Half Hour, or 45 Minutes

Remember? We went to a party… Met our hot air balloon pilot… Excitement filled the air… We would ride in a balloon for the first time… Sickness some that afternoon, for you… But you were ok, right? A couple of glasses of wine for you, at the party… So, you were ok… Right? After we left, you were weak, but ok… Weren’t you? Visited with some friends, along the way… We laughed with them… See you in the morning! They were sponsors too… Had helped talk us into it… Went on home… more sickness… I asked if we should warn the ER about your residents, Since you were so sick… You said: “No, they’d page me.” WHY didn’t I press the issue? Got home, busied myself doing paperwork. You said you were tired, and to wake you, When I got done, and back. Nothing unusual, right? Paperwork done… bedroom… Lying there face down… but awake… “You OK baby?” “Yeah, just wake me, and make sure I took my contacts out…” “OK, baby, I love you, I'll be back in a half hour, or 45 minutes.” “I love you.” You said in your funny little way… The last time I'd ever hear you say those words... I walked out, but something different… Normally I would have walked on out, got done So I could get back… But I stopped, to check my email… Did something stop me? More sickness… I went to check on you… Something didn’t sound right… I asked about your contacts… You said you took them out… More sickness… Then… IT HIT… Your body straightened, forcefully… Your feet well off the floor… your near lifeless body, Turned, hit the shower, where you fell, into a heap, Like a dropped wet dishrag… I called your name… NO RESPONSE… I pulled you out flat; as best I could… Not a large woman at all, but I could barely move you… I thought you had choked… Tried to dislodge… Blew air into your lungs, your chest rose and fell… Gravity only… The air caused your cheeks to ominously flap as it passed… I knew then, something major had happened… Screamed for daughter, to call 911, NOW… She came in, saw her momma lying on the floor, turning blue… The eternities start… each second, seemed like minutes… Each minute, hours… Probably only 5 or 10 minutes… Police, paramedics finally arrive… Seemed like days… weeks, even… Questions… “I don’t know…” answers… Heart monitor, nothing but a zigzag line… First shock… horrible sight… Nothing like on TV, movies… More questions… more “I don’t know” answers… Found myself in kitchen, with someone… not sure who… You’re on stretcher, paramedic straddling… Doing CPR, both being carried through the house… Called my buddy… “She’s dead…” “Who?” My WIFE… Somehow we get him to the house… Both of us, hysterical, crying uncontrollably… Arrive hospital, not far away, don’t remember trip… Walk in… somehow… Ask where she is… Expecting worst… Working on her… NO… WHAT HAPPENED??? Expecting doc with forlorn look on his face… He walks out, I don’t want to talk to him… DON’T MAKE ME… For it could be the worst… He says: “we got her heart restarted…” He almost seems surprised… Little while later, they wheel you out… I talk, hold your hand… no response… Nothing… I follow to your room… Tubes, wires, etc everywhere… Phone calls start… Telling what had happened… Tears flow… freely… Rivers of them… Visits to room… No response… One visit later… First realization… Walking by myself, I reach for your hand, Almost like an instinct, as so many times before. Just like earlier that night… My hand clutches air… nothing there… Where your hand should be… I lean against the wall, crying uncontrollably… Was it your spirit then? Has it been there since? The nightmare begins… Ends? Months later… Time… Pain… Acceptance? Not yet fully… Been a year… © Jonathan Wikkins November 12, 2001 Revised March 6, 2008 All Rights Reservedthis poem, in true poetic grace, depicts the events of october 27th, 2000 from approximately 9 pm, till around 11:30, with the final event happening sometime later, that i experienced... the night my wife suffered a massive heart attack... and died 4 days later, on nov 1, 2000 my love, may you rest in peace... Written November 12th, 2001 © on Nov 12 2001 09:27 AM PST, David Michael Shurtleff   pain • personal • sad • thoughts • life • love