The Firefly

50°

I held his hand tightly.

Standing by the side of the bed, I looked at him, tightening my lips.

His eyes were closed, but his expression peaceful.

I spoke to him, whispered that I was there, begged him to hold on.

My voice rasped in my throat, my temples pounding.

Matthew, on the other side of the white bed, was doing the same.

Hiding the pain behind a forcibly calm voice, I could hear how it tore at him from the inside.

Jake, behind me, was still out of breath from the run he had made from the hospital parking lot to the room.

He dared not utter a word; he merely stroked my back discreetly.

The doctors' words echoed in my head like a swarm of wasps.

Because of that sudden worsening of his condition, Uncle Barnaby's sleeping face didn't hint at the slightest intent to wake up, but giving up was not in my intentions.

I would have stayed there for hours, for days if only it would have helped him open his eyes again.

His face, furrowed by the wrinkles that told the stories of a life fully lived, was pale and fragile.

I could feel the weight of farewell in the air, and my heart broke with each of his increasingly labored breaths.

Deep in my heart, I knew it was time to let him go, to allow him to find the peace he so richly deserved.

With despair I found myself staring at the monitor in search of relief, but the slow alternation of little rings had been echoing in that room for far too long.

My gaze fixed itself on his face, taking note of every line, every feature I had memorized over the years.

I wanted to remember him that way, serene and at peace. I let the tears slide freely down my cheeks, not bothering to hide them.

It was my way of showing him the love I felt, of showing him that he would always remain in my heart.

Then the rings became one, and one last breath grazed his lips.

His closed eyes remained still, and an absolute silence spread through the room. His soul had risen, leaving his lifeless body.

It felt as if the ground was crumbling beneath my feet, but when I felt Jake's alarmed touch on my shoulders I knew I had collapsed for real.

Like searing acid, tears began to run down the contours of my face.

I heard Jake call to me, felt the gentle touch of his hands on my cheeks.

I did not listen to him, abandoning myself in the hope that it was all a horrible dream.

I felt my eyes burning, a hammer beating on my temples.

I screamed.

In a desperate voice, with uncontrolled crying and the pain working its way through every fiber of my being.

I did not hear the priest speak.

My eyes were lost in the void as people, many I had never seen, kept coming toward me.

Women were hugging me and men were squeezing my hand in support.

Moist lips rested on my forehead, kissing it.

I could barely feel the fine rain on my skin as muted, pained murmurs filled the place.