#56

“I had to skip one day of caregiving for Dad to attend the academy, so I consulted with Mom. But Mom told me not to worry about Dad and just go, no matter what. We even decided that I’d contribute to the caregiver’s expenses by reducing my allowance….”

“…….”

“…But why is Dad in the ICU?”

Ho-jae’s gaze finally shifted toward Yeon-jae. Large tears were brimming in Yeon-jae’s eyes.

“Is it really because I went to the academy instead of seeing Dad?”

Only then did Ho-jae realize he had pushed his younger brother too hard, when Yeon-jae must have been just as bewildered by the sudden news. Ho-jae’s expression softened.

“What if Dad dies because of me…?”

As Yeon-jae began to cry like a child, Ho-jae patted his back and let out a long sigh.

“…It’s not because of you. I went too far with what I said.”

“Waaaaah…….”

Shin Ho-jae stayed by Yeon-jae’s side for a long time as he wailed. Only after Yeon-jae’s sobbing had completely subsided did Ho-jae stand up and leave him.

As he walked aimlessly down the hallway, he felt the hospital’s characteristic smell and atmosphere weighing down on his shoulders.

The scent of disinfectant, the staff moving busily, patients with lethargic faces, a guardian weeping in front of an operating room, the sound of wheels rolling on an IV pole, the voice of someone on the phone with an insurance company…….

Despite having visited the hospital so often, these were things that were simply impossible to get used to.

The phone in his pocket vibrated a few times. Ho-jae took it out and checked the messages. They were worried messages from Du-min and Min-chul. Since he had left abruptly during training, both of them knew the situation.

Ho-jae hesitated for a moment, but in the end, he put the phone back in his pocket without writing a reply.

Even as a white lie, he couldn’t say his father’s condition was okay. Yet, he was afraid that telling the truth would be the same as admitting it.

When he opened the glass door leading to the outdoor garden, an open space with a wooden deck appeared. Only then did he feel the suffocating tightness in his chest ease a bit. Shin Ho-jae sat on an empty bench and stared blankly ahead.

To be honest, he had been slightly optimistic about the situation.

Even if a miracle didn’t happen and his father wasn’t fully cured, he thought the four of them could stay together like this for a long time.

That was why he had tried to ignore the fact that his father’s condition was gradually trending downward.

Whenever the children helped change his diapers, his father would tightly close the one eye that wasn’t paralyzed. As if it were too painful to watch.

Someone had once said that this disease was a terrible one, where a clear mind is trapped in a body that cannot follow. Because of that, the patient themselves suffered the most.

Was that how his father felt? Was that why he kept his eyes squeezed shut until the diaper change was finished?

Unlike the family, who grew more indifferent as time passed, his father must have found it unbearable.

Recently, his father had begun to mistake the faces of his family members for other people, or speak for long periods using unknown words and incomprehensible content.

Seeing his father speak so fluently in a language no one understood, filled with an unusual vitality, made Ho-jae’s heart sink every time.

It felt as if his father’s soul had gone to another time, another world, rather than here where his family was.

“So this is where you were.”

His mother sat down beside Ho-jae, clutching a cardigan that had begun to pill at the sleeves.

The two of them stared ahead in silence for a while. The branches planted for landscaping were bare and unsightly. It seemed autumn was coming to an end.

It was his mother who spoke first after a long silence.

“I think your father wants to be at peace now.”

“…….”

“That’s why I wonder if it happened while we weren’t here. I keep thinking that.”

“…Mom.”

“The doctor asked about organ donation. He said your father is on the donor registry. I don’t know when he secretly did that without saying a word.”

“…….”

“If that’s what Ho-jae’s dad wanted, we should do it. I tried to answer ‘Yes, we will,’ but I just couldn’t bring myself to say the words….”

His mother murmured blankly.

“They said the organs have to be removed while they’re still functioning for the transplant to work. But if they take them, what happens to your dad? Even if he’s unconscious, he’s still your father… my husband….”

He saw his mother tightly clench both hands resting on her thighs. Ho-jae wrapped his hands around hers. His mother’s hands were trembling slightly.

He felt a lump form in his throat.

As far as Ho-jae knew, his mother was a resilient person who always maintained a brave face, handling everything from his father’s care and communication with rehabilitation therapists and caregivers to running the convenience store and supporting him and his brother.

