When Does This End?

Every time I think I’m better, I’m not. I held your hand while you died. My head was on your chest. I heard your last heartbeat and watched you take your last breath. Your skin turned white and cold. The muscles in your body relaxed; the nerves still twitched even though you were gone. I watched the pain go away. It gave me peace, but now I can never forget it…me kissing your face and saying, “You can go. It’s ok. We’re all going to be ok.” 

The ride in the ambulance where I said my goodbyes while being forced to sign DNR papers…having the EMT tell me “I’m sorry for your loss” before we even got out to go in the house. It hurt, but I couldn’t be upset about the inevitable truth I would face moments later. 

At least I got to say goodbye. You got to go your own way in your own time. After everyone left the house, I slept alone there that night. Most of the time I feel just as alone as I did then. Now I’m trying to move on. Slowly but surely I’m getting there, but the details of you leaving still linger. 


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