216 Hours | #LoveinTragedy

first month

9 days.

216 hours.

12,960 minutes

777,600 seconds

We were meant to have forever.

My heart broke clean in two, the first second I received the phone call.

Since then, all the days had merged into one, days turned into nights, mornings to evenings. I didn't care.

His head lay peacefully on the freshly fluffed pillows, his body swallowed up by the blankets. Long lashes fanned the tops of his sunken cheeks, his skin was so translucent that the superficial veins had begun to peak through. I gently stroked his hair and kissed his cheek.

The only sound that filled the room was the heart rate monitor beating steadily.

He would wake up soon, I was certain of it, he had to and I had to be there when he did. He would come back to me, like he promised me before going to work everyday. He loved his work, I would never hold it against him. 

His friends had offered their condolences and brought flowers. He would want us to remain positive, they said.

"Hey," I said softly, tears leaking from the corner of my eyes. "I missed you. Sorry I had to leave. I had to go check on your parents, they're coming later to celebrate with us, but I got you something you can have first."

I pulled out a small pink cardboard box.

"It's chocolate peanut butter, your favourite," I said, smiling sadly at the cupcakes. "We're not allowed to light candles here, unfortunately," I forced a laugh.

I placed each cupcake on a plate and placed an unlit candle on his.

"Happy birthday," I whispered and placed the plate in both his hand. "Make a wish."

I know what I would wish for and I had been wishing for it for the past 216 hours.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"How's he doing?"

I looked up to find his parents standing in the doorway with multicoloured balloons. His mother and father's faces mirrored mine, puffy eyes, unkempt hair and pure exhaustion written across both their faces. They looked like they hadn't slept properly in days. I didn't blame them, I hadn't either.

"The same," I said softly, my hand still clasped around his, stroking the back of his hand with my thumb.

His mother pulled a chair over beside me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. His father sat on the other side of his bed, looking solemnly at his son.

"He will be ok," she said, rubbing my shoulder. "He's strong."

I didn't know if she was trying to convince me or herself.

"He should wake up soon. After two weeks..." my voice trailed off. I couldn't say it.

The unspoken words hung like dark clouds over our heads. I gripped his mother's hand tighter, silently reassuring her that everything would be ok. I had to be strong for the both of them, if I crumbled, I was sure I would bring them down with me.

The doctors had told us the expected timeline more than a week ago. After two weeks, the odds weren't in our favour.

Few words were spoken after that, words were insignificant, nothing needed to be said. We wept in the silence.

The only time I got up was when we ran out of tissues.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

14 days

336 hours

20,160 minutes

1,209,600 seconds

Still a small part of me was fuel with hope. Hope that the doctors would be wrong and that movie endings were realistic, but time was against us. People said time could heal wounds, but how could time heal wounds it created itself?

"Do you want to watch something with me?" I asked him, then switched on the TV.

Drunk Driver Kills Family of Four 

I immediately switched the TV off, gasping for air.

I gripped my head between my hands, trying to ease the pain. My head pounded, the beeping sound from the heart rate monitor seemed to grow louder. My vision blurred, I stumbled forward and tried to brace myself against the wall for support. I failed to find the wall and instead collapsed onto the floor.

I felt paralysed.

My wails filled the room, the tears clouding vision. I curled up into a ball, my knees pulled up to my chest and face buried in my hands.

I had tried for days to rein in my emotions, control them, ensure they didn't run wild. I wanted to be brave and strong for his family, to be someone they could rely on. When everything was going wrong, I wanted to be a beacon of hope, a constant if their lives when everything else was turmoil. I couldn't anymore. Pain ran freely now, as did panic and agony.

The stabbing pain in my chest only seemed to get worst, my heart hurt. Violent coughing mixed with my sobs, until I was fighting for air.

I felt someone touch my shoulder, I couldn't respond, I couldn't breathe.

I had finally broken.