Author's note: The song that appears in this fic is Walls(We Are Not Forgotten) by Judy Collins. It's a very powerful song, not just the words, but the music along with it. If you can, try to find it on Real Audio or MP3, because it's truly amazing.
Vigil
As I have always done when I sit down at Piccolo's bedside, I look at his face, which seems to be the only part of him that remained the same. My eyes traverse the point of his chin to the sharp curves of his withered lips, which are currently agape to reveal gleaming white fangs. Moving on, I study the rhythmic flaring of his nostrils as he breathes, marveling at the point of his nose before allowing my gaze to rest on the gentle curving lines of his closed eyes, which lie in the shadows cast by his well-defined, frowning eye-ridges. Drooping to his brow, his withered antennae bear the likeness of dead plants, so sad and weak.
I find it hard to believe that someone so powerful, so brave, could become more helpless than his own infant son. Little Doramu…I can remember the first time I saw him in Piccolo's arms, all wrapped up like a little angel and sound asleep with his little lips agape in a slow yawn. His tiny hands were folded one atop the other in the blankets surrounding him, the wrinkled fingers seeming impossibly tiny. So innocent…so beautiful… Now Piccolo looks the same way, stretched out under the white sheets. He hasn't been conscious for at least twenty-four hours, and I know death is holding him in its arms. All he has to do is allow himself to be carried away, and the suffering will end.
While I watch over Piccolo, I ponder why I fell for him so swiftly. Maybe it's the way he's so quiet and collected, yet vulnerable at the same time. Every time I would look into the black depths of his eyes, I would see something new. One moment, I could see the night sky, the next, I would see a shifting storm, and the next one after that, I would see a sunrise. Yet, hidden beneath all that beauty, there was a small lonely child, lying naked in the cold.
As my thoughts float around my mind like stray clouds on a sunny day, I lower my hand to grasp one of his. It is cold, as cold as death, so I press my lips to it and rub my hands over the skin to return the warmth for a little while. Piccolo doesn't respond to the touch, not even a twitch.
Before the illness put him into a coma, I can remember how, for no reason at all, he would just reach over and take my hand while I was sitting at his bedside. But now, I'm the one who must reach for him.
My other hand finds its way to his cheek, cupping it gently. Even his face is cold, despite the fact that he's under the sheets all the time. Lowering my face to his, I gently kiss his sharp cheekbone and say, "I miss you…I miss hearing your voice and seeing your eyes…" Then I move my hand away from his face and use it to gently massage the warmth back into his limp arms and shoulders.
We are not forgotten!
The rhythm of his breathing changes as he draws in a deep breath and his lips slowly close. I look down to find him staring up at me from behind the endless black depths, which reflect flashes of Eternity.
He isn't conscious, because he would have spoken otherwise, and I find it eerie that a person can be unconscious with their eyes open. Perhaps he heard me, and is allowing me to see his eyes one more time. But can he see me too?
Listen to my heart,
look into my eyes.
I have seen the stars
falling from the skies.
"Piccolo," I breathe and carefully stroke his brow with the palm of my hand, "Everything is alright…I'm right here." Once again, I lower my face closer to his until his mouth is covered with mine. Though I get no response, I know he can feel it, and I allow his hand to rest on his chest as I leave the room to get a good night's sleep.
Listen to my fears,
yours will lift and fly.
Let me show you where
I have touched the air.
Krillin, Yamcha, Tien and Bulma have just finished visiting with Piccolo. I can tell they were saying their goodbyes by observing their expressions as they left the room. Bulma is in tears, Yamcha's eyes are downcast, Krillin is standing off by himself and Tien is unusually quiet. None of them are speaking to each other.
Stories from the past,
each as true as mine.
We can speak at last
through the sands of time.
Not wanting Piccolo to be alone, I head into the room and sit down on the edge of the bed, taking his icy hand in mine. Gently petting his long, bony fingers with the palm of my hand, I marvel at the contrasts in skin color for a moment before I lean down to press my lips to his brow.
We are not forgotten anymore!
