Love isn't easy

Chapter 2: July 7, 2028

July 7, 2028

Mattheo has been dead for twenty-three days. That's five hundred and fifty-two hours. It's three thousand three hundred and twelve minutes. It's also one million nine hundred eighty-seven thousand two hundred seconds.

One million nine hundred eighty-seven thousand two hundred one seconds.

One million nine hundred eighty-seven thousand two hundred two seconds.

One million nine hundred eighty-seven thousand two hundred three seconds.

Lisa knows exactly how long it has been because she's been counting. She has laid in her stiff, narrow hospital bed and done the math because she has to keep her brain busy somehow. Thinking about anything but the numbers is almost unbearable so Lisa counts. Lisa counts and doesn't speak. She hasn't said a word in days.

—

Lisa stayed in the ICU for nineteen days. Roseanne had always believed school minutes, gym minutes, and labor minutes were the longest anyone could ever experience. During the past two and a half weeks she has discovered they were nothing compared to "your wife is in intensive care" minutes. Those didn't come close to "your wife is in surgery" minutes. She was pretty certain they could never beat "she's not breathing, we need the crash cart" minutes.

Roseanne had a lot of things on her "worst" list before the police knocked on her door that random summer night. Nineteen days later, Roseanne was now positive she had been clueless about what "worst" can really mean in someone's life.

—

Going by the conversations she's overheard, Lisa was aware that she had been in and out of surgery most of her time here. Lisa understood that she had been permanently sedated for most of the first nineteen days of her stay in intensive care. Lisa knew this was day nineteen days because on day fifteen, when she was finally lucid enough to be coherent, she noticed the day on the bottom right corner of the television. It seemed like the news was all that has been on that screen since she woke up so the ever-running clock on the twenty-four hour station helped her keep track of time.

Lisa distinctly remembers waking up after they had reduced her morphine. It was seared into her memory but not because of the almost unbearable pain she could feel in what seemed like every inch of her body. The reason Lisa will never be able to expunge that moment from her memory bank was because of Roseanne's face. Lisa had forced herself to lift her head and look around the room and that's when she found Roseanne hovering a few feet behind the doctor that was taking her vitals. Lisa took one look at Roseanne's expression, she needed all but one second to read the empty look in Roseanne's eyes, and she knew. One glance at her wife's face and she was able to understand exactly what had happened in the garage that night. Suddenly, it had all come rushing back. Lisa recalled the way his gawky body hit the ground at almost free-fall speed. She could smell the blood and how in an instant it was everywhere. Lisa recalled and then she knew.

Her son was dead.

All it took was for Lisa to make eye contact with Roseanne and the thing she feared the most in life was a reality again. She lost someone she loved. Lisa didn't have to be told, she just knew.

As soon as the doctors left the room they tried to talk to her. Everyone did. They stood by her bed and said words, words that Lisa filtered out because she had no interest in them. She remembers Roseanne trying to explain what happened. Her sister couldn't talk about anything else except how the investigation is going. Her friends apologized and shared well wishes. Lisa didn't need to hear any of that. Lisa didn't care. Lisa stopped caring about everything after she read Roseanne's face.