Changed
Issue Two- Cured
Disclaimer--
This issue is in no way condoning suicide or anything to that effect. Furthermore, if you have suicidal feelings (not to sound preachy or anything) I would tell you to talk to someone about them, because nothing is worth taking your own life. Additionally, although this story is rated teen (and I think that T is a fair rating) some elements may be improper for younger kids (mainly the parts dealing with suicide). Anyway, This is Part Two of Sarah's Four-Part Story Arc. Enjoy!
Michael stood in shock as one of the two paramedics ran past him up the stairs to try and save his daughter. As the other paramedic, a slightly balding man presumably in his mid-forties, asked him questions, he could only think of the horrifying situation he had just witnessed. The death of his daughter. Of his Sarah. It was inconceivable to him that the last good thing in his life had fallen away.
He had felt this feeling of emptiness before; the cold touch of death had gripped him when he found his wife, dead of a condition they had no clue she had; but, that situation was certainly different than the current one. He was spared having to see his wife die; he didn't have to witness her stop suddenly in the kitchen, dropping the things in her hands as her heart just stopped beating. Michael didn't have to see her collapse, didn't have to see her final breaths. Seeing someone die and finding them dead is a very different thing (as many can attest to), and Michael had been spared of seeing his wife die. Whatever force guided the course of fate, of life and death, had seen fit to spare Michael of such a horrifying experience. Unfortunately, that force had not granted him the same reprieve with his fourteen-year-old daughter.
Michael had seen the life exit his daughter; seen her eyes roll back into her head. Memories had flooded back to him, memories of her short life. Memories of their first vacation, an incredibly rainy and otherwise enclosed (for lack of a better term) week from hell; it was their best vacation as a family. Michael remembered watching his young daughter stare at the window at the downpour; watching the birds soar majestically through the air, frogs leaping from puddle to puddle. She had been so happy, so content at such a simple moment of nature. All the activities he and Danielle had planned (camping, going to the beach, watching the Fourth of July fireworks) were ruined, but Sarah didn't care a bit. Of course, she was only one-and-a-half at the time, but the joy on her face never failed to lift his spirits.
Michael would often look back on that moment during the past few years, when Sarah had gotten sick; it gave him hope that he would see her graduate high-school, see her graduate college, get married. A host of other things that doctors were doubtful she would ever see. Michael never listened, never let all those diagnoses diminish the faith he had that Sarah would get better. And when Sarah had finally gotten her transplant, he thought he had been right all along; there was that short period when Sarah could go to the park, go out with her friends... do things a normal young girl took for granted (but were all gifts for Sarah). "But the bastards were right," he thought. "Dammit, they told me all along and I didn't listen. They said she wasn't likely to get to her fifteenth birthday, and... she's dead, right upstairs. I let myself hope! And what has it gotten me! Nothing! Sarah is dead! Danielle is dead! I might as well be dead!"
Michael talked to the balding paramedic, but it was more of a mechanical response than anything. He just wasn't in the mood to talk; Michael wasn't in the mood to do much of anything... not anymore. Everything had been taken from him... everything that mattered to him was gone. Tears began to roll down his cheeks, and he was only vaguely aware of the paramedic putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.
It was here that Michael decided nothing could ever comfort him; not his parents, not his relatives or friends. Nothing would ever be the same. He thought ahead quickly, of having to deal with the funeral; he would have to pick out a coffin, have to make appearances at a wake; Michael would have to greet people he really didn't want to see, not because he didn't like them, but because he wouldn't really be there. Just like his conversation with the paramedic in front of him, he really wouldn't be there. Michael would have to pay some ridiculous price to bury his daughter, give money for some over-priced coffin that her small body would be lain in; he would have to pay people to put make-up on her, to make her "presentable" so that people could shuffle up to an open coffin, most confused as to what they will say, what they will do. Sarah will cease to look like she once did; she will become a body, a life-less shell that doesn't even come close to matching what she was in life.
Michael would have to handle things he didn't want to think about, never thought he would do; in fact, it was something he never thought he should do. He wasn't quite sure, but he had heard once that "No parent should ever have to bury their child." And although he couldn't recall who had said it, or where he had heard it, he thought that, at this moment, there was no truer statement. Parents are simply supposed to outlive their children; they should watch them grow up with pride, watch them succeed where the parent had failed. And so, it was also here that Michael knew what he would do.
It was really quite simple to him... life just didn't mean anything anymore; not to mention, he didn't want to go through the rituals of death... not again. He could barely stand it when his wife's coffin was lowered into the ground; he almost broke down and cried out in agony when Sarah had walked over to the coffin, placing a small peach rose on the coffin (Danielle's favorites) and had said in a small voice: "Good-bye mommy."