"Your hand is cold," I tell him gently, switching from stroking his fingers to rubbing warmth into his hand. His fingers are taking on an ashen tone, the base of his fingernails becoming slightly blue. My heart begins to break, because I'm just now realizing he's really going downhill. I don't think he'll survive another two hours. This also brings another realization: I myself haven't let go yet, and I feel pain growing in my heart as I begin to speak softly, "I love you, Piccolo… And I want to thank you for coming to us in your time of need. You changed my son's life as well as mine. You're a very good, kind and loving man, even if you don't realize it." I pull his hand up to my face and kiss it softly as tears escape down my cheek. It's like kissing ice, and it feels as if the ice is freezing my lips as I whisper, "I'll miss you…"
These are things I know,
trampled fields of snow
Sheets of falling rain,
hope that conquers pain.
Silence settles for the period of one heartbeat. Then, the hand I am holding slowly twitches a few times before the icy, bony fingers slowly close around mine. Fearing my mind is playing tricks on me, I turn my head to find Piccolo staring at me with crystalline tears streaming down his jade cheeks. His eyes shine like gems in the light of his pain, and his lower lip trembles violently as he manages to find his soft, scratchy voice, "ChiChi…please hold me…"
Souls that call again
in my memory,
through the veils of light
falling on the sea.
I am shocked for a moment. In all the time I have known him, I have never seen Piccolo show any emotion other than the rare smile or sneer. He never spoke of what he was feeling, always seeking seclusion when times were difficult. But now I can see right into his soul, and I can see he is afraid. His heart seeks release of all the repression and restraints he has put upon it. I can't deny him this last freedom.
Letters wrapped in love,
lips pressed in my dreams.
Holy thoughts and brave
men who laugh and weep.
I place one hand under his head, slip my other arm around his shoulders and gently lift his upper body the way I would lift a newborn child, but I'm pretty sure even a newborn is stronger than him now. Piccolo says nothing as my arms wrap around him; he just turns his head, buries his face in my chest and bursts into sobs that cause his body to tremble as all the walls around his heart crumble. I can almost feel the weight lifting from his shoulders as the tears pour from his eyes.
We are not forgotten anymore!
I am the face on the wall,
Spirit of hope ever rising
I am the prayer in your heart for peace!
Gently, I lower my head until my cheek rests on the top of his head, and I rock him back and forth like a small child. Almost on its own accord, my hand moves to pet the back of his head, and a low hum emanates from my throat as I try to comfort him.
Nothing can protects us like a wall.
From our foes,
from our fears.
After several moments, Piccolo's cries choke off and stop just as suddenly as they started, but tears are still flowing. Even though he's silent, I continue to hold him. He turns his head again, lying it on my shoulder to rest, and I continue rocking him gently until his tears have stopped flowing. Then, with the same gentle care I used before, I help him to lie down again and pull the blankets up around his bony frame to keep him warm.
Nothing can be broken like a wall.
By our hopes,
by our tears.
Piccolo's eyes stay locked with mine, his lips parted as he struggles to speak. He makes several attempts before finally whispering, "ChiChi…I love you…"
It's so quiet I almost miss it, but when the words sink in, they go right to my heart. I have to cover my mouth to keep myself under control, but the tears rush up anyway to form hot trails down my cheeks, and I gulp to keep myself from bursting into sobs. Then I lean down and brush my lips over his forehead, his cheek and finally his lips. This is the last kiss we'll ever share, and I know he knows it too. It is a passionate moment, the way our tongues play together. He always kisses me that way, with his soft velvety tongue, but this one lasts so much longer and held a billion times more meaning than any other kiss we ever shared. In a split second's time during the kiss, I have a brief vision of us lying in the same bed, hopelessly entangled among the sheets, and I wonder if he's transmitting a stray thought from his mind to mine.
The kiss comes to a slow end, I gaze into his eyes and quietly say, "I love you too…"
We learn all too well,
hard as you may try.
There are days you win,
there are days you die.
Piccolo and I stare into each other's eyes for another long eternity before I see his eyes flutter, and I hold his hand gently as his eyes slide almost completely shut. It is kind of creepy the way they stay open a slit.
Needing to regain control of my emotions, I head into my own room and burst into tears. It is almost as if all the tears Piccolo cried were transferred to me, and now I must empty the pain away.
