The wind is gentle. It carries dead leaves across the empty park. No sounds of Edmonton traffic reach here, only the dulled noise of the intercom behind the sliding doors I walk out of. Pine trees fence in the patch of greenery, protecting it, the sun low enough to just peak through. The lone bench is hard but warm underneath me. 

Behind the bench lies grey concrete and storm clouds, hand sanitizer and fake smiles from the nurses. Hospitals were usually okay, a bit too white, but not today. 

The cigarette in my hand is halfway done, feeling heavy in between my fingers. I really should quit. I can't help but take another drag before crushing it under my shoe. A strange thought occurred to me, on this bench, I am safe. If I move, I won't be. 

My phone buzzes with a text, thankfully on silent or it would have disturbed my peace. I wish I kept my cigarette, at least I would have something for my hands to do, but I only have my thoughts. I sigh and take out my phone, seven unread messages glare at me. Several from my brother: where are you? Do you want to come back in? I miss you and it would nice of you to be here. And two from my mom: Come back, for me? I'm coming down. 

As though she sensed that I had read her texts, my mother walks through the doors and stands next to me. 

"You couldn't even stay for ten minutes?" She says, hands on her hips. 

"I can't," I reply, keeping my eyes down, I don't want to see how upset she is.

"We agreed to do this as a family if your brother can drive down from Calgary then you can be here for this."

"But its—"

"I know, but you promised."

"It's just so hard, mom."

My mom is in her late forties with a bad back, yet she sits down next to me and pulls me into her side. Unwillingly my eyes start to water, I don't want to do this. 

She rubs my arm and takes a breath, "We used to come here a lot when you and your brother were younger." I bury my head further into her side. I am unable to muster a reply. She turns her head towards me and continues, "your dad worried about every little scrape you both got."

My mom pauses when her voice catches, the wind rustles against the leaves gives her time to control her voice, "he would rush you guys down to the hospital so bundled up that you couldn't move and he wouldn't let you out until the doctor absolutely needed to examine you." 

The tears fall freely now, my mom sniffles a little and hugs me tight, "I remember another time when you got really sick before Halloween, he stayed with you the whole night, patting your head with a damp cloth and feeding you broth. When I said, 'she'll need some medicine', he drove to the pharmacy and came back with half of it."

She wipes my cheeks softly before squeezing me and getting up, "None of us want this, it's hard on everyone, but we promised him."

My legs shake as I stand, I grab my mom's outstretched hand to steady myself. My mom holds my hand as we get into the elevator and enter my dad's hospital room. My brother took my mom's vacant chair on the left side of the bed, holding my dad's hand. He looks up and wetly smiles. My mom's hand grips my wrist as we walk towards the centre of the room towards my dad. He looks sicker than when I stepped out, his breaths are shallow, but he still smiles at me when he sees me, "Hey Pumpkin."

"Hi Dad," I grab his other hand, "I'm sorry about before—"

"It's okay, I'm just happy that I'm the first to go out of the family, I don't think I could do this for anyone of you." If his breath catches than he ignores it and closes his eyes. 

When my brother's lip quiver and my mom lean heavily on me, I realize that some promises I need to keep.