If I fall forward
You fall flat
And if the sun should lift me up
Would you come back?
~"C'mon", Panic! at the Disco and Fun
Two lines.
Plain as day.
There was no denying it.
My heart raced. And in the shock of the moment, it was separated into two halves: One part said Yes, yes finally, and the other said No I am not ready for this no no no.
Both parts, however, agreed on one thing: The immediate course of action to take.
I opened my mouth and screamed.
I dropped the pregnancy test onto the floor.
...
You were exhilarated. When I told you, you didn't look scared or worried. Instead you congratulated me, eyes shining.
I miss the way those eyes shone.
Before It took you.
I, on the other hand, did not have much faith in myself. I was twenty-eight at the time, but I didn't feel ready. I was scared. No, I was terrified.
When I look back on that time, I regret it. Worrying was no use at all. Despite the anxiety writhing its way around and around my brain, I remember it as one of the best periods of my life.
Because that was the last time I got to enjoy life, right before everything went to hell.
...
It started with cough.
You had been coughing for more than three weeks. I had told you to see a doctor, but you brushed it off, saying it was nothing.
You ran out of arguments when you started coughing up blood.
We went to the hospital. I sat, hands clenched tightly in my lap, as the doctor explained the kind of blood tests you had to go through. I nodded every five seconds. Stiff.
There were needles. I remember lots and lots of needles. I couldn't remember how many. I could, however, remember that each time you were pricked, I held on tightly to you and you didn't cry.
Less than a month later we were called back. The doctor invited us to his small office. His face was pale, unreadable.
And then he started to speak. His voice was careful, steady, kind, and calm. And then I heard about It. And then I couldn't hear anything anymore, because there was a loud ringing voice in my head but surely the doctor wasn't still talking? His mouth moved and moved but I couldn't hear a thing. Not a thing. And then for some reason the walls glowed brighter and brighter, and in this clean office where everything was white and white, the sheer nothingness of the colour was choking me and I couldn't breathe. Why couldn't I breathe? The room swirled around gathering into a single point. Black and white dots flickered in front of my eyes like an old movie. I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't think.
And then I looked to you, like I always did when I felt like this. But then my chest and throat tightened all the more.
I needed to escape. So I stood up and walked out of the room.
Outside the hospital was a garden, where butterflies danced and the sweet smell of roses filled the air. I sat on a bench and realised that I was panting. I'd been running all this while. My eyes stung.
I don't know how long I sat there. All I know is that you came, eventually, like I knew you would. I always knew you would come after me.
Looking back, I guess my reaction was pretty selfish. It was, technically, your problem, but you were a great deal calmer than me.
Or maybe you were just pretending. For my sake.
You held my hands in yours. And I looked into your eyes, those exact same eyes that I had fallen in love with all those years ago, and felt like this was the first time I was seeing you again, young and whole and pure.
The words that came out of your mouth spoke of hope and happiness and a future, everything that I so longed to have. We will get through this, you said.
And because it was what I wanted to hear, I believed you.
...
Once the flame of hope has been lit, it is hard to extinguish. The fire carried me through my day-to-day activities, smiling and laughing like everything was okay.
I knew we were soon to be joined by a little angel. She would rest peacefully, sucking her tiny thumb, a fruit of our marriage. It would be an extra delight in a already blissful life, like the vanilla in a coke float. I knew that we would adore her, raise her up to be a sweet young lady.
For a long time, the flame burned bright in my heart.
Then began the slow downward climb. You stopped leaving the house. The coughing got more and more frequent. Several times, I had had to rush you to the hospital at three in the morning because you'd just thrown up blood.
In the end, hope destroyed me. The small glimmer that said you would get better, praying, wishing. Hoping. I set my expectations. I wanted them to be met. I wanted this to be the part in the movies where the music swells as the doctors announced that yes, you were free of It. I wanted. I needed.
But life isn't a movie.
And not all stories have happy endings.
You'd been in the hospital for a month. I slept in chairs every night, ate from the hospital canteen, showered by rubbing a wet cloth on myself. I still had to take care of myself. I had an unborn child to worry about.
The doctor came in, and I looked up, and I saw the expression on his face. And I knew. I knew what he was going to say before he even said it.
Goodbye. The saddest of all words.
When I entered you were lying down, eyes closed. Breaths ragged and hard. You opened your eyes as I walked in.
I was the only one there. Both your parents had died years ago, and you had no siblings. You only had me. And our baby.
In our last moments together we recalled together the memories we had so long ago. Your leaving. Our reunion. The proposal. We smiled, once again young teenagers in love.
Outside, far, far away, the golden sun burned red-gold as it made its way towards the horizon. We began at sunrise and ended at sunset. You and me, together, tangled in the strings of our love.
Take care of her, you whispered, fingers brushing my swollen stomach.
I knelt so that our foreheads touched. I looked into your eyes.
You lived as you died.
Together, we spoke the words.
I love you.
...
Ellipses.
Used to show an omission in a sentence. Those three dots, seen when the narrator or a character in a book trails off.
I love you.
Here is the cold, hard truth: It wasn't fair. You had a future and a family planned ahead of you, and It snatched that all away. Life is unfair. That is how it is, and there's nothing we can do about it.
I love you.
And yes, as I stared into your eyes for the last time, I couldn't help but think that you had so much taken away from you. Omission.
I love you.
And yes, as you closed your eyes for the last time, as the heart monitor made the long, long beeep sound, I couldn't help but think that it was the ellipses at the end of the short sentence of your life.
I love you...