Having seen the war,
we can speak of peace.
How we prayed all night
for the dawn's release.
"Mom? What is it?" Gohan's voice bursts through the silence like a knife through butter, and I turn to face him through the veil of tears. "Piccolo…he woke up while I was there. He broke down in tears and told me to hold him…" I take little Doramu into my arms and kiss his face gently as Gohan's comforting arms wrap around me. "And he told me he loved me…" The last sentence brings more emotions to the surface, just because of the depth of what Piccolo must have been feeling is touching me so deeply.
A kiss is pressed gently into my hair, and I hear Gohan's voice quiver, "…and he meant it too, mom."
"Gohan…"
"Yeah?"
I take a deep breath, "You have to go in there and tell him it's alright for him to go. Piccolo is suffering, Gohan, and…" More sobs cause my voice to crack, because I know that what I'm about to say is going to add to his distress, "…I think he wants you to give him permission to die."
"No!" Gohan's voice cracks, "No…I can't…he means too much to me…"
Did we all come home,
did we turn the page?
Now, I have to be my hard-nosed self. Gohan wants Piccolo to stay, and I can understand that, but now he's getting a little selfish. Piccolo is suffering on his deathbed, crying for freedom from his pain, yet he won't let go until he knows Gohan is alright. That means Gohan has to let him go. "This isn't about Piccolo, Gohan. This is about you. You have to tell him it's alright to pass on. He's tired and he's in pain…" I shift Doramu in my arms in order to stop him from playing with the buttons on my kimono. "Say goodbye to him, Gohan. Show him how much you love him by letting him go in peace."
Silence passes between us for several long seconds before I hear Gohan say, "He…he's tired, isn't he? I think he'd like to rest…"
I nod my head and cup his face gently with my palm, then follow him as he goes into the room where Piccolo is lying. Piccolo's breathing has gotten shallower since I was last in there with him, so my suspicions about him are correct. I can hear the death-rattle in the form of congestion…there isn't much time. Tell him, Gohan. Tell him now.
There are walls of joy,
there are walls of rage.
Gohan starts to speak softly, but I can't hear what he is saying, and I briefly turn my attention to Doramu. Doramu peers up at me with eyes identical to his father's, and I can see a strange understanding in his young features. I think he knows his father is leaving him.
When I lift my head again, Gohan is dressing Piccolo in his regular attire. Piccolo must have asked for it, and I'm pretty sure he's trying to maintain some of his dignity. I really don't blame him…the poor guy has to wear diapers, and his leggings are baggy enough to hide that.
Walls at which you weep,
walls on which you dance.
After Piccolo is clothed, Gohan makes the bed sit up so his dying friend can breathe easier, and I watch them lock eyes for the last time. Then Piccolo's eyes slowly close, and I know he will not regain consciousness ever again. I think Doramu knows too, because he hasn't made a sound.
I take two steps into the room and stop, forcing myself not to sob as tears flow freely down my face. The room is so silent I can hear Piccolo's gurgling breaths as they become weaker and further apart. He's letting go now, letting death carry him away. I can feel it.
Walls made of regret,
walls you meet by chance.
Gohan starts to sing something into Piccolo's ear, and I walk closer so I can comfort him. At the same time, I lower Doramu into Piccolo's lap, then hold one of his arms around the small infant. If anything, I want Piccolo to hold his son one last time. The movement shifts Piccolo's upper body slightly, and he stops breathing for a moment before starting a series of slow labored breaths.
In the silence, Gohan presses his cheek to Piccolo's, keeps a finger on his pulse and squeezes his hand fiercely. Doramu doesn't even move, and I can see one of his tiny hands grasping the folds of his father's shirt. I keep my eyes fixed on Piccolo's face, listening intensely to each breath he takes, knowing one of them will be his last.
Again, it grows silent.
Walls that break you heart,
walls through which you see.
