Time was an ebbing current sluggishly carrying us away from each other which left me wondering and waiting, and mostly weaning. I began to spend a little less time in her room. I couldn’t just sit there. Watching the machines hold her in this life felt like I was on shore and she was on a tattered raft floating with the tide going out but still nearly within an arm’s reach. That is when you’re most desperate, when you’re still in reach, when hope still exists in easily accepted ways. Once the tide pushes you too far, a different kind of desperate sets in. The kind that wants still, but wants what has been lost not what is being lost. When I was outside of her room but still near, hope was easier to see and anchor onto. I felt closer to her this way. The sadness wasn’t quite as heavy and prevalent. I liked time moving slower. It gave me time to hope, not bottom out too fast and not lose too quickly. The two people that I had become were battling between life and death, hope and despair, faith and failure. Part of me wanted her to just die very quickly and for it to just be over with and done. It would be easier in the bitterest way. I just could not stand it. That part of me was drowning in the beeping sounds, the sight of her chest being pushed up by the air being forced into her lungs, the glowing, fluctuating numbers reporting her stats, the smell of death; the whole situation was ripping through me with the force and tact of a thick, dull butter knife. I could feel my heart ripping. I could hear my thoughts failing. That part of me was dying with her. The other part of me was only getting stronger, the kind of strength that finds you in crisis; part adrenaline, part faith, part emotional suppression. When I was this person, I was clearer. I could hear God, but I was still afraid. I was afraid that faith would lift me out of loss instead of faith finding her and bringing her back to me. These two people, the ones warring inside of me made me feel so alienated from people. I was so hating of their words whether they were consoling words or words that transcended rational thought and circumstance, speaking of her recovery, but at the same time, I was so lovingly comforted by them, too and only wanted them closer. I constantly swayed back and forth between the two people I had become. One minute failing and crawling, the next, standing, smiling and consoling everyone around me.
I left the third floor for the first time since they moved her from the ER to ICU. I found an elevator that was marked ‘Staff Only’. I took that one since I didn’t have to walk through the waiting area where some of the people I loved most on the planet were sitting and praying and hoping. At times, their eyes undid me. I could see sadness in their eyes existing within hope and faith and belief. I just had to be alone. I had to hear something different. Descending floors on the staff elevator felt like I was going deep inside of my heart. Tears forced through the walls I had quickly put up as I stepped off of the elevator. I didn’t know where I was. I was lost. Nothing looked familiar. I was somewhere I should not have been. Everything was labeled, ‘Restricted,‘ just like my heart existing between walls. I walked through halls that felt endless. No one was around. I thought it was peculiar that no one was around, not a nurse or a doctor or even a janitor. No one. Maybe I walked passed a few people and didn’t notice them. Maybe the halls were full with staff wondering what I was doing. I cannot remember. Everything felt empty. I found myself opening the door to the chapel and walking in to an immense wall of light. Literally, the outside wall of the chapel was nearly all stained glass. The sun was warm on the glass and shining, filling the room with beautiful colors that radiantly moved me out of the hospital into a different place, my heart. I had been locked within my head, circling in thought ever since I called Marianne’s phone and my mother-in-law answered. I sat there and heard nothing. The thoughts that were racing through my mind stopped. I didn’t think about Marianne. I didn’t think about death. I wasn’t thinking about life or tomorrow. I just sat so still in the warmth of light. I felt the ease of rest like I was sleeping, but I wasn’t. I was awake but so still that it felt like everything around me was frozen in place. No sounds. No people. No thoughts. And then one long sigh escaped me carrying a thousand pounds and a thousand thoughts out of my heart. I sat there for a long time. It was there that my heart became unrestricted. Within silent time, God existed stronger than I ever trusted he could. It was no longer me looking for him. He pursued me to a depth unbelievable, one that was dark and dirty with death but where he was still God and fully capable, completely present.
The first full day was a long one. This was the second, and it was longer.
I left the chapel feeling more found than ever before. I took the regular elevator back up to the third floor. I felt like I was ascending out of myself and back into life. The elevator doors opened to a room full of familiar faces. No one knew I was gone. I felt like I was back. Then the most beautiful thing happened. In a moment when sadness seemed only appropriate and a hurriedness to feel it all before it all ended, time expanded as people present offered love and support and fond memories. One way or the other it would end, but it was not over. And that is where the two people within me met, in an un-ended moment, not rushing ahead in panic and not hiding in sadness. I was alive in hope, aware of what could be, but committed to trust and love no matter what would come. It was a commitment that I had to bind myself to lest I undo again.
I felt close to her again no matter where I was.
I left the third floor for the first time since they moved her from the ER to ICU. I found an elevator that was marked ‘Staff Only’. I took that one since I didn’t have to walk through the waiting area where some of the people I loved most on the planet were sitting and praying and hoping. At times, their eyes undid me. I could see sadness in their eyes existing within hope and faith and belief. I just had to be alone. I had to hear something different. Descending floors on the staff elevator felt like I was going deep inside of my heart. Tears forced through the walls I had quickly put up as I stepped off of the elevator. I didn’t know where I was. I was lost. Nothing looked familiar. I was somewhere I should not have been. Everything was labeled, ‘Restricted,‘ just like my heart existing between walls. I walked through halls that felt endless. No one was around. I thought it was peculiar that no one was around, not a nurse or a doctor or even a janitor. No one. Maybe I walked passed a few people and didn’t notice them. Maybe the halls were full with staff wondering what I was doing. I cannot remember. Everything felt empty. I found myself opening the door to the chapel and walking in to an immense wall of light. Literally, the outside wall of the chapel was nearly all stained glass. The sun was warm on the glass and shining, filling the room with beautiful colors that radiantly moved me out of the hospital into a different place, my heart. I had been locked within my head, circling in thought ever since I called Marianne’s phone and my mother-in-law answered. I sat there and heard nothing. The thoughts that were racing through my mind stopped. I didn’t think about Marianne. I didn’t think about death. I wasn’t thinking about life or tomorrow. I just sat so still in the warmth of light. I felt the ease of rest like I was sleeping, but I wasn’t. I was awake but so still that it felt like everything around me was frozen in place. No sounds. No people. No thoughts. And then one long sigh escaped me carrying a thousand pounds and a thousand thoughts out of my heart. I sat there for a long time. It was there that my heart became unrestricted. Within silent time, God existed stronger than I ever trusted he could. It was no longer me looking for him. He pursued me to a depth unbelievable, one that was dark and dirty with death but where he was still God and fully capable, completely present.
The first full day was a long one. This was the second, and it was longer.
I left the chapel feeling more found than ever before. I took the regular elevator back up to the third floor. I felt like I was ascending out of myself and back into life. The elevator doors opened to a room full of familiar faces. No one knew I was gone. I felt like I was back. Then the most beautiful thing happened. In a moment when sadness seemed only appropriate and a hurriedness to feel it all before it all ended, time expanded as people present offered love and support and fond memories. One way or the other it would end, but it was not over. And that is where the two people within me met, in an un-ended moment, not rushing ahead in panic and not hiding in sadness. I was alive in hope, aware of what could be, but committed to trust and love no matter what would come. It was a commitment that I had to bind myself to lest I undo again.
I felt close to her again no matter where I was.
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