asked.
I nodded.
Mrs. Grayson.
The words felt like a lie, but I didn’t say that. I said, “Thank you,” just as I had other times today.
“You can talk to him,” she said. “He’s under sedation, but he will hear you. He’ll know you’re here.”
I was relieved when she left to go to her perch just outside the door.
The ICU rooms were like the spokes in a wheel. From her station the nurse could see her patients, monitor their vitals, and was never more than a handful of steps away from any one of them.
This was where they sent the most touch-and-go patients.
This is where they sent the patients who were fighting for their lives.
After a day surrounded by people and noise as I waited for news about Gray, the quiet sounds of this room felt disconcerting. The faint hum of the machines. The soft whoosh of the ventilator. The muted noises from the rest of the hospital.
I looked out the long, narrow window. It wasn’t much of a window, but it was something. After spending much of the day in windowless rooms, I felt a small tremor of surprise that the world still seemed to be going on at its regular pace. Cars still sped along the city streets. The clouds obscured the sun, but I knew it was on its way down. The days were shorter in October.
People still went about their day.
Working. Playing. Laughing.
JoAnn was probably still at the store, covering for me.
Ash was probably still at his office, wheeling and dealing.
Everyone was simply going along with the tasks at hand.
My tasks had narrowed to just one. Gray.
He was the only thing on my agenda and there was really nothing I could do but wait.
I was here in limbo . . . just waiting. Along with Maude, James, and Harriet.
Waiting to see if our loved ones recovered. Knowing there was nothing else we could do for them.
“Here I am,” I said simply to Gray. “I’m here for you.”
After months of not talking, those words said it all.
Our relationship was damaged, maybe irreparably broken, but I was here for him.
I didn’t hold his hand because of the IV in it, but I laid my hand lightly on his fingertips, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.
I tried to think of something else to say, but couldn’t, so I slipped into silence.
The light whir of the machines was a white noise. It was easy to be lulled by the sound. Occasionally the intercom squawked, pulling me from my almost trance, but as soon as it silenced, I let myself fall back into the hum.
The nurse came in on occasion and looked at the machines. Once she shifted Gray on the bed, propping him on his side with pillows. “We want to prevent sores, so we’ll change his position for him.”
I nodded.
“Visiting hours are over in a half hour,” she said.
“Thank you,” I replied because I wasn’t sure what else to say. I’d stopped counting how many times I’d said those two words by rote, not meaning them at all.
“They’re going to make me leave soon,” I said to him. “But I’ll be back in the morning.”
I pulled out the picture and swan that I’d taken from Gray’s office and set them on the stand next to his bed.
I stared at the old photo. “We were so happy then. Where did we go wrong?” I asked myself . . . or maybe him.
I still had my swan at the Ferncliff house, tucked away in my jewelry box.
I’d seen him take his that night, but I hadn’t seen it since. Why had he found it and brought it out now? On his desk next to that picture?
I looked at Gray in the picture, then back at him on the bed, hooked up to tubes and wires.
The nurse sat just outside the room, presumably checking the monitors, ready to spring into action if anything happened.
I pulled the chair right up to the side of the bed and slid my hand under his, so I didn’t disturb the IV. It felt dry and cool.
I whispered, “I know I could live my life on my own . . . I’ve proven it over these last months. But, Gray, I don’t know if I can live my life on my own if you’re gone.
I nodded.
Mrs. Grayson.
The words felt like a lie, but I didn’t say that. I said, “Thank you,” just as I had other times today.
“You can talk to him,” she said. “He’s under sedation, but he will hear you. He’ll know you’re here.”
I was relieved when she left to go to her perch just outside the door.
The ICU rooms were like the spokes in a wheel. From her station the nurse could see her patients, monitor their vitals, and was never more than a handful of steps away from any one of them.
This was where they sent the most touch-and-go patients.
This is where they sent the patients who were fighting for their lives.
After a day surrounded by people and noise as I waited for news about Gray, the quiet sounds of this room felt disconcerting. The faint hum of the machines. The soft whoosh of the ventilator. The muted noises from the rest of the hospital.
I looked out the long, narrow window. It wasn’t much of a window, but it was something. After spending much of the day in windowless rooms, I felt a small tremor of surprise that the world still seemed to be going on at its regular pace. Cars still sped along the city streets. The clouds obscured the sun, but I knew it was on its way down. The days were shorter in October.
People still went about their day.
Working. Playing. Laughing.
JoAnn was probably still at the store, covering for me.
Ash was probably still at his office, wheeling and dealing.
Everyone was simply going along with the tasks at hand.
My tasks had narrowed to just one. Gray.
He was the only thing on my agenda and there was really nothing I could do but wait.
I was here in limbo . . . just waiting. Along with Maude, James, and Harriet.
Waiting to see if our loved ones recovered. Knowing there was nothing else we could do for them.
“Here I am,” I said simply to Gray. “I’m here for you.”
After months of not talking, those words said it all.
Our relationship was damaged, maybe irreparably broken, but I was here for him.
I didn’t hold his hand because of the IV in it, but I laid my hand lightly on his fingertips, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.
I tried to think of something else to say, but couldn’t, so I slipped into silence.
The light whir of the machines was a white noise. It was easy to be lulled by the sound. Occasionally the intercom squawked, pulling me from my almost trance, but as soon as it silenced, I let myself fall back into the hum.
The nurse came in on occasion and looked at the machines. Once she shifted Gray on the bed, propping him on his side with pillows. “We want to prevent sores, so we’ll change his position for him.”
I nodded.
“Visiting hours are over in a half hour,” she said.
“Thank you,” I replied because I wasn’t sure what else to say. I’d stopped counting how many times I’d said those two words by rote, not meaning them at all.
“They’re going to make me leave soon,” I said to him. “But I’ll be back in the morning.”
I pulled out the picture and swan that I’d taken from Gray’s office and set them on the stand next to his bed.
I stared at the old photo. “We were so happy then. Where did we go wrong?” I asked myself . . . or maybe him.
I still had my swan at the Ferncliff house, tucked away in my jewelry box.
I’d seen him take his that night, but I hadn’t seen it since. Why had he found it and brought it out now? On his desk next to that picture?
I looked at Gray in the picture, then back at him on the bed, hooked up to tubes and wires.
The nurse sat just outside the room, presumably checking the monitors, ready to spring into action if anything happened.
I pulled the chair right up to the side of the bed and slid my hand under his, so I didn’t disturb the IV. It felt dry and cool.
I whispered, “I know I could live my life on my own . . . I’ve proven it over these last months. But, Gray, I don’t know if I can live my life on my own if you’re gone.
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