I try not to panic at the
coolness of her touch as I reassure myself by checking the monitors again. As I grasp her hand in both of mine, it seems
to flinch slightly before I bring it to my forehead. I jump at the movement and think that maybe
she’s reacting to me. I wait for a few
moments to see if it happens again.
It doesn’t.
Something ruptures inside of me as reality sets in
and I start bawling loudly.
My heart aches in my chest. I can hardly breathe through the pain it’s
causing. I squeeze her hand a little
tighter and cry a little harder. I have
never known pain this intense in my entire life.
I doubt I will ever feel it again.
Everything I unconsciously repressed comes rushing
back to me. The horror I felt watching
Sam’s head hit the window. Being unable to see her for days and the hopelessness that came
with it. The
pain of the accident and recovery. I relive every mournful and en raging emotion that I’ve had since waking up in this damn hospital. I wallow in how pathetic I feel being unable
to move properly. The guilt from feeling
like I should have done something to prevent this keeps eating at me. The feeling of loss for Sam’s legs and what
it’s going to do to her emotionally wrecks me. The shock of seeing her in a coma like this. Every emotion I refused to feel. Everything I
ignored now threatens to destroy me.
My weeping is a sweet release and my sobs
therapeutic.
“I’m sorry, Sam, so very sorry,” I apologize. I don’t wipe my eyes; I just let the tears
fall, griping Sam’s hand as if it’s the last piece of her I have left. This is the first time that Sam’s touch
hasn’t calmed me down.
Suddenly, a new emotion starts to form in my heart
— fear. All of a sudden, I can’t think
of anything other than what happens if
she doesn’t wake up . My mind starts
reeling.
It’s a trip through my own personal hell and my
subconscious is the tour guide.
I stop breathing and then quickly start sucking in
air. My rapid attempts at breathing
cause the world to spin and I can see the familiar sight of black dots
encroaching on my field of vision. I
feel like my hands should be doing something other than holding Sam’s hand and
I run one of them through my hair. The
air in the room seems to grow thicker and it becomes increasingly harder to
catch my breath. All the while, my mind
is racing through hell with little regard to my body’s reaction.
Images of the wake and funeral play out in my
mind. My sister crying on my mother’s
shoulders, Alex — Sam’s little brother — glaring at me as if he blames me for
what happened. Nate is sitting stoic in
his seat silently and tearlessly crying for his daughter, while Mary weeps next
to him. Ethan, Quentin, and Arianna
stand in the back, Quentin comforting Arianna as she dabs her eyes with a
cloth. And then me,
slowly walking up to the open casket. My heart rips in half as I set my eyes on her, lying in her casket the
exact same way she’s lying in her coma.
I clench my jaw shut to keep the scream from
breaking loose, nearly shattering my teeth. My eyelids pinch closed and squeeze more moisture from the already sopping
wet blues behind them. I wipe the tears
before they can fall without letting go of Sam’s hand. I’m crying like the images in my head have
already happened.
My head collapses on the bed as I take deep,
marathon breaths and large, angry, sad tears streak down my cheeks. I look up and stare at her unmoving hand for
a few moments as I regain myself. Petting the back of it slowly with my fingers feels good despite her
dead reaction to my touch. I choke on a
lump of grief in my throat as I think more about everything. I can’t help my words as they spill out of my
mouth.
“I do love you, Sam. If you hear nothing else while in your dream
world hear this: I love you.”
I keep my head lying on her bed staring at her
coolness of her touch as I reassure myself by checking the monitors again. As I grasp her hand in both of mine, it seems
to flinch slightly before I bring it to my forehead. I jump at the movement and think that maybe
she’s reacting to me. I wait for a few
moments to see if it happens again.
It doesn’t.
Something ruptures inside of me as reality sets in
and I start bawling loudly.
My heart aches in my chest. I can hardly breathe through the pain it’s
causing. I squeeze her hand a little
tighter and cry a little harder. I have
never known pain this intense in my entire life.
I doubt I will ever feel it again.
Everything I unconsciously repressed comes rushing
back to me. The horror I felt watching
Sam’s head hit the window. Being unable to see her for days and the hopelessness that came
with it. The
pain of the accident and recovery. I relive every mournful and en raging emotion that I’ve had since waking up in this damn hospital. I wallow in how pathetic I feel being unable
to move properly. The guilt from feeling
like I should have done something to prevent this keeps eating at me. The feeling of loss for Sam’s legs and what
it’s going to do to her emotionally wrecks me. The shock of seeing her in a coma like this. Every emotion I refused to feel. Everything I
ignored now threatens to destroy me.
My weeping is a sweet release and my sobs
therapeutic.
“I’m sorry, Sam, so very sorry,” I apologize. I don’t wipe my eyes; I just let the tears
fall, griping Sam’s hand as if it’s the last piece of her I have left. This is the first time that Sam’s touch
hasn’t calmed me down.
Suddenly, a new emotion starts to form in my heart
— fear. All of a sudden, I can’t think
of anything other than what happens if
she doesn’t wake up . My mind starts
reeling.
It’s a trip through my own personal hell and my
subconscious is the tour guide.
I stop breathing and then quickly start sucking in
air. My rapid attempts at breathing
cause the world to spin and I can see the familiar sight of black dots
encroaching on my field of vision. I
feel like my hands should be doing something other than holding Sam’s hand and
I run one of them through my hair. The
air in the room seems to grow thicker and it becomes increasingly harder to
catch my breath. All the while, my mind
is racing through hell with little regard to my body’s reaction.
Images of the wake and funeral play out in my
mind. My sister crying on my mother’s
shoulders, Alex — Sam’s little brother — glaring at me as if he blames me for
what happened. Nate is sitting stoic in
his seat silently and tearlessly crying for his daughter, while Mary weeps next
to him. Ethan, Quentin, and Arianna
stand in the back, Quentin comforting Arianna as she dabs her eyes with a
cloth. And then me,
slowly walking up to the open casket. My heart rips in half as I set my eyes on her, lying in her casket the
exact same way she’s lying in her coma.
I clench my jaw shut to keep the scream from
breaking loose, nearly shattering my teeth. My eyelids pinch closed and squeeze more moisture from the already sopping
wet blues behind them. I wipe the tears
before they can fall without letting go of Sam’s hand. I’m crying like the images in my head have
already happened.
My head collapses on the bed as I take deep,
marathon breaths and large, angry, sad tears streak down my cheeks. I look up and stare at her unmoving hand for
a few moments as I regain myself. Petting the back of it slowly with my fingers feels good despite her
dead reaction to my touch. I choke on a
lump of grief in my throat as I think more about everything. I can’t help my words as they spill out of my
mouth.
“I do love you, Sam. If you hear nothing else while in your dream
world hear this: I love you.”
I keep my head lying on her bed staring at her
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