Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that.
There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set.
I want more numbers than I’m likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got.
But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity.
I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Augustus Waters died eight days after his prefuneral, at Memorial, in the ICU,
when the cancer, which was made of him, finally stopped his heart, which was also made of him.
He was with his mom and dad and sisters. His mom called me at three thirty in the morning.
I’d known, of course, that he was going. I’d talked to his dad before going to bed, and he told me, “It could be tonight,”
but still, when I grabbed the phone from the bedside table and saw Gus’s Mom on the caller ID, everything inside of me collapsed.
She was just crying on the other end of the line, and she told me she was sorry, and I said I was sorry, too,
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