That decision became the first thing I regretted after he died.
***
Five weeks later, he got much worse.
Sounds like a compliment.
I held his hand.
“You look scared,” he whispered.
“So do you.”
“I’m allowed.”
“So am I.”
The first thing I regretted.
He almost smiled. “You’ll be okay.”
“Don’t say that.”
“You will.”
“No, Jack.”
“Promise me you’ll keep going.”
You look scared.
“I don’t know how.”
“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
Those were the last clear words he said to me.
***
Three days later, I sat at the kitchen table with a funeral bill and two overdue notices.
The woman from the bank cleared her throat. “There isn’t enough left to cover next month.”
Promise me you’ll keep going.
“I know.”
“And the loan against the house…”
“I know about the loan.”
“Do you have any other savings?”
“We spent them.”
The loan against the house.
“Anything you could sell?”
“I already sold my jewelry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“Was it for his treatment?”
We spent them.
“Yes.”
“And you borrowed against the house?”
“When someone offers one more treatment, you don’t ask whether you can afford hope.”