Come, Josephine

Chapter 52

1928
Rose
   I looked up from the the top step. I had fallen asleep, and my body was stiff from the uncomfortable slumber. My head ached and throbbed against the dim hallway light, and my eyes watered with the pressure. I silently cursed myself for falling asleep in such an awkward position.
   Jack was not beside me where he had last been. Instead, his spot sat empty and cold. Where was he?
My senses sharpened, and I became aware of a rustling. The noise came from Josephine's room, muffled by the door. I watched, too tired to stand just yet.
I let my eyes unfocus on the door. I was so weak, and everything looked blurred. I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. I rose, and reassured myself with the fact that Josie was well cared for by Nick and Jack. I could go to bed, at least for a few hours.
   As I turned to go to my room, I heard a shout behind me, "Josie-"
   I spun, and I was on the door in an instant. I forced it open with so much vigour that I nearly fell over myself as I entered. I stumbled, caught myself, and looked over to the bed. There, Josephine lay motionless.
   Jack was leant over her, his head sagging, "she took a turn- she was fine, and then..."
   "What?" Everything felt slow, empty. I could hardly hold my head up, and everything felt heavy and too light all at once. I forced the word out and kept trying for more. Nothing came.
   "She took a turn," he didn't look at me. He just stood motionless.
   "What do you mean?" Something hysterical broke free, "what do you mean?"
   My eyes search the bed frantically. Her face was pale, the bed so rumpled.
   Nick looked up at me from where he knelt at the bed, "she just stopped."
   The hollow sound in his voice sent a tremor through me, "stopped?"
   "Stopped breathing," his voice cracked, "this can't be happening..."
    "No, it can't," I sobbed, and reached for the bed. Jack caught me suddenly, and I saw his face as he did. He was pale, washed out, and had a half-dead look in his eyes.
   His arms were around me, trying to tear me away from the bed, "don't- you don't want to see her like that- it's not her anymore."
   "What?" I could have been screaming, whispering, crying. It was all the same, "no- that's my baby-"
   "I know," he must have been crying too, "I know, I know- but she's gone."
   "She's not," I screamed, trying to pull away. I searched for her, but he obscured the view. He wouldn't let me see her.
   "Nick, help me," he struggled to pull me from room, but Nick remained motionless by the bed. He was crying, I was sure of it, and too hollowed out to stand. My legs weren't strong enough to hold me, I knew that he was no different. Before Jack swung me out of the way, I saw what lay on the bed. Josie- my Josephine- lay completely still, her face blue. Nick knelt beside her, his face so close to hers. He shook, grasping her hand in his, his fingers white. He clung to her like ivy, his head bowed.
When Jack shut the door behind us I refused to look away from where Josie had been. When he pulled away, I couldn't bring myself to look at him. The moment his grip released, I lunged for the door.
I threw myself at the bed, and to my surprise, Nick didn't flinch. He just moved back from the bed, giving me space. He placed her hand onto her chest, smoothed her hair one final time, and stood back.
I couldn't watch him any longer. I stared at the bed, and rested my hand on her's. Why was she so cold? He body moved unnaturally with the weight of my hand, and my eyes drifted up to her face.
Her lips were purple. If they hadn't have been purple, then she might have looked alive. I knew what they said of young deaths, that they "fell asleep in Jesus"- and yes, it might have looked like she had peacefully gone to sleep if it hadn't been for the colour of her skin.
She didn't look the same; Jack was right. She looked so different from the little girl that I raised and loved. Just yesterday, I had thought about how grown-up she looked, but now she just looked like a child.
The same child I had once walked to school, her hand in mine. The same child I had held in my arms, and cared for when she was sick. The last time she had been this unwell, I had not left her side- perhaps that was the difference. The reason I had lost her.
She lay there, unmoving. Her chest didn't rise and fall, and her eyelids didn't flutter. If it wasn't for the colour of her cheeks, and her lack of movement, she might have been deep in sleep. She might have been just ready to spring out of bed, demanding to go for a walk.
I missed her. It had only been a minute, and my whole body ached with longing. The grief tore through me, and I couldn't tell if I was sobbing or screaming or noiseless. I was only aware of the tears that fell onto her dress, and the tendrils of hair that stuck to my face with irritating ignorance.
I held my child in my arms for the final time, and as I did, my soul shattered.