“I still haven’t told Mommy the secret.”
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“Leo…”
“It was a secret, Mommy. I can’t tell.” He backed away and clutched the backpack again.
I should’ve pushed. I know that now. But I was so far beyond tired, beyond the pain of anticipatory grief, that I didn’t have it in me to push for anything from anyone.
At the doorway, Caleb paused with Mark’s chart in his hand.
Caleb had been our night nurse for most of the week. I liked him. He was quiet and gentle, with kind eyes. He also treated Leo with respect, even though most of the other staff treated him more like an ornament.
“It was a secret, Mommy. I can’t tell.”
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He glanced at Leo, then at me. “Do you need anything before I switch out his fluids?”
I rose. “No. Thank you. I think I’m just going to stretch my legs a bit.”
He nodded and went to the machines.
***
The next morning, they handed me the DNR form. My hands shook so badly I couldn’t even hold the pen.
“He won’t make it through the night,” the doctor said.
I nodded.
They handed me the DNR form.
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Shortly after I signed the form, we gathered to say goodbye to Mark.
