After Today

By: D. Love

After Today ©2015 by D. Love

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events; to real people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

Special Credits:

Cover Designer: Bookfabulous Designs

Editor: Melanie Williams

Proof Reader: Lisa Markson

Proof Reader: Jessica Bolduc

Beta Reader: Marilyn Ortega

Beta Reader: Tina Harrison

Poem By: Nanette Bradford

This book is dedicated to all the readers out there: I will forever be your fan-girl. Thank you for taking a chance of my books.

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Special thank you, to my family, for always making me feel as though, I can move mountains. The generosity of your love for me is what makes my world exist.

Gazelle (D.W), thank you for entering my life and becoming a new inspiration to my words.

I lost my heart, it went away...

The day you left me and did not stay...

I was still very young and I did not know...

Why my mommy left her little girl, why she’d ever let her go...

But as the years went on, the hurt slowly went away...

And I learned how to live in this world full of grey...

No light in the darkness nothing left there to feel...

Till he came along and showed my lonely heart again to heal...

Little by little each piece was replaced...

By a smile, a laugh, just the thought of his beautiful face...

He never gave up on me, he never gave in...

His love was strong enough to fight the darkness within...

He’s the light that now shines upon this hole filled heart...

But someday soon I just know it will be complete...

To never again fall apart...

Poem By: Nanette Bradford

Table of Contents:

Chapter One: The Clinic (Emily)

Chapter Two: The Other Side of Town (Brock)

Chapter Three: Sunday Dinner (Emily)

Chapter Four: Finding My Brother (Brock)

Chapter Five: A New Day (Emily)

Chapter Six: A Different Direction (Brock)

Chapter Seven: New Patients (Emily)

Chapter Eight: Unexpected Guest (Brock)

Chapter Nine: Interesting Lunch (Emily)

Chapter Ten: Clinic Meeting (Brock)

Chapter Eleven: A Strange Day (Emily)

Chapter Twelve: The Weekend (Brock)

Chapter Thirteen: My Family (Emily)

Chapter Fourteen: Bonding Over Loss (Brock)

Chapter Fifteen: First Impressions (Emily)

Chapter Sixteen: Understanding Wade (Brock)

Chapter Seventeen: My Birthday (Emily)

Chapter Eighteen: A Brother’s Love (Brock)

Chapter Nineteen: Making Sacrifices (Emily)

Chapter Twenty: Party Time (Brock)

Chapter Twenty-One: Escaping Reality (Emily)

Chapter Twenty-Two: Family Time (Brock)

Chapter Twenty-Three: Touching Words

(Emily)

Chapter Twenty-Four: Day Trip (Brock)

Chapter Twenty Five: Seeing Things Different (Emily)

Chapter Twenty Six: Determination (Brock)

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Picking up the Pieces (Emily)

Chapter Twenty Eight: Time Heals (Brock)

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Learning to Heal

(Emily)

Chapter One

The Clinic

Emily

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"Say hello to my mom," I whisper as one last breath is taken, and a long beep from the machine lets me know that Mrs. Miles is now gone.

Here I sit as another soul passes on, leaving my heart beating erratically thinking of the family’s pain. My dad isn’t a fan of my career choice—he preferred me to attend college and become a lawyer, or anything else for that matter. I believe he would’ve been happier if I had become a stripper as opposed to this. Your choice is morbid, and it will eventually consume you, he says. I, on the other hand, feel the need to help people find peace during their last days here with us. Maybe it's because I wasn't given that peace, nor was I given the choice. After losing my mother at the age of ten, I made it my life’s work to help people in their final hours of life.

During Mom’s last few minutes of life, they sent me away with a family friend, leaving her to die without me. I know they thought it was for the best—it wasn't. She was only twenty-five; the age I’ll be in less than a few weeks. I constantly have these feelings of fear in the back of my mind that I will die at this age too. The thoughts are silly, I know, yet I just can’t seem to control them. Just like I worry at every doctor’s appointment I’ll also be diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor, which is ultimately what took my mother's life.

Pulling up Mrs. Miles’ cover to her chest, I turn off all the machines and gently use a wet washcloth to clean up the saliva around her mouth that was released from all the morphine she was given for comfort. I back away so that the family, who has been patiently waiting, can approach to say their final goodbyes. I can feel the heartache that sweeps throughout the room. Some are wiping their eyes while others are talking to her as if she can still hear them.

Exiting the room so that the family can have some privacy, I sit down on the bench in the hallway. The wall sconces are giving off this soft subtle light that shines against the hunter green walls. I stare at the beautiful plaque hanging on the wall with a picture of my mother on it.

