Chapter: December
"Don't Dream, It's Over"
Losing someone you love is a devastating experience, and even after decades of weathering life's travails, the human body is a terribly fragile creation. Grief is the embodiment of stress, emotional strain, and the body reacts adversely. The immune system may be compromised, a heart condition exacerbated. Couple overwhelming grief with a physical weakness and suddenly "dying of grief" doesn't seem like a cheesy plot from a Hollywood release anymore. Perhaps it's truly the side effects of grief and not the grief itself that kill, but the root cause and end result are the same.
Heartbreak was what had killed Jahn's father, no matter what medical mumbo jumbo and 'real' diagnosis the doctors gave. Both his sons knew this; it stood to reason for them because their mother had passed away abruptly a month before. One day as healthy as any man of advanced age, the next crippled by the loss of his wife of forty years. Robert Halvers had followed Renatta Halvers into the dark, because he simply couldn't bear to be without her. Neither faulted him for it, as the man's devotion to their mother had always been a cornerstone of family life.
Between bouts of unconsciousness, Jahn stared at the blank tiles of the ceiling with far less than half-interest. Thoughts of his father continued to hound him, a surety that his old man's fate would be his own. Did it matter? The lights had gone out. There was nothing left but bleakness and waiting. A pall had descended over his world and painted it black, that which was left cast in shadows.
Faces swam and out of existence, talking to him in conversations he didn't really remember. Roger, and surprisingly, his wife. Mary Reed. His boss, a few friends from work. Greg and Amy. Andrea. His... fiancées... friends and co-workers, people he'd met maybe once and barely knew. What were they doing here? Every pair of eyes seemed to bore into him, full of concern and understanding, silently assuring him that they were there for him, that he could take as much time as needed to get better and come back, safe and whole
Safe and whole. He'd lost two-thirds of himself, and the remainder was a heart attack victim in a hospital bed. Safe. He'd paint the word in sarcasm if he could muster anything more than dull apathy. Roger's visits were the only real light, the one thing he felt like staying awake for, though the cheery pep-talks he offered didn't infuse him with strength. "Rest, bro. All you need is time."
Jahn hadn't been able to help his response, his bleakness spilling over into the room around him. "Why bother? Dad had it right."
Shocked into silence by the suicidal overtones of his brother's response, Roger only stared at him, horrified. Strange, thought Jahn as his brother stalked out of the room, I don't think I've ever seen him cry before. Voices from the hallway told him that his brother hadn't gone far, was talking with a woman there.
A nurse? No, Jahn recognized the voice -- Mary Reed. Angry about something, but didn't she have a right to be? Both of her daughters, who she'd raised to become lovely, talented young women, were dead in a traffic wreck, of all things. Her grandchild - his child. There were specifics, but the only words he recalled were 'car' and 'accident'. The woman's voice was rising. Incredulity? Rage? Something else?
(doesn't) (know)
Words come to him like chunks through a straw.
Mary moved into the room with dread purpose, his brother close on her heels, but Jahn couldn't muster the enthusiasm anymore, and simply stared at the ceiling.
When she reached the bed, she leaned down, fists burrowing into the mattress and hissed, "Jahn." She was angry at him. That's right, he'd failed to protect her girls. Maybe she'd cut his balls off now.
A light slap to the side of his face got his attention and he turned his head to her reproachfully. Was that really the best she could do? He deserved worse.
"Listen to me. Jen and Fiona are _alive_."
Click.
All those friends and co-workers aren't here for _you_, they're here for _them_.
Just stopping by for a friendly word and well-wishing, that's all they were doing in your room. Realization hit him like an electrical current.
Light that he couldn't recall being on the ceiling before seemed to burst with radiance, blinding him with intensity as the shock of realization washed over him like a hose full of cold water.
Alive? Alive. Alive. Alivealivealivealivealivealivealivealivealive... Breath expelled itself from him in ragged measure, but there was no pain like before. Only
darkness.
***
"I want to see them," he insisted angrily to the pretty young nurse, who looked anxiously in turn at the doctor. "Either give me a goddamn reason why not, or get Mary Reed and explain it to her. Bullshit on my heart, I'm only still here because I _thought_ they were dead."
"You really need to res-" The nurse says, but the doctor... Standish? Stanton? cuts her off. "I can arrange that, but you need to talk to Mrs. Reed first."
Mary was pushed a wheelchair into his room within minutes of being called on, but she intercepted him before he could get up. Not a difficult task -- a week of immobility seemed to have atrophied his legs and there was a weakness in him.
Concern in her brown eyes, she touched her silver hair in a gesture of nervousness. "Jahn, they _are_ alive, but you need to understand that it's bad. The car was totaled, and both girls were terribly hurt. They're... stable... but they are comatose."