Sarah had been so brave, so mature at that moment, and Michael had thought it wasn't fair; children should be allowed their innocence, their time when death is a far-away subject. No child should have to endure the death of a loved one, let alone a parent.
Michael knew he would end his life. He wasn't quite sure how he would do it, or when, but he knew that he could not live to see the weeks ahead; it just wasn't something he could see himself doing. He didn't want the pity of his family, of every co-worker he once had. Michael didn't want anything, save for his daughter. Nothing else would do. He was about to go more in-depth as to the situation of his impending suicide, but a sudden shout broke his train of thought.
"Jesus Christ! Tim! Get the hell up here! The girl's alive!"
Michael's head snapped toward the sound, as if he had been shot. The balding paramedic, apparently named Tim, quickly dropped the clipboard he had been writing Michael's responses on and ran up the stairs. Michael couldn't believe what he had heard... it was impossible, he must have heard wrong. He couldn't let himself hope... he couldn't put himself through that again.
"Wait," he thought "Yes you can... you know that man said Sarah was alive. She's alive! Not dead... you must have imagined it... maybe her pulse was so low you couldn't hear it. You aren't a doctor, after all."
"But the monitor," another voice in his head posed, "The monitor said she was dead. And she didn't look like she was breathing. Dammit, you even did CPR, and that didn't work!" Michael struggled with these conflicting emotions, trying to think. He thought he had heard that if a person was deprived of oxygen long enough, that they would suffer brain damage... maybe that was what happened to Sarah. Maybe she was just deprived for a bit, and now she is alive. Possibly brain dead, but alive.
Michael decided to let his optimistic side take over, and he rushed up the stairs. He reached Sarah's bedroom, the door already open, and rushed in. The two paramedics stood over the bed, on either side, so that Michael couldn't see Sarah. He moved to the foot of the bed and nearly fainted at what he saw.
Sarah was sitting up in bed. Her eyes were fully open, and she was letting the paramedics examine her. The one Michael hadn't really met was flashing a light in her eyes, and Tim was asking her questions. And, to Michael's surprise, she was answering them... so she wasn't brain dead. "Hi Dad." Sarah's sudden comment shocked him back to the present. She smiled that soft smile at him, and he gave it right back (although his was more of a mix of confusion and horror). "Are you ok," she asked him, and the irony of the comment made him laugh nervously.
"Am I alright? I thought you were... you looked... Oh my God..." Michael gripped the bureau behind him to avoid from fainting. This wasn't possible. Sarah had died, and he had gotten the front row seat. And now she was asking him if he was ok? It was surreal.
"Maybe its a dream," he thought. "Maybe I'm kneeling next to her now, holding her cold, dead hand, and I am just dreaming that she is fine. I am dreaming of Tim and this other guy, and none of it is real."
As if reading his thoughts, the paramedic with the flashlight turned and addressed Michael. "I can't begin to explain it, sir. Your daughter, for all intents-and-purposes, was dead. I checked her heartbeat... I did everything, and she was gone. I don't know what happened. I was up here for at least six, seven minutes, and she was dead. CPR didn't work, and neither did the paddles. But... but she is really alive." The young man of about twenty-five paused, looking at Sarah and then at a small cross that hung around his neck. "I'd have to say its a miracle."
Tim looked at his partner, the room quiet for a few moments, and then turned to Michael. "I can't explain what happened either, sir. According to your account and Tony's (obviously the other paramedic), Sarah was without oxygen for at least ten minutes. I have never seen anyone without oxygen for that long and still maintain proper brain functions. Sarah is either extremely lucky... or our stories are wrong... or we just... or we just witnessed a miracle. But, miracle or not, we need to take your daughter to the hospital for some tests and observation. We can't be sure she is out of the woods just yet."
Michael nodded absently, and continued to hold onto the bureau as Tony left the room, presumably to get something to move Sarah into the ambulance. He looked around the room, still trying to feel out whether or not this was all real, and then he turned to Sarah. She had that smile on her face, the same one from when she was one-and-a-half, and she didn't seem as pale as she had a few minutes ago (although looking back on it now, the past half-hour had seemed like an eternity).
"I really am ok, Dad," Sarah reassured, looking into the eyes of her still grief-stricken father. Michael went over to the rocking chair and sat down, contemplating what had just occurred. The flood of sorrow and anger, and just minutes ago, he had be thinking about the best method to commit suicide. "Jesus," he thought, burying his head in his hands. This all wasn't possible. Never a religious man, Michael never believed in miracles. At least not until tonight... he still wasn't sure if the night's occurrences were the result of some strange miracle, and when you got right down to it, Michael wasn't sure he cared.
His daughter was alive.
Upcoming: Issue Three- Whatever is a Teenager to Do?
