Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Here’s where I am… the driven dedication to my job lost. Hell, I can’t even remember the higher purpose that drove me to be a social worker because none of that is important anymore.
There was a day, before Gray got sick, that it never felt like work. The long hours, the endless reports, the heartbreak of working with kids who had no one. Social work isn’t glamorous, and it sure as hell doesn’t pay much, but it mattered to me. Helping kids in foster care, working with parents trying to reunify with their children, and connecting struggling families with resources to keep them afloat. It fed my soul.
Some days it’s writing assessments for the courts or sitting in on home visits to make sure a child is safe. Other days it’s guiding parents through parenting classes, arranging counseling, or hunting down funding for food, clothing and rent assistance.
Every time I helped a family find resources or eased a child’s fear, it felt like proof that my past hadn’t broken me completely.
That the cycle of abandonment I lived through would not repeat itself on my watch.
Now, I can barely string together the words on a report. My heart feels dead, a precursor of protection to stave off the coming grief that I’m afraid might destroy me. That will most assuredly change my inner being because losing the most important person in your life can’t be good for anything other than destruction.
And I hate that I’m so weak. The families I work with deserve someone fully present, someone committed. The children I help deserve someone who puts their needs above everyone else’s, and right now all I can think about is curling up in a corner and shutting out the entire world. My higher purpose feels like it’s slipping away, just like Gray.
In some ways, it’s been a long two months following Gray’s diagnosis. In other ways, time is flying too fast because, as the doctors predicted, the aggressive cancer will kill him sooner rather than later, and I want more time with my best friend. I never hesitated to step in to care for him and Grayce. I convinced my supervisor to let me work part time from home, but even paperwork feels impossible when every nerve in my body is tuned to the next sound from down the hall.
The alarm on my phone buzzes, sharp and insistent, but it doesn’t startle me. My inner clock had already sensed it was time to give Gray his morphine. I have it set to go off every four hours, just as the hospice nurse instructed me to do.
“Keep him ahead of the pain,” she advised. “Even if he says he doesn’t need it, give it to him anyway.”
I close the laptop and push back from the table, stretching my stiff legs. It’s time to step into my role as caretaker. Whether Gray’s awake or not, whether he asks or not, I won’t let the pain catch up to him. Even if it means gently slipping the drops under his tongue without him ever being the wiser. I do this knowing he’ll sleep so deeply, my days of having beautiful conversations with him are over. I’ve already lost most of him.
I pass Grayce’s room on the way to Gray’s. The door is cracked, so I peek in. She’s curled up in her crib, one tiny hand flung above her head, her lips moving like she’s dreaming. Soft, wispy curls of dark hair halo her angelic face, and if her eyes were open, I’d be staring into her father. At least I’ll have that to hold on to forever, because Grayce will become mine the moment Gray dies. It’s something he feels strongly about, and all those arrangements have already been made.
My throat tightens. Grayce is eleven months old, on the verge of taking her first steps into toddlerhood, and she’ll never remember how incredible her dad was. She’ll never remember how much he loved her.
Gray wasn’t perfect, by any means. Lord knows he didn’t plan on becoming a single father after a one-night stand turned into a baby. But when Grayce’s mom died in childbirth, he stepped up without complaint. He figured it out—bottles and daycare drop-offs and working extra hours to cover bills. I watched him juggle parenthood with spreadsheets and client meetings, watched him fall asleep at his desk with her tucked against his chest.
And through it all, he never once resented her. Never once questioned that she was worth every sacrifice. He adored her and I’ll make sure she knows that every day of her life.
I pull the door shut quietly and keep going, past the framed photos lining the hall—Gray with his arm around Atlas in their teens, Gray giving his daughter a bath, Gray and me with our arms thrown around each other at college graduation. He was my constant. Foster care chewed me up, my own parents failed me and the world seemed determined to let me down, but once he came into my life, Gray was always there.