Life comes with no guarantees, no time outs, no second chances.
I know that now…
March 5, 1978
The smell of sweat and smoke and ash that filled the room when Johnny walked in reminded me of the many times you walked through the front door after shift, so tired you could barely make it through your breakfast and the shower that followed. I waited for him to flash me that crooked "I'm okay" smile of his even though there was no hiding that bandage on his head, but it never came.
I took one look into the depths of those dark brown eyes as he approached my bed, and before he even opened his mouth, before a word could pass his lips, I was screaming at him to shut up, to get out of my room, to leave me alone; and when he grabbed my bandaged hands and pulled me close, I shouted obscenities into his chest and screamed at him to go away and never come back.
I hated him.
I hated him like I never hated anyone in my life.
And I told him so—over and over; I hate you, I hate you; it was my mantra.
I hated the way his firm hands gripped me as I pulled away; the way his hoarse voice rose and fell as I struggled against him; the way it broke as he pleaded for me to stop; and the way it changed to a harsh demand as I grabbed for the tubes and wires. I hated the strength that subdued me and his compassion when I finally collapsed against his chest again, sobbing; and I hated his apologies that drifted by my ear. I hated the way his hands trembled as he shifted my unwilling body onto the gurney the orderlies had rolled in; and I hated the gentle way he laid me down and covered me and then brushed my hair out of my face.
And when our procession started out the door and down the hallway, I hated the fear that began to consume me and I clung to his hand as he walked beside me. I hated that he believed in me even when I told him I couldn't do it; and I hated his softly spoken assurances that I could.
Dr. Brackett and Dixie were standing outside the room when we arrived. Dixie dismissed the orderlies and then the four of us were alone, with me still clinging to Johnny's hand—he was my lifeline. Dixie busied herself checking my pulse while Dr. Brackett quietly explained the arrangements. When he was done, he asked me if I had any questions. Johnny squeezed my hand and held it tightly and I shook my head "no" and wiped my eyes with the sheet.
They wheeled my gurney up to your bed and then transferred me over so that I could lie next to you. Dixie waited with me when Johnny and Dr. Brackett left the room. I didn't look at you; I couldn't; because I knew if I did, I wouldn't be able to do what I needed to do. But despite the coldness of the room, the warmth of your body, your presence, gave me strength.
Even before I heard the footsteps in the hallway and recognized Johnny's soft voice above the sounds of all the machines, my tears had already started. Dixie grasped my hand and squeezed.
And then Johnny was there, in the doorway.
He hesitated, his dark eyes questioning.
My eyes locked onto the precious burden he cradled in his arms and I nodded. My bandaged arms rose of their own accord as he walked toward me.
And then, at 2:35 a.m., shortly after he kissed her good-bye and settled her broken body between us, our daughter Jenny took her last breath.