We sobbed like babies in the waiting room, begging her to be stubborn and not leave us. Thankfully, we got our wish.
We watched her every move to make sure she wasn’t lying to us about needing more pain medication. She finally asked us to sing to her to get us to stop hovering. We spent hours around her faded brown couch playing whatever song she requested. Van would drum on her coffee table, while Jet and I played our guitars and sang.
One day, while we’d been in her living room doing a jam session, there was a knock on the door. Grandma B’s eyes were lit up like she was on too many pain pills clapping her good hand gently on her lap telling Van he should answer the door.
Whatever Van was expecting, I promise it wasn't the delivery man from the local music shop delivering a brand new drum set.
Grandma B instructed the delivery man to remove the coffee table, explaining the drums were more important than any piece of furniture. She was giddy when they were set up, commanding Van to get his butt behind them and play something for her.
Over time, Grandma B developed an infection in her hip, and although she was pumped with regular doses of antibiotics, she wasn't getting any better. Even in pain, she made us carry her to the couch and play for her daily.
When she stopped eating because of the pain, the doctors admitted her into the hospital. She must have known her time was coming to an end. She called us in one at a time. Van went in first. When he finally came out, he had tears in his eyes. He hugged us both and told us he would be out in the waiting room. I was next.
I didn’t want to go in the room. In my gut, I was certain this would be her final good-bye. I’d stubbornly thought if I refused to enter the room, it would force her to stay alive. Jet had figured out what I was thinking and put his hand on my shoulder, telling me if I kept her waiting she’d be pissed and probably come after me.
Knowing he was right, I took a deep breath and went into her room, closing the door behind me. When I sat down and took her hand, her eyes fluttered open and locked onto mine.
She looked so tiny under the blanket. I was barely able to make out her outline. She squeezed my hand to get my attention. "Killian, those boys need you. They look up to you, and you need to be strong for them."
I wanted to protest, but even in her weakened state, there was no arguing with Grandma B.
"You are my boys, and I love you so much. You'll get them through this. All Jet's life he has been searching for the love and support you boys provide him. You can do this. I'm counting on you."
She shook her head as I pleaded with her to stay. When her words of wisdom were given, I kissed her on the head and summoned Jet to her room.
I ran to my car, seeking refuge from what was to come. The only parental figure I had left was being ripped away from me. I slammed my fists repeatedly onto my steering wheel, accepting the pain that accompanied every blast.
Van found me later, spent and leaning on the steering wheel. He opened my door and pulled me into his arms. Jet came out soon after. We were powerless to stop what was about to happen.
Grandma B died that night in the hospital with us surrounding her.
Van drummed on the night table while Jet and I played our guitars quietly next to her bed. We’d snuck them in, knowing the music would soothe us just as much as it would her. She passed away while we played,Sweet Dreams, Jet’s favorite lullaby.
Grandma B had been very specific in her final days that we were to be front and center in the church. The three of us had sat next to each other—all orphan’s in different definitions, but orphans, nonetheless.
This was also the first time Van saw his parents since they had kicked him out. His holier-than-thou, piece-of-shit dad hadn’t even spared him a passing glance. D had been nowhere to be seen. I guess they’d been afraid Van would try to corrupt him from his pew.
I couldn't understand how Van's parents could treat him like that. As representatives of a church, they saw death all the time, shouldn’t they want to latch onto their son for as long as they could?
At the end of the day, we found ourselves on the couch in Grandma B’s house. Jet had finally broken down, saying he didn’t want to stay there any longer. When I asked him if he wanted to come and live with Van and me, he jumped up and grabbed his pre-packed bags. Before leaving the house, we had one last jam session in the living room, dedicated to Grandma B.
Later in the week, we had to meet with Grandma B’s lawyer for the reading of the will. She left everything to the four of us, stipulating that as soon as D was of legal age, we’d add him into our family, because he would need us.
When we left the lawyer, both Van and I told Jet we didn’t want anything from her and it was all his. Jet declined with a huge smile, saying Grandma B had known what she’d been doing, and he didn’t expect anything different.
With Grandma B gone, we lost our regular updates on D, and it drove Van mad. Jet and I had bargained with him that on D’s eighteenth birthday we would help him get D and his stuff out of his parents’ house.
On D’s eighteenth birthday, Van hauled us out of bed at the ass crack of dawn. It finally penetrated his thick skull that showing up at a decent hour might keep the drama down to a minimum.
Jet parked his truck in front of the house, and we sat there staring at it, letting Van take the lead. It was funny how anxious he had been to get there, but when we finally arrived at the house, he stalled. I never thought anything could intimidate someone like Van. He always carried himself with confidence, except when it came to his parents, he was like a Rottweiler convinced he was a Chihuahua.
My nerves were on high as Jet and I followed Van to his parents’ front door. I wasn't sure how D would fit in with our little misfit group, but it was important to Van, so it had become important to me.
Van’s dad opened the door before he could even knock. Van dwarfed him in both size and height, but when faced with his father, Van had seemed to shrink.
Van was amazingly calm when he explained we’d had come for D. His dad screamed that we weren’t getting anywhere near D. He had one son who was going to make him proud, and it obviously was not Van. I had to hold Jet back from punching the fucker out, and I really wanted to let my hands slip.
Van convinced his father to let D come down and tell him in person he didn’t want anything to do with him.