“He’s dying,” said another. “He’s dying,” the third one confirmed, suddenly serious.
It was quiet for a moment, and I wondered what I was supposed to say, but then one of them kicked another
and they were off to the races again, falling all over each other in a scrum that migrated toward the kitchen.
I made my way to Gus’s parents in the living room and met his brothers-in-law, Chris and Dave.
I hadn’t gotten to know his half sisters, really, but they both hugged me anyway.
Julie was sitting on the edge of the bed, talking to a sleeping Gus in precisely the same voice
that one would use to tell an infant he was adorable, saying, “Oh, Gussy Gussy, our little Gussy Gussy.”
Our Gussy? Had they acquired him? “What’s up, Augustus?” I said, trying to model appropriate behavior.
“Our beautiful Gussy,” Martha said, leaning in toward him. I began to wonder if he was actually asleep
or if he’d just laid a heavy finger on the pain pump to avoid the Attack of the Well-Meaning Sisters.
He woke up after a while and the first thing he said was, “Hazel,” which I have to admit made me kind of happy, like maybe I was part of his family, too.
“Outside,” he said quietly. “Can we go?” We went, his mom pushing the wheelchair, sisters and brothers-in-law and dad and nephews and me trailing.
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