An Ending

He coughed, and it sounded wet. He swallowed laboriously and weakly squeezed my hand in his, as if to comfort me, and he said, “no, no, I’m fine.  A little frightened, but that doesn’t mean I’m not fine... or ready. Mostly frustrated. Kind of mad, almost, that I can’t do a better job of making sure you know you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. It’s sortof pissing me off.”

I didn’t respond.  He knew that I believed him, but he also knew that he couldn’t know the content of my thoughts, the makeup of my heart, no matter how desperately he wanted that assurance.  That was what he wanted, and me saying something… something *else*, wouldn’t help.  Even though he knew I believed him, saying I believed him was just more words, and they weren’t enough. They might almost be worse. He wanted telepathy.  Mind meld.  Magic.  So did I.

There was a long pause, and he winced, his face briefly transitioning between pain and recovery before he said, “well, now that I’ve said it... now I feel sad.” And upon admitting that he shook with sobs, and tears wet his eyelashes.  

When he recovered he took another long, gurgling breath, and said, “Thank you.” We just sat together, and I lifted his hand over to my leg, stroking his arm and the exposed skin of his hand as it rested on me. He was warm and soft and so very still. 

The trees outside the window were the green of eager life, racing to collect all the sun they could reach. Their spacing allowed just enough of the light from the blue sky to enter the room, making it bright and warm. I traced the length of his fingers one at a time from their tips to the wrist, and felt sad and so full of love.  

The doctor came in and made appropriate, subdued pleasantries. She asked if he was ready, and he simply said, “yes.” I continued stroking his arm as she pushed the plunger, and lowered her head. 

I was still holding his arm, stroking it slowly, and something relaxed. The doctor didn’t move. And I realized it wasn’t his arm. It was an arm, it had been his arm, but he wasn’t there. I could feel it. This thing in my hand wasn’t a part of him, there was no “him” there. There was so much absence where before there had been presence. The word “gone” had never been so large, and I placed the arm back on the body.

The doctor raised her head and looked at me. “I’ll be back shortly” She left the room.

I sat for a moment, not knowing what to do. The body was so still, it made me realize how much movement and life there had been even moments before. 

I stood and looked around the room. It was just the same, normal room. Everything was the same. The wood veneers were not peeling, the flowers on the shelf had not wilted. He was gone and of what was left, only I had changed.