They tell me its already over. That you are already gone. I shake everybody off and rush into the ICU anyways. I walk briskly, with purpose, until I find your room. Then I cant walk at all. This must be what getting kicked in the balls feels like.
The nurses try to talk at me as I walk to your bedside. I silence them with a glance. I know I look frightening. Still in my pajamas (I was in bed when I got the call), hair in all directions, mascara rivers running down my face. I dont care about any of this now. I have a job to do.
I start with the restraints (to keep you from pulling at your vent they say). I try not to notice how cold your hands are as I untie you. I wet a paper towel in the sink, and wipe the dried blood from your face. I comb your hair and bring the blankets to your chin.
As I finish my ritual, I notice the nurses staring. I wish I could explain why I had to do this but I cant. I guess caring for you is a reflex I just cant turn off. Not yet. I kiss your forehead and leave the room.
Created: Aug 07, 2012mrsselfdestruct Document Media