The hospital chapel is silent at night, even quieter than usual. Nobody ever seems to come here in the middle of the night, even patients that are lying in their beds in incredible pain, knowing their last few breaths are before them and they'd rather be anywhere but there. It's as though once the clock strikes 9 PM, God disappears from Princeton Plainsboro and coming here would be pointless.
I didn't come here to look for God. If I found him, I'd probably curse him so loud the psych nurses would be here any minute. No, God's not the issue here. I came to, once again, picture our perfect non-denominational wedding. The one we said we'd hold here because it was the only place in town where both Jews and Protestants forgot their differences and just prayed for the best.
And yet, that wedding won't ever happen.
I can see you at that back entrance wearing your wedding dress. You've picked out a dress that would make most people gasp and House smirk, and I love you even more. You didn't want to call your father so instead Taub leads you down the aisle, as you stand about eight inches above him between your natural height and the heels it took you four hours to choose.
The flower girl, leading the bunch, throws black rose petals on the carpet.
Suddenly, all the smiles on the faces in the pews invert and tears begin to run down the faces of some. Your father appears in Taub's place, your mother in yours. I look to my right and I can see Foreman comforting a crying Thirteen. To my left, House twirls his cane and stares off into space.
I'm still in my suit, so where are you in your beautiful dress?
As expected, you're up by the altar. But we can't see you.
You're in your casket.
The images blur and suddenly here I am again, alone in the hospital chapel, where I still can't seem to stop my tears. Why is it that every time I picture our wedding it always comes back to your funeral?
Why did you leave me? It may not sound credible coming from someone with my history, but I really was picturing forever with you. No matter what anyone says, you hurt everyone when you died.
And now it sounds like I'm blaming you, like I'm just an outsider looking in at the pathetic image of myself sitting here by myself and sobbing.
When I heard you were in the bus crash, a match lit inside my body. When I heard you were fatally hurt, my heart caught fire. And by the time you died, nothing but ash remained. And I tried not to blame House, really I did, but how could I not?
I can't even breathe.
Why did you leave me?