susan’s Home saved them. Most of all, I remember how she always told me I can manage and take care of the home, and how I have been doing that since the sickness ravaged her body and she became bedbound. I remember all the memories I have made in the Home, and the promise I made to myself and Susan to help other kids like me make such memory.

Her passion was a fire that has been ignited in me before she left me in charge, and now, it is raging. I will do everything I can to make it work, to keep this place opened. There is no other choice. I have no other choice but to make it work. I know what I must do, everything is necessary.

‘Brian, we will fight to keep the Home open and do everything it takes to make it happen.’ My voice has hardened, and I continue, ‘She left me in charge for a reason, and this Home will continue. The kids, my kids are not going anywhere. This is their home. So, tell me what needs to be done, and we will do.’

I will do and Susan’s Home will not close.