Circles

"And whisper to their souls to go" - John Donne

And whisper to their souls to go,

I hit the tiles - the bone-chilling cracking sound reverberating around the tiny room – I wasn’t feeling any pain, just shock. Lying on the horrid stained tiles I looked up; taking in the white walls, the nimble, silvery bed frame, the cheap black plastic chair of the place I tried to avoid, and the people. Mournfully they surrounded the bed. Peering past them I was engulfed by an overwhelming feeling of loss.

It was me; my expression calm, body frail and features gaunt, chest slowly rising and falling. All around was sobbing and weeping. There stood my family. I saw my sister; untidy, blonde hair falling over her face, soaked with tears. I tried to touch her but my hand slid through the air. I did the same for my parents, grasping where I should be able to feel their shoulders.

“I’m here. Look it’s me, you can stop crying.” I said, but my words didn’t reach them.

“Look at me!!” I exclaimed, still they ignored me.

“I’m right here!” I screamed. “Is everyone blind?”

A man walked in; tall and handsome, wearing a white coat with a name tag. “Dr C. Malone” it read. He coughed and my family looked up, hopeful – as if expecting the doctor to have a miracle cure.

“It isn’t good news,” he said, his voice serious. “The oxygen deprivation her brain suffered was severe and has caused some brain damage. The possibility of her waking up is unlikely, and if she does, there is no telling if she will be able to walk, speak, or remember anything at all.” He truly did look sad to say this, but I guess he faced similar situations all the time.

My mother collapsed into Dad’s arms. My sister took my hand, and held on tight. I tried talking again, wanting them to hear me.

“What’s going on? I’m right here! Listen to me!”

Silence.

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Line from poem at top is from "A Valedictation of Mourning" By John Donne.