Even when Shin Yeon-jae suggested using his college tuition for their father’s treatment, she was the one who coldly said she didn’t want to hold onto their father by mortgaging her children’s futures, and that it would be better to let him go peacefully.

That was why Ho-jae thought his mother would accept the situation calmly when the time came.

But that was impossible.

Ho-jae hugged his mother’s back.

“Let’s stay with Dad just a little longer.”

“…Ho-jae.”

Tucked in his arms, his mother burst into tears. Ho-jae slowly rubbed her back, composing his own expression.

He could see that both his mother and Yeon-jae were breaking down under the sudden situation. Now more than ever, he had to keep his head straight.

＊＊＊

Visitation in the ICU was not free.

The time allotted to the family was a mere 20 minutes a day. Moreover, there was a limit on the number of people, so on days when other visitors came, it sometimes didn’t even get to Yeon-jae and Ho-jae’s turn.

Though unintentional, this resulted in the family having more personal time.

His mother, who was now able to sleep a bit longer, looked healthier, and Yeon-jae seemed more vibrant than ever, pouring his time into school and the academy. It was ironic.

It felt as if the family was practicing a life without their father, while keeping his unconscious body tethered to the earth.

Though no one said it aloud, they were probably all feeling the same thing.

Ho-jae quietly looked up at his father’s face, eyes closed with a nasal cannula inserted.

Since leaving for Canada at eighteen, he had never spent proper time with his father. At the time, he believed that was natural.

His father and mother were the type to rarely contact him during the season, saying it would be a burden, and he believed that working hard and achieving results was the way to meet his parents’ expectations.

There was one time his father had suddenly visited him in Canada.

Ho-jae had received his father’s call in the locker room after a game. His father had bought a ticket and come to watch the game in secret, without even mentioning he was in Canada.

Telling him he enjoyed the game, his father tried to leave immediately, but Ho-jae barely managed to hold him back and asked the event staff to escort him to the locker room.

His father, with a slightly flushed face, was holding a bag from the souvenir store. Even though uniforms could be given for free, he had gone out of his way to buy a number 86 jersey from the store.

Using awkward English, his father asked Ho-jae and his teammates for autographs. At the time, Ho-jae had found it embarrassingly sentimental and acted brusquely. Whenever his mother or Yeon-jae weren’t around, conversations between father and son were always like that.

Since there was another game the very next day, he parted ways with his father. His father said he had to return as he had only made a brief window of time during a business trip.

When he told his mother about it over the phone, she scolded him, asking if he hadn’t even had a meal with his dad, but he thought lightly of it, figuring he could make up for it during the long family vacation planned for a few months later.

That was the last time Ho-jae had seen his father healthy.

“Guardian. Visitation time is over.”

At the staff member’s words, Ho-jae looked up. Twenty minutes was too short. Even if you did nothing, it passed in an instant.

As he rose from the chair, the plastic guardian’s gown he was wearing made a rustling sound. He wore it for ICU visits.

“Please throw the mask, gown, and gloves in the trash can by the door.”

Ho-jae followed the staff’s instructions, thoroughly sanitizing his hands before exiting. His mother was waiting for him outside.

Even outside of regular visitation hours, his mother often stayed at the hospital for the chance to see his father briefly when he was taken for CT scans.

“Did you see Dad well?”

“Yeah.”

His mother’s voice was bright.

“The nurse here just told me there’s no other son who visits this often, and she was raving about how handsome my son is. Your dad must be feeling very proud thanks to you.”

Ho-jae gave a small smile and led his mother to the outdoor bench.

“I just remembered suddenly, where is that signed jersey?”

“Huh?”

“The Montreal Highlights jersey. When Dad came to Canada, he took one with my signature and other players’ signatures.”

His mother’s eyes widened as if she were hearing this for the first time.

“Was there such a thing? Is it important? I’ll look for it when I go home later.”

“Dad must have put it somewhere separate. No need to look for it. It’s not important.”

“Really? I organized Dad’s closet once, but I never saw anything like that….”

Ho-jae tilted his head in confusion. He had checked all of his father’s belongings one by one when they brought the electric bed into the house. Or perhaps he had given it to someone.

57 – Puck Drop