First Loss

Clear tubes
Liquid dripping, in intervals of little consequence

 

Feet walking

Running, up and down the hallways on the other side of the door

 

The steady beeping is deafening

Though she knows the sound cannot possibly be as loud as it seems

 

She pretends to be engrossed in magazines

Surreptitiously looking for the rise and fall of his chest over the edge of glossy pages

 

But the beeping is echoing

Rebounding off walls that she has resurrected in her mind

Walls that will protect her when nothing else can

 

Doctors and nurses come and go

Pleasantries and smiles are exchanged

She listens, analyzes the medical jargon

 

In short, there's nothing else that can be done

He will be moved to hospice

 

Eyes glistening

Blinking repeatedly

Refusing to let the tears fall

Refusing to show how much she's breaking to the other three occupants in the room

 

Walls

Walls

She’s fine, she’s safe

He will be too

 

After six days, he's moved to hospice

There is no telling how long he'll be there

They're estimating two weeks

 

She will see him the next day

She will drive over after work, park, speak with the receptionist, and say her good byes to one of the people she loves most in the world

 

But the bed has hardly had a chance to warm before his body turns to ice

 

There is no driving, no parking, no speaking

She can’t

She can only cry and try not to breakdown completely until she’s home

 

Home, where for days she won’t eat, won’t speak - only cry, comforted as much as she can be by a loving mother’s warm embrace

 

She will learn that Amazing Grace is the worst song

And taps will forever resonate within her