In two hours and nineteen minutes …
Still counting.
Feels as if you’ve been gone so much longer, or was it yesterday, or maybe just traveling a bit and out of touch?
Today was hard. Thursdays often are now. Sometimes I get on with life and lose track, but invariably the memory slams me.
Nurse calling from ER, “What’s your ETA?”
Brother’s jaw tightening, as he resumes some random conversation topic. Verifying our identity, signing papers, “Wait here for the doctor.” “She’s…”
Walking into the room with her, people standing helplessly waiting for direction, and the machines. Blood splatter in her mouth. The machine still compressing on her chest. A person squeezing a bag. Trying to breathe, to be calm, to be a good sister, good daughter, good person.
“Stop.”
I kept my promise.
Three Months/ 12 Weeks, Two Hours, Six Minutes.
Creekside Whispers 