December 14th, 2015. 12:40 AM
I remember that night, when I came home and although everything was the same, something seemed off.
I remember finding you in our room, lying in our bed, and I remember when you didn't respond to my touch and even with all of the blankets, your skin till felt cold. I remember feeling your pulse, light and quick and breaths too shallow for even the biPAP you were hooked up to to do you any good.
And I remember the most terrifying thing of all;
although this had happened on multiple occasions, this time you were unconscious.
I remember picking up the phone and fumbling while dialing the three numbers that were my last hope. I remember the light at the end of the tunnel getting suddenly brighter when they said that the ambulance was only a few minutes away... if I could keep you alive long enough.
I remember fumbling with the machine, trying to get it to give more oxygen and I remember running as fast as I could with my damn prosthetic leg when I heard the sirens. I remember helping the EMTs lift your delicate body onto the rolling gurney.
I remember the ride to the hospital. I remember holding your hand while they used the defibrillator to try and revive you. I remember kissing your head, bare once again from the chemotherapy and praying to a God I'm still not sure exists that you would be alright. I remember when we arrived,and you were rushed to the ICU because your lungs were failing. I remember pushing past the many doctors and nurses because I didn't want to have to endure sitting in the waiting room, uninformed of your condition.
And I remember 2:38 AM, when the sound of the flatline shattered my hope.
And two weeks later I sit here alone, on the bed we once shared, holding a journal instead of you, and recall the events of that night. It seems as though I remember everything... everything except your last words to me, mumbled in your final, drug induced haze of consciousness. So I sit alone with only one thought on my mind.
What happened to infinity?