Suddenly, Piccolo sucks in a sharp breath and exhales slowly. I feel my heart pounding for reasons I don't understand as he draws in a smaller breath. There's another long pause before I hear him barely suck in a breath at all. Another heartbeat of tense silence passes before I hear him slowly exhale, the sound taking a long time to finally fall silent. For a split second, I see his eyes twitch wildly under his eyelids, but they soon go completely still. No more breaths follow, but I listen anyway, even as I feel a cool breeze pass me and head towards the opposite wall, and I have this brief vision of Piccolo walking away with his white cape blowing in the wind.
Time seems to stop completely, like a moment captured forever in a photograph. Nothing moves or makes a sound as death quietly walks away with Piccolo cradled safely in its arms. Whatever journey people make when they go towards a light, Piccolo is already there…I'm sure he's probably merging with Eternity right now.
Walls made in your mind,
walls that set you free!
Then, all at once, the stillness slowly begins to shift as time starts once more. Gohan slowly slips his hand away from Piccolo's throat, straightens and lowers his head. I lean down, cup the green man's face gently in my palm and kiss his cheek, kissing him goodbye. Through the corner of my eye, I see Doramu's head popping up as he blinks and stares at his father's face, and he is the first to break the silence by bursting into a wail.
Doramu's cries are distressed, panicked. I start to sob as well as I take the baby into my arms to comfort him. Gohan bursts into sobs as well, and I see him cradling Piccolo in his arms.
We are not forgotten anymore!
I slowly leave the room in a daze with Doramu cradled in my arms. My mind doesn't want to work…I've just watched a person die for the first time in my life. I wasn't there during my mother's last moments because I was too young to understand what was happening.
When I come to my senses, I find myself in the living room with Tien, Yamcha, Bulma, Trunks and Krillin all looking at me. I can see the question in their eyes, so I control myself just long enough to answer it simply with, "He's gone…" Shocked by my words, all of them stand in silence, staring at the floor. Then, one by one, they approach and embrace me. I didn't expect or ask for this comfort, but I'm grateful for it because I truly needed it.
Bulma borrows the telephone to call Vegeta and tell him Piccolo has died. I go back into the room to find Gohan still cradling Piccolo in his arms. Knowing how badly he's hurting, I shift Doramu over to my other arm, sit down on the edge of the bed and extend my hand to brush against Gohan's cheek. My hand lowers to rest on Piccolo's cheek next, my thumb brushing across his withered lips.
I am the face on the wall!
My voice cracks when I finally manage to whisper into his ear, "Goodbye, Piccolo…sleep well."
I look down at Doramu to find him staring at his father. He has long-since stopped crying, leaving wonder if he even understands what is going on. Then, all of a sudden, he lifts his tiny hand and waves to Piccolo while making a little noise with his throat at the same time. He was waving goodbye.
About an hour goes by before Gohan will even let go of his beloved friend. At one point he told me to get more blankets because he knew Piccolo hates the cold.
Spirit of hope ever rising!
The people from the funeral home are arriving right now, and I try to get Gohan out of the room so they can come in. He won't leave, and I don't realize why until I see him lifting Piccolo into his arms to carry him out. Now I understand…he's preserving Piccolo's dignity, right up to the end.
I watch in silence as Gohan walks outside with Piccolo cradled so gently in his arms, and I catch one last glance at his face as he is carried by. People have often told me that death does strange things to people's faces, but I find that Piccolo has the same calm expression as the one he often showed during meditation. So calm and without pain.
This is what Piccolo wanted, and I watch Gohan carry his beloved friend's empty shell in his arms as he slowly passes through the door. At the same moment, in my mind, I envision death carrying Piccolo the same way, and I realize he'll be alright. Wherever he went, he's safe.
I am the prayer in your heart for peace!
In my arms, Doramu shifts and peers up at me with his endlessly black eyes. I can see Piccolo there too, hidden in his childlike gaze. When he grows up, he's going to be identical to his father…maybe that's what Piccolo wanted so Gohan wouldn't suffer too much, but who knows? All I know is that where something ends, something else begins. Piccolo taught me that lesson through Doramu, and I could never be more thankful.
The van drives away with Piccolo safe inside, and Gohan returns to my side. Doramu reaches out towards him, so I let Gohan take him for awhile.
Within the matter of a few seconds, Doramu makes Gohan smile, and Piccolo's goodbye is complete.
For peace!