Hate to love you

Chapter 7

It wasn’t a beeping sound anymore.

It was a consistent ring now, loud and steady. There was no rhythmical periods of silence between the beeps. The line that accompanied the sound on the black screen, which was once riddled with irregular spikes, was now flat and constant, like the ring of the machine which came with it. The numbers on the screen next to the line had rapidly fallen until they came to rest on one digit.

0 bpm

0/0 mmHg

You remained still, muscles stiff despite the erratic beat of your heart, slowly feeling the weak grip on your hand loosen, never to return again.

It wasn’t a process you were unfamiliar with, having seen many patients pass away right before your eyes. But there was something about watching your mother’s eyelids flutter shut for the last time, not opening again to reveal her dark eyes, that made your world still, and your mind numb.

Distantly, you could hear your father’s sniffling, kissing your mother’s other hand again and again, his other hand clutching the sheets that clad her now lifeless body. You still didn’t move.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when the nurse finally came in, requesting you both to say your goodbyes so they could proceed with the next step. You stayed as you were, hand clutching hers, body hunched forward in your seat to rest your chin on the bed, head against her hip. Just twenty minutes ago, she had been running her hands through your hair, your scalp still tingling with the ghost of her touch. You wanted to stay that way, and the hope that the feeling of her fingers carding through your hair would remain with you kept you motionless.

A hand made contact with your shoulder, slowly rubbing it and moving down your arm. You felt fingers pull gently at yours to untangle them from your mother’s as lips touched your temple.

“You’re okay.” A voice whispered. “I’m here.”

Slowly, almost as if in a trance, your body was pulled up, legs buckling as soon as they felt the weight of your form. The grip on your arms tightened, an arm wrapping itself around your waist to hold you up. A warm, spicy, familiar scent filled your nose, eyes fluttering at the sensation. He pulled you away from the bed, gradually moving you closer to the door of the hospital room. You let him guide you, head rolling onto his shoulder as his own body helped you move, muscles still stiff and refusing to cooperate.

“I’m right here.” He whispered again, voice right next to your ear. You let your eyes fall shut then, feeling them burn.

Behind you, the constant ring stopped as the machine was turned off.

……………………

The entire day was a series of phone calls as relatives called you one by one to pay their condolences. After a few hours of it, the rest was a blur to you, your only memory of the day being your father’s tired voice droning on and on into his phone. The only constant of the day was the reassuring weight of a warm hand wrapped around your own, anchoring you to the ground so you wouldn’t float away. Occasionally, he would squeeze your hand, the change in sensation giving you the periodic reminder that you were alive, no matter how badly you wished you weren’t.

You didn’t know what exactly it was that made it click. Maybe it was the call your dad made to the funeral home. But suddenly, it was as if a switch had flipped in your head, making your lip tremble. Your mouth opened in a sharp gasp as it really hit you. Your mom was gone. She was gone and you would never see her again. You wouldn’t talk to her, or hold her hand, or hug her, or have her brush your hair. She was really, truly gone.