Adam Bramwell never woke up again. He died in my arms that night in a hospital bed in France while I cried over him. I stayed with him until they wouldn’t let me, and when they pulled me away, I felt like Adam’s spirit was inside of me, a part of my soul. I was the last one to touch him alive. He was with me and I was with him. It gave me just a sliver of peace in those moments immediately after he passed.
I had to call his mother. She could notify the rest of the family.
“Deanna. He’s gone,” I cried.
Adam’s mother whimpered and then sobbed before handing the phone to Adam’s father. “Charlotte?”
“It’s me.” I didn’t even know his name.
“Was he in pain?”
“No. He died peacefully in his sleep . . . in my arms,” I choked out.
He took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he said, and then hung up.
Something I would never forget was that Adam smiled more than one would think in his last days on earth. I don’t know if he had a glimpse of something none of us get to see, or if he had finally accepted his own fate, or if he was truly happy. All I know is that he taught me about independence and self-worth and about how precious life is.
I cried for days in the hotel room, waiting for Adam’s ashes. When you’re that low, normal, everyday things we do to stay alive become secondary. I had to remind myself to drink water. It was impossible to eat, but I knew I needed to stay hydrated. I had to remind myself to breathe because sometimes I would find myself holding my breath to avoid crying. The small act of taking a breath would initiate a fit of tears.
Mark traveled back to the States to be with his family while I waited. Alone. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Everyone I knew called, but words did nothing for me. I lay on the bed, gripping his clothes, smelling them over and over and hoping I wasn’t taking his scent out of the material. I couldn’t understand how a person could be there one minute and gone the next. I couldn’t accept that I would never see him again. I couldn’t believe that his body would just dissipate into nothingness. I wanted to hold on so badly, but every time I would get to the point where I didn’t think I could handle it anymore, I would hear my promise to Adam. I would hear his voice demand it.
On the fourth day, I gathered myself off the floor and picked up his ashes, chartered a twenty-foot sailboat alone, and sailed into the cove where he and I had last been together. I sprinkled some of the ashes into the water and watched as the light waves carried Adam away. “Good-bye, Adam Bramwell. I’m not going to cry for you anymore because it’s not going to do me any good. I loved you. You’re gone.” I knew every bit of that was a lie. I still loved him, I would cry more, and he would never truly be gone, but I was trying so desperately to keep my word to him.
I FLEW DIRECTLY back to Northern California, where Adam’s parents lived. I rented a car, drove to their house, and walked proudly to the door. I knocked while I held a small gold urn in my other hand. I wasn’t shaking. I wasn’t scared.
Adam’s mother answered the door. “He asked me to bring him home,” I said before she could even say hello. I held the urn out to her and she took it. I could tell from the mascara under her eyes that she had been crying.
She reached for the urn. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“You did something I couldn’t do.”
“You’re right,” I said. “But not in the way you think.” She was feeling guilty about not being at his bedside.
“Adam and I got married,” I rushed to say. “He didn’t want anyone watching him die or sitting around waiting for him to die. He knew you were a good mother. He also had a good career and a lot of experiences—more than me, in fact, more than a lot of older people I know. He left a legacy behind in his art, but what I think he really wanted before he died was to be in love. We were in love and it changed me and I’m grateful to him and to you.” I didn’t cry. I got every word out and I was proud.
Adam’s mother nodded, her eyes full of tears. “The doctor left you an envelope. Come in, please.”
I followed her past the entryway into the kitchen, where there was an envelope sitting on the counter. “For me? From Dr. Mark?”
“I think it’s from Adam,” she said with her back to me. “I don’t know, I didn’t read it.” She handed it to me. “Read it in your own time.” She walked like a zombie into the living room and placed the urn next to a portrait of a very healthy and handsome Adam graduating from college. She just stood there, facing the mantel, staring at his photo.
“I’m going to let myself out,” I said. She didn’t respond, but it didn’t bother me. I had spent days mourning Adam and carrying around his ashes. I knew there would be more tears over him, maybe at some unexpected time when the image of Adam standing on the corner, lost, holding Chinese food, and smiling from ear to ear popped into my head. Or maybe when I looked at the painting he made of me. I knew it would happen, but for now, I was keeping my promise to him.
When I pulled into the parking space of my apartment building, I jumped out of my car immediately. My jaw hit the ground. Staring up at the wall of my building, I fell to my knees. “No! No!” I sobbed. The wolves had been painted over.
Chucky, who had been standing at the top of the stairwell, rushed toward me. “Charlotte!” he called out. He bent and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I fell into his chest.
“I tried to stop them. I even called the city, but it’s private property and the building owner wanted it gone. I’m sorry, Char.”
I stood listlessly. Chucky walked me up to the apartment, his arm hitched around my waist.
I unpacked my bags in a daze, took a shower, sat on my bed, and opened the envelope. Then I began to read the letter:
Charlotte, Thank you for everything. You are now the (I hope proud) owner of a forty-one-foot Alerion sailing vessel, sitting pretty in slip 23 at the Marina Del Rey Harbor. Take good care of her. I know you will. I’ve also included a check because I lied to you for your own good. Sorry. I want you to spend some of this dumb money. I donated a whole bunch to charity, so please, honor me and use this to get yourself set up in life. Well, I am, in fact, in heaven now. It’s amazing. I wish you were here, but don’t try skipping any steps, like putting yourself in danger. It doesn’t work that way. I’ll make you a deal . . . I’ll save you a spot on this puffy cloud, for when it’s your time, okay? I love you. You were truly my heaven on earth, even if my stint was a bit short. Please keep your promises to me. You know what I’m talking about. Oh, and one last thing, I had the mural changed, the one of the winged man. Honestly, Charlotte, you cannot stay in that godforsaken apartment forever. 😉 All my love, Adam.
I was crying and laughing at the same time when I pulled the cashier’s check out and saw that it was written for exactly one million dollars. His last million, which I didn’t even believe he had. It was signed by Adam Bramwell, and in the comments it said, It’s not a penny. I held my hand to my heart for several moments until I could catch my breath. When I was calm enough to stand, I stuck the check back into the envelope and threw it on my desk. I walked out of my apartment like a zombie and headed for the winged man. When I got to the corner I saw it. The mural Adam had painted of the winged man was gone, and in its place, just crystal-blue water and the tiny speck of a sailboat. He knew all along.
