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The thing no one tells you about death is that even when you expect it, it still takes you by surprise. That no matter how many hours you spend preparing yourself for the possibility, no matter how many thoughtful conversations you had about it, it still tears at you and loses you your sense of security.
He was ready for his death the day he signed up at the academy, or so he thought. Back then he was just a kid of 18 trying to atone for a guilt he had no business carrying. Back then he was alone, and the thought of this made him even more anxious because alone felt peaceful. There was no chaotic home life, no alcoholic father or a defeated mother stolen by her faith instead of being grounded with it, and no resentful brother even under all the pleasantries. It was only him and his roommate at the academy's dorm, a stocky kid with a heart of gold named Matt.
Their training captain made sure they were aware of the consequences and told them the statistics, and although most of his class dismissed it as such, Bobby, fully aware of his own mortality, took it to heart. He draughted a will that very night.
Bobby was ready for his death; in fact, dying in an altruistic career felt like a redemption he had been longing for ever since he was 9 and took his first sip of whisky while the EMS took his father's body in the other room. So he readied himself; he prayed every time he went into a burning building while consciously believing that death will not be this bad.
He later wished for it.
When his pain became all-consuming, when the drugs barely did anything to lessen it. When the void in his heart started to get bigger and bigger and suddenly death was knocking on his door every time he mixed the painkillers with the whisky. Death misses him; it knocks on his door, and instead of Bobby finally accepting it with an embrace, relieved at being free now of all his sins, it skips him and takes the most precious people to him.
Letting him knocking until his hands bled, the sound of it falling on deaf ears, leaving him to earnestly supplicate to the Lord to take him too. To give back the pure and sinless being that is his sweet children and take away his corrupt soul. He figured out pretty quickly that the Good Lord was punishing his wickedness by allowing him to live instead of the lives he stole. That death was a mercy he did not earn.
Ever since, Bobby did not plan for his death; rather, he fought to earn it. Every time he crossed a name was a step closer to atonement, to paying penance for all his wrongdoings. How arrogant was he to think the Lord would accept his quid pro quo, that the Almighty had need for a mere man's pathetic attempt to erase his unforgivable deeds. Although the thought remained in his mind, his selfish desire for a forgiveness he might never attain kept him going, and with every name he crossed, his disdain for the face he saw in the mirror grew, and he could almost hear the disapproving scoff of Saint Michael that sounded a lot like his father.
Then came Athena, and with her, death didn't feel like the freedom he once thought because every day with her felt freeing. Every one of her gentle touches felt like another reason to live. Every smile she gave him felt like the Lord was finally giving him the forgiveness he knelt for at every prayer.
Being with Athena felt like he no longer had to make up for every breath he takes that many people could not. Amd he never took it for granted.
He could not but love her for every act of love that was lost because of him; he could not but find solace in her as she found in him. For the first time since that shot of whisky, Bobby did not feel like breathing was a burden.
So he lived instead of simply being alive.
He allowed himself love, friendship, companionship, and a family. He let himself be important in people's lives just as they were endlessly precious to his.
How stupid he was.
How naive.
How absolutely disgraceful.
He did not truly forget about the inevitability of his death; he just did not see it on the horizon anymore.
He did not feel it coming for him, knocking on his door; he did not hear the calls of Saint Michael until it was late and he was telling Buck that he loves him.
Until his wife, his most beloved, the mercy he never thought he would deserve stood there as he knelt in final prayer. Unable to reach him. Unable to touch him.
How fitting that his death would be in the opposite way his life was.
How his selfish acts were now replaced by his self-sacrifice doing the noble job he thought it was at 18.
He wonders in his last moments when his way of seeking death in search for redemption has become the way he felt alive.
As he lay on the ground, he was not at peace as he thought he would be. He had many regrets and many more reasons to live.
It took him his whole life; it took him his death to figure out that he wanted to live.