A litany of unsaid sentiments.
You see your entire life flash before your eyes one last time. From your first memory to your last, you are granted the mercy of living before you take your last breath and shut your eyes to this world forever. It is a peaceful, serene end, and you need not fear the reaper, for he is kind and gentle and guides you with a sure hand.
This was the accepted narrative of a person’s last moments before death. A widely recognized notion of an end of life, an end to an existence, an end meant to embrace one in warmth and offer deliverance from all pain and suffering. Death, so Ethan was told by both family and media, would be graceful and forgiving; he would not suffer, he would feel no remorse. He could accept his mortality free of regret and live on in the hearts of his loved ones until they were reunited in eternity.
The idea was definitely comforting, he could and would not fight that. The concept of death alone, so uncertain, so incomprehensible, was frightening -- to not know what lay behind, to be alone when the heart drummed its last beat, was quite unnerving to almost everyone Ethan knew, himself included. To him, a casual acceptance of death was bravery, one he had never been able to master himself, especially not after Colette.
Ethan’s end wasn’t playing out the way he had planned, dreamed, hoped it would. He was supposed to have another fifty years, that much he knew. He was supposed to be lying in a bed lined with silk sheets in the comfort of his beloved home, surrounded by his family, wife, children, grandchildren, and pass onto them one last wisdom as he took his final breath. That was the perfect death, in his opinion. It was one last moment out of his control but spent in love, and then -- then he’d be asleep, and he’d be free.
Instead, Ethan Hathaway IV lay on the ground in Amir’s grandiose new hotel among bodies dead and dying and realized he was becoming another statistic.
Where was his movie of his life?
As much as he had been looking over his shoulder, Ethan never thought he would be the one to go next. A cowardly part of his brain had toyed with the idea, had wished it would be him, so that he need not see his siblings’ corpses, cold and mutilated and defiled, as Colette’s had been. His sister’s death, the sight of her massacred body, refused to release him. Years had passed and yet, he thought of it every day. The image haunted him when he didn’t pay attention and tortured him when he did. How could a brother ever learn to live with such a crucial part of himself gone? By God, she had deserved better. Their father had deserved better. He deserved better. Better than the Russians, better than senseless violence. They deserved their extra fifty years.
His eyes wandered until they found Honor’s hiding spot. The one Ethan had urged her to get in and not move until this slaughter was over. An arm outstretched for it, he was a grotesque sculpture of a man’s last seconds spent lying in the pool of his own blood. She hadn’t been found yet -- good. It meant that him taking the attention and aggression had worked, and that the Russian’s focus was targeting solely Ethan.
If you just knew of the greatness that lies ahead of you. If you just knew how much we all love you. If I’d just told you more often.
Where were his memories? He was promised peace and serenity, a replay of his happiest moments in his final moments: His first day of school with Edward by his side; meeting Honor for the first time in the hospital; the party they had to celebrate Colette’s first day at work; his graduation day; watching Autumn walk free; holding Isabel in his arms shortly after she was born. Ethan knew that these memories slumbered in the back of his mind and he waited patiently for them to manifest in front of his eyes. They would, any moment now, they must, they must; despite his sins, he would be granted this kindness, this comfort, but...he lay in pain, he lay in coldness, and all he saw and continued to see was Honor’s hiding spot.
You’ve come so far, you’ve achieved so much, and I know you’ll continue to flourish. I hope you know how proud I am of you.
Ethan could not deny the countless regrets he had and that he would be taking them with him to his grave. So many things left unseen, unsaid, unheard -- this sharp cut to his story had so many loose ends, but they were what they were. He did not have the strength to fight for them even though he tried, tried, tried to live. It became difficult to keep his eyes open until it was impossible. It was impossible to focus on his breathing when his lungs collapsed in exhaustion. It was certain that he was dying when his heart grew weary from this struggle.
I wish you all the best. I wish you a happy life. I wish you love, peace, I wish you a hundred more years free of heartache and terror. I wish you’ll never have to think of this moment again.
They said that you see your entire life flash before your eyes one last time when you die. Ethan Hathaway wasn’t given this privilege.
I love you with all my heart. Please don’t forget this. Please don’t forget me.
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