Chapter 20

I called my parents-in-law, as directed. My father-in-law grumbled about the loss of his breakfast, but assured me they'd there as fast as they could. I hung up and looked at the doctor, who was still in the room. Once again, it struck me how incredibly difficult it must be to work here.

"This must be a hard job," I said. "But I guess you kind of get used to it after a while."

She shrugged, and looked down on Don's inert form.

"This has been a hard one for everyone here," she answered, her voice soft. "He's so young... and your kids..."

Her voice broke, and even in the midst of my own grief, I was struck with sympathy for her, and for all the people who toiled away in this ward. I thought once again of Don's oncologist, who must lose most of his patients eventually, and wondered how people could bear working jobs such as these.

And yet, I knew the medical system couldn't function without them. Because after all... everyone dies eventually.

She offered me a wry smile, as if apologizing for her loss of emotional control, and left the room, leaving me alone with Don. I sat down on the edge of the bed and took his left hand in mine. On the third finger was his wedding ring-- so loose now that when he'd been able to stand up, it would fall off if he didn't keep his fingers curled. Even so, he'd refused to take it off.

"It stays on my hand till I'm dead," he'd told me more than once.

"Do you want to be cremated with it on?" I'd asked.

He'd thought about it, then shook his head.

"I won't need it when I'm gone," he'd said, with his typical peculiar perspective on things. "Marriage is a contract with a defined endpoint: till death do us part. Once I'm dead, we're not married any more."

I frowned. "I don't really see it that way."

"Regardless, you'll want it more than I will," he'd said with a little smile. "But whatever happens, don't take it off till I'm dead, okay?"

I twirled the plain gold band on his finger, and thought about the fifteen years of our marriage. I remembered our wedding. Me, so nervous in front of all those people I'd forgotten to kiss him-- a moment he teased me about endlessly. Don, full of proud smiles. Don drinking ginger ale because he hated the taste of champagne. A light rain wetting our hair as we'd dashed from the limo to the old Cavalier Hotel in Virginia Beach, where we'd spent the first night of our honeymoon.

I remembered him holding my hand, his arm wrapped around me, holding me upright, his deep voice exhorting me to push as we had our first child. I remembered simple things-- playing basketball in the driveway, watching TV and then discussing it long into the night, listening to classic rock so loudly the kids begged for mercy.

I remembered him spending all those weeks on the road in the early part of our marriage, and my joy whenever he came home for the weekend. I remembered his outrage whenever I accidentally left a Nickelback CD in his car, and the way he'd steal the CD and put it high on furniture, out of my reach, as punishment for my crime.

Even before our marriage, we'd had so much history together. I remembered seeing him get his Eagle Scout award in our senior year of high school. I remembered dancing in his arms at the senior prom. I remembered when he'd shown up to visit me at college in our freshman year, driving his "baby," a burgundy 280Z he'd just purchased-- a car I'd laughingly accuse him of loving more than he loved me for years to come.

There were so many small but sweet moments that we'd shared, just the two of us.

And now I was the only one who'd remember them.

The door opened, and the family came flooding in. Don's brothers were assigned the task of keeping the kids down the hall-- not a difficult