Last Words

I held you last night. I’ve held you every night.

And every night fades into morning and I lose you again. At first I reach around hoping to feel your touch. Trying to grasp onto the dream. Trying to stay asleep. My dreams have become my reprieve. A break from reality. They’re the only place we can meet. Sometimes it feels real, but that would be crazy.

Last night we were in the lake behind my house. I reached for your hand and you mine. But as if a cruel joke, I heard a buzzing. And you melted. First your face, then your shoulders, arms and legs. Returning to the sand. I felt your hand fall through mine. Felt you drift away.

Funny, in reality not much is different.

Part of me feels guilty. I’ll always feel guilty for not being there. I feel guilty for taking my trip. I know I shouldn’t. You wouldn’t want me to feel guilty. But I do. I can’t help it.

Do you know? I don’t even remember the last thing you said to me or me to you. How could I not remember our last conversation? I realize I had no way of knowing it was our last, but a person’s last words are supposed to be burned into your brain.

I remember being in the hospital room. I remember being told it was looking up. I remember crying the night they moved you to the ICU. But that night, I wasn’t crying for you. I met a family that had their loved one dying and I was crying for me because I was scared. I remember those two weeks. I remember thinking that they dragged on. I remember not being able to look at you so I stood in a waiting room. All I wanted was for you to get better. I never even considered the alternative. In my mind there was no alternative. There couldn’t be, it wasn’t your time.

But you were ready to go, regardless of if we were ready to let you. Truth is we would never have been ready.

I’m still not ready. I spend most of my time in denial about it. If I don’t think about it, then I don’t have to feel. I can be numb and lately I’ve been numb to a lot.

Losing you still rips my heart to pieces. I never realized heartache was a physical pain or that my body could produce so many tears. I’m not ready to let you go.

Part of me is mad.

Why didn’t you hold on longer? Why didn’t you fight harder? Didn’t you know we loved you? Didn’t you know we needed you? Why couldn’t you have been stronger?

I know it’s not fair. I know it’s selfish and awful. I know you would have stayed if you could. But you didn’t.

Your heart gave out. You took your last breath. I wasn’t there. I can’t take that back. I’ll never be there. I lost my last moments with you. I lost all the potential lasts. I gave them up because I couldn’t look at you, because I was too scared, because I didn’t realize you wouldn’t be there tomorrow.

The day I left for my trip. My plan was to stop by, just to say I was headed out. But I woke up late. I always wake up late. And instead of stopping, I drove right past the hospital, thinking that I’ll tell you about everything we did when I got back. The next morning you were gone.

Because I hit snooze, I’ll never remember my last moments with you and that kills me.