In loving memory of Rye Silcox-Conner

My dad bought this building a year and half after Mom died. He wanted her memory to live forever, along with offering others a place of peace.

I have a vivid recollection of helping him with the details. I came up with the idea of painting each room a different color. At first he said no; however, at dinner one night I explained to Nana my idea, and she said it sounded like something my mother would do. Of course that's all he ever needed to hear because any time someone mentioned that Mom would’ve liked something or would’ve done it this way or that way, his whole demeanor would change and that's what he would do. We went back the next day, and together we chose a different color for each room. Outside each door hangs a sign, which says the color of room and the definition of the color. The patients then have a choice. Most patients would just pick the happy colors unless they were brought in unable to communicate, thereupon the families would choose their loved one’s favorite color.

Nana, made sure Dad built a kitchen with a huge dining area. She was very adamant about not having it cafeteria style. It has to be a regular kitchen, Jett. Let them feel like they’re at home, not in a hospital. In the big dining hall she bought regular tables that seat anywhere from two to eight people. Being a child and watching my Dad’s dream evolve, I started having a dream of mine own.

I knew at the age of twelve what I would be when I grew up. I officially went to get my bachelor’s degree in nursing. After receiving it, I worked hard for a few years to gain all the knowledge and experience I could, so that when I changed my career, I would be the best. I received my Hospice and Palliative certification and now devote all my time here at the clinic, even though, like today, losing someone tends to bring an unbearable pain to my soul.

I hear the door open, and dad walks in with the sun seeping all around him. I jump up and run straight to him, leaping into his arms. I’ve been through this a hundred times already, and it still rips my heart apart. Wrapped in his arms I break down with tears falling uncontrollably. I cry so hard I begin heaving, and Dad pulls me even closer, patting the back of my head like he did when I was ten.

Oh, Dad.

Shhh, I know sweetheart.

He gives me a few moments to release all my emotions then asks me to walk with him to the garden. He uses this same routine every time I lose a patient.

I started working at this hospice center right after I turned twenty-one, and he hasn’t missed one time. Figuring out how he knows is beyond me, but he always has perfect timing.

Once we make it to the garden, we stand in front of our favorite bench. He traveled all the way to North Carolina to pick out this one. After he brought it home, he spent weeks in the garage working on it. The day of the opening for the center he unveiled it to Nana and me while everyone else was enjoying the celebration.

Well, honey, what is your beautiful today? he asks with a warm smile.

Today, it would be you, Dad.

I look down at the bench and beautifully carved at the top is the same question:

What is your beautiful today?

He asked my mother this everyday up until she died. Now he continues to ask me. Sitting down, he pats the place beside him. I take a seat and lay my head on his shoulder. He loved my mom so much. Some used to say that they fell in love too fast, but what people failed to understand was there was no time for them to fall in love, only to be in love.

Everything changed after my tenth birthday when my mom and I did a walk for the March of Dimes. That’s where she was reunited with him again. They used to attend school together, but after they graduated and he suffered the loss of his mother, he joined the military. Dad had been back from overseas for just a short time. I giggle inside remembering my mother’s words about him looking nothing like the nerdy teenager she remembered from school.

What’s so funny, sweetheart?

I was just reminiscing about Mom, and how she called you a nerdy teenager, I recall, sliding my eyes over to glance at him.

He laughs so hard I can feel it against my arm that is wrapped around his belly. He pushes me off his shoulder pulling out his wallet.

Really? A nerdy teenager, huh? Take a look at this. Showing me an old photo, he raises his eyebrows.

Oh my goodness. Who is that?

That, baby girl, is my beautiful wife and your mom, when she was a teenager.

Good grief, what’s going on with all that hair? All I could see was a mass of tangles.

Hey, don’t knock it. That was considered the style in the '80s.

Well, don’t think you will ever see me with hair like that.

At that very moment, he accomplishes what he wants by enabling me to laugh. I lay my head back on his shoulder feeling the anguish subsiding as he smiles proudly.

Ms. Miles’ family comes outside to meet us, and we walk over to the garden together. A few minutes later, Brayden from our local pet store arrives holding a cage that he sets down next to the family. As Dad clears his throat, he looks around and asks everyone if they're ready. Everyone becomes quiet and nods then waits for Pastor Rick to begin. He says a prayer and slowly steps back, turning the time over to the family. Mrs. Miles’ daughter is weeping in the arms of her husband, and I watch as he places his hand on my dad’s shoulder.

Maybe you could help us? he asks.

Absolutely, Dad replies.

Dad bends down, picking