What would you have me say?

Ah, the extraordinary from which I glean substance.



Aviva

In two months time, they had already taken half of your leg. And, your decision to give your eyes had been made, all the arrangements confirmed.

Your veins carried the bits and pieces of your death. Broken off from the center of your gut and pumped through your body by your two-timing heart. The debris collected in the narrows to strangle your extremities. Passageways filled and clogged. Backing up, they would finally find their way to your heart which, by that time, would be too exhausted to push any further.

You were one minute shivering with cold, the next ripping with heat. The cold hand towel placed on your forehead and the morphine on demand were your only physical relief. But the tricks that chemical played on your mind, bringing ghosts to your bedside, became your greatest emotional comfort. You claimed “She’s standing right there.” Obviously, no one else could see her she had been dead for ten years. But eavesdropping on your conversations provided insight into your fear.

"I just want to know why."

"I know, but I'm just not ready yet and I don’t want to be afraid."

"Because I don't want it to end."

While in reality, he stood tirelessly by your side. Always ready for whatever you needed, and there was never a hint of frustration, never a moment that could have been construed as forced. He was in no way put out as he took over some of the nurse’s duties relieving you of any more embarrassment. All for the things he already knew. It was his most selfless act, but at the same time provided him relief from deadful thoughts. Without question or consideration, he cared for you, cleaned you, changed your clothes, your catheter, the colostomy.

Because it was all he could do.

Along with that came the visitors, myself included, each lost in their attempts to find meaning in what seemed incomprehensible. They stumbled to find the right words to reply to your pleas of "I don't want to die." Wanting to ease your pain and take your mind off of death, they attempted small talk. When all you really wanted was someone to agree with you, take your hand and say "I know and I don't want you to die, either."

The swift destruction was overwhelming. All the poison they pumped into you, and the painful, awkward experimental treatments, failed. You had been through enough.

Then finally, “Let me bring her home.”

They delivered your hospital bed the day before you died. I know because I was there, for both. It remained by the large bedroom window, unmade and unused, for several weeks. It sat to reinforce the loss.






p.s. there is a time and a place for everything and that is neither.