Josiah

Josiah

I'm caught in a stare looking down at her. I can't see anything else but her face. She's pale, emotionless, her eyes are tightly shut. Everything else around me has stopped and it's just the two of us. But really it's just me. She's here but not really here. I remind myself that. I remind myself that she may never wake back up. That she may never find her way back. That's the hard truth. That's the reality that I am forced with, It's the way I am painstakingly strained to remember her by every time I go home. Every time I tell our kids that mommy is still not awake. It's the chore I'm burdened with, the deep wounds that never seem to heal. Looking at her this way breaks me. My heart aches for her, it beats slowly, patiently waiting for her to wake. Then when she doesn't I feel a sharp pain. Like part of me is dying without her. I can't lose her, I don't want to live without her. Our kids can't live without her.

I tighten my grip around her hand squeezing just a little bit harder hoping she can feel me. Hoping she can feel the warmth radiating off of me. Her hands are cold. They use to be warm. They use to feel alive. Everything about her use to feel alive. Now it's different, something has changed, she's slowly dying. Slowly losing her life. Doctors say it's only a matter of time. The clock is ticking and there isn't any way I can stop it. Nothing I can do to reverse it. This is happening, this is because of me. I finally look away from her, I'm back in the hospital room with the beeping equipment, with the ventilator pumping air into her lungs making her chest rise and then fall. I'm back in the real world.

I let go of her hand and watch as it falls limp onto the bed. I take both of my hands and rub them across my face trying to free myself of the dark circles underneath my eyes. I'm tired, I've been with her every night. Every night I sit here and wait. I just wait and watch and I pray. I pray to god that she'll wake up. There was a time when I use to pray a lot, when I use to send prayer after prayer; days upon days spent on my knees hunched over my bed, my hands clasped together with words softly being spoken out of my mouth. Hours in which I spent reading the bible trying to find myself within it. Trying to find God in myself, begging to take refuge in his temple. Now I've lost him, I've lost my faith. It's left me, deserted me, my body feels empty my soul feels blank.

I hear the screeching of the door opening from behind me. My ears listen intently as the sound of heavy footsteps collide with the tile floor. I can hear the roughness in his breathing, I can feel his anxiety. I know what's coming. My shoulder feels his heavy hand as he places it on me. His grip is strong and filled with purpose. I look up as my eyes catch his gaze. The reflection of myself in his glasses scares me. I look dreadful, my wavy black hair is a mess, my eyes are heavy. My face looks wrinkled and aged. I don't look like myself. I haven't looked like myself in awhile. For a moment nothing is said. We both just look at each other knowing that whatever is spoken cannot fix the situation. There are no words that can help her, there is nothing that can be done to revive her. And truth be told I've known this for awhile.

I feel his grasp loosen as he retracts his arm to its original position. He walks slowly in front of me. I stare at the backside of him watching as the white material that makes up his jacket sways with each step forward. He reaches the window looking out toward the lake that makes up the side of the hospital. I wish he would say something. I wish he would turn around and tell me everything is going to be alright. More importantly I wish he could help me keep strong. I need to keep strong. I need to for my kids. Dad needs to be strong.

"There's no easy way to say this, Josiah."

My chest tightens up making it hard to breathe. I feel like there's a knot clogging my airways.

"As you know, Chanel hasn't woken up in a month since the accident. Her condition has slowly decreased but at an observable rate."

The doctor turns around looking directly into my eyes now. I find it hard to keep my attention locked onto him. My focus is on my wife, on Chanel. The rose in a garden filled with thorns. Ringing fills my ears, I can barely make out the words coming from his mouth. Part of me doesn't want to make out the words.

"In the last few days that I've examined Chanel I've noticed that whenever taken off the Ventilator she stops breathing. In perspective she is no longer able to take in oxygen without assistance from a machine."

His tone is deep and clear, he clears his throat and stops for awhile. As if he is observing me, watching me. Trying to understand whether I'm listening to him or not.

"Before you arrived this evening I conducted a battery of test. The series was necessarily in order to better comprehend the status of her condition. This is going to be hard to hear so bare with me."

The flow of air coming into my lungs is no longer smooth, but now disrupted. It's violent and un-controlling, hard to maintain a steady pace. The beating from my heart pounds against the bare skin that holds it within my body. I feel as if at any moment my heart is going to come bursting out of me. Emotions are raging and brewing up an unstoppable storm from inside. The direction that I'm headed is a direct crash course for insanity. I'm no longer able to feel a sense of hope. No longer able to believe that God is going to come to my rescue and save her. No but he is going to take her. He's going to take her away from me. Snatch Chanel away as if she was a small kitten looking for its mother.

"You don't have to say anything to me, Josiah. At least acknowledge that you're listening to me though. A nod, a look, words, just give me a sign so that I may continue."

I nod my head and continue my stare at the floor.

"The first test I conducted was a measure to see if Chanel still had any reflexes. A person who is still fully functionally will blink or move their head when touched with a piece of cotton on their eye. There was not any noticeable movements or reflexes from Chanel."

I shake my head furiously trying to drown out the thoughts in my head. My eyes are swelling up and I can feel them beginning to water. What will I tell my kids?

"I then preformed what is called an Apnea test, in which the Ventilator is removed in order to see if the person can still breathe without ventilation. As I said before when we tried to give her a bath a few days ago she was not able to sustain life without being on a machine. Which is necessary for life. When conducted earlier the results were the same."

"Please God, Please don't take her from me. Please give her back to me, please."

I quietly whimper to myself in between sobs.

"In order to confirm my suspicions, Chanel hooked up to an EEG or electroencephalogram. The appliance is used to measure brain waves. In Chanel's case there were none. Her waves were completely flat.

I'm speechless. At a loss of words. There's nothing I can really say. Nothing that I want to say. I look at Chanel's face and imagine her being awake. I see her smile and beautiful eyes, I see her white row of teeth every time she laughs. I see what I want, and what I want cannot be.

"At this point in time it is safely right to say that Chanel is now considered brain dead. There is nothing from a medical point of view that can be done to revitalize her. She is not going to wake back up. There is no recovery from this."

He seems so calm now, as if the hardest part is over for him. I look directly at his name tag. I've never cared to learn his name. Until now.

"Can I have some time by myself, Doctor Michael?"

I say.

"Of course."

The click clacking of his shoes echoes off against the walls as I feel the breeze of him walking past me. I don't turn around to watch him leave, Instead I grab onto Chanel's hand and bring it toward my lips. I hesitate, I'm afraid to kiss her. Afraid because I don't want to believe this. Don't want to consider that she really is no longer here. It's hard, harder than I could ever imagine. I'm a complete mess, I feel the sweat from my hair sliding down against my skin, and every so often mixing in with the tears that fall from my eyes. I shake my foot rapidly, bouncing my heel up and down. I grip her hand tight, hoping but knowing that she cannot feel me. She doesn't even know I'm here.

Slowly our hands rise and become closer to my lips than before. They inch closer with every movement until finally her hand is perched against my lips. My eyes close shut as I feel the softness and bitterly coldness of her skin against my lips. Kiss. Within seconds I pull away opening my eyes to the realization that this is real. No matter how much I want it not to be. This time I place her hand against the bed instead of letting it fall. I push my back against the support of the chair. It feels good not to be slouched over. It feels good to sit up straight.

In my pocket the outline of my phone catches my attention. The temptation of calling my children hits me. It's wrong to hold back this from them. I'm just not so sure they can handle it. I'm not sure they can fully be aware what it means that Mommy is never coming home. That she is never going to hold them again. That they'll never hear her sing to them again. Never be able to tell her about their school days. Harsh reality that I just don't think they are ready for. I have to tell them something. I have too.

My shaky hands reach down into my pocket recovering my cell phone. I take a few minutes just staring at it. My fingers hesitant to touch the phone. Hesitant to do what I have to do. The phone lays in my palm taunting me, it calls my name silently begging for me to pick it up. One of my tears rolls off my face falling and splashing against the screen. I wipe it off feeling the warm wet sensation dry up against my skin. The screen lights up from me touching it, and what's revealed to me sends shivers and waves of emotion right through me. The background picture on the phone is of Chanel and the kids all huddled together braving the cold December weather. It's nighttime and the only light comes from the lamppost above them shinning down. Flickers of snow fall sideways, some sticking to their clothes.

We'll never have times like those again. The kids will never be able to experience growing up with a mom. That's what will be the hardest. I can't give them the same relationship that they had with her. No matter how hard to try nobody can replace the love from their mother, nobody. I swipe my finger across the phone unlocking it. My eyes immediately lock onto the dial pad. Slowly and painfully I press the numbers that make up our house phone. It's all there, all I have to do is press one button. And I do.

I place the phone up against my ear and listen as it rings and rings. I try and control myself. I try to control everything that I haven't been able too. Strong is what I'm trying to be. Brave is what I need to be, brave enough to tell them what happen. Suddenly the ringing stops and the voice of a little girl comes through.

"Mommy?"

I can't do it. I end the call. I can't tell them yet. I'm not strong enough.