Saturday, April 18, 2020
Danny opened his eyes briefly this morning as the surgeon came in to talk to us. Half an hour later, they wheeled him out for emergency surgery to amputate his leg. The risk for sepsis is growing by the hour. The leg is horribly discolored and a smell born somewhere in a nightmare emanates from his bedside. I had to once again say a possible farewell to my boy and the last piece of my brother that I have.
I sat Cassy down in the early morning hours as we sat staring at the newsreels scrolling across CNN and broke the news about Wes. I have never been able to withhold information from her. The news brought a wail from her, wrenching sobs that wracked her small frame until she became sick. Wes and her never lost that connection. It has always been a weird triangle, one confusing relationship between the three of us. I should be somehow relieved but I am overcome with a grief beyond articulating.
It has always been known that Wes was Danny's father. Cassy was engaged during that time, but my daughter could be either ones' child. It has never mattered until now. What if the little girl, whom I have raised as my own, what if her real father died too? There is no reason to beat myself up over this, no reason to tell Danny. There is no reason to bring a dead man's ghost back. I need to bury Wes, but somehow his ghost will not fade. Can I put this to rest so my brother will finally be in the past? I need it too, my families lives may very well depend on it.
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