I can feel the nervousness and discrepancy in the cold and quiet room. There is emptiness and a lack of joy and calmness. There is no life other than the one on the narrow bed in front of me. No plants, no flowers – just the helpless, weak man of my dreams, depending on the life gracefully provided by machines and medication.
I can hear his heart beat repetitively like time ticking away on a clock. Seeing the impulses of his chest simulated by a machine lets me realize he doesn’t have any control over his heart, thoughts and feelings. I put my things down and lie down next to him, holding him firmly and resting my head on his chest. As he feels me holding him closely, he groans as if he knows I’m here with him. Content. Happy.
I start to weep when I realize I only have a few more hours left with him – then our life that we built together will be taken from us. Ideals we’ve built together will fade away slowly as he will be taken away from me. This is the last chance I have to love him, to be with him and to hold him. Is he even aware of it being the last few hours?
I cannot stop staring at his strong and perfect face. He is the most beautiful, most precious man I have ever allowed in my life and into my heart. That makes him even more attractive and more valuable. I stroke his hair, touch his face and examine every detail, noticing the wrinkles of laughter, a soft skin being cared for like a prince and unique marks of character here and there. His body feels strong as I caress him. He is strong, but not strong enough to win this fight.
I cannot stop weeping. Suddenly he turns around and holds me tightly. Comforting and reassuring me. I calm down as I finally wake up and realize that he is here with me, he is awake and his heart beats normally. We are not in hospital and he is not dying.
I'm losing time. I'm losing him. He is strong, but not strong enough to win this fight.
by Letitia Claassen on Sunday, July 10, 2011 at 9:24pm