The Last Song(133)

Thank you, Ronnie. Thank you for coming. And thank you for the way you made me feel each and every day we had the chance to be together.

You and Jonah have always been the greatest blessings in my life. I love you, Ronnie, and I’ve always loved you. And never, ever forget that I am, and always have been, proud of you. No father has ever been as blessed as I.

Dad

Thanksgiving passed. Along the beach, people began to put up Christmas decorations.

Her dad had lost a third of his body weight and spent nearly all his time in bed.

Ronnie stumbled across the sheets of paper when she was cleaning the house one morning. They’d been wedged carelessly into the drawer of the coffee table, and when she pulled them out, it took her only a moment to recognize her father’s hand in the musical notes scrawled on the page.

It was the song he’d been writing, the song she’d heard him playing that night in the church. She set the pages on top of the table to inspect them more closely. Her eye raced over the heavily edited series of notes, and she thought again that her dad had been on to something. As she read, she could hear the arresting strains of the opening bars in her head. But as she flipped through the score to the second and third pages, she could also see that it wasn’t quite right. Although his initial instincts had been good, she thought she recognized where the composition began to lose its way. She fished a pencil from the table drawer and began to overlay her own work on his, scrawling rapid chord progressions and melodic riffs where her father had left off.

Before she knew it, three hours had gone by and she heard her dad beginning to stir. After tucking the pages back into the drawer, she headed for the bedroom, ready to face whatever the day would bring.

Later that evening, when her father had fallen into yet another fitful sleep, she retrieved the pages, this time working long past midnight. In the morning, she woke up eager and anxious to show him what she’d done. But when she entered his bedroom, he wouldn’t stir at all, and she panicked when she realized that he was barely breathing.

Her stomach was in knots as she called the ambulance, and she felt unsteady as she made her way back to the bedroom. She wasn’t ready, she told herself, she hadn’t shown him the song. She needed another day. It’s not time yet. But with trembling hands, she opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out the manila envelope.


In the hospital bed, her father looked smaller than she’d ever seen him. His face had collapsed in on itself, and his skin had an unnatural grayish pallor. His breaths were as shallow and rapid as an infant’s. She squeezed her eyes closed, wishing she weren’t here. Wishing she were anywhere but here.

“Not yet, Daddy,” she whispered. “Just a little more time, okay?”

Outside the hospital window, the sky was gray and cloudy. Most of the leaves had fallen from the trees, and the stark and empty branches somehow reminded her of bones. The air was cold and still, presaging a storm.

The envelope sat on the nightstand, and though she’d promised her dad she would give it to the doctor, she hadn’t done so yet. Not until she was sure he wouldn’t wake, not until she was sure she was never going to have the chance to say good-bye. Not until she was certain there was nothing more she could do for him.

She prayed fiercely for a miracle, a tiny one. And as though God Himself were listening, it happened twenty minutes later.

She’d been sitting beside him for most of the morning. She’d grown so used to the sound of his breathing and the steady beep of the heart monitor that the slightest change sounded like an alarm. Looking up, she saw his arm twitch and his eyes flutter open. He blinked under the fluorescent lights, and Ronnie instinctively reached for his hand.

“Dad?” she said. Despite herself, she felt a surge of hope; she imagined him slowly sitting up.

But he didn’t. He didn’t even seem to hear her. When he rolled his head with great effort to look at her, she saw a darkness in his eyes that she’d never seen before. But then he blinked and she heard him sigh.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered hoarsely.

The fluid in his lungs made him sound as if he were drowning. She forced herself to smile. “How are you doing?”

“Not too well.” He paused, as if to gather his strength. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital. You were brought here this morning. I know you have a DNR, but…”

When he blinked again, she thought his eyes might stay closed. But eventually he opened them.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. The forgiveness in his voice tore at her heart. “I understand.”

“Please don’t be mad at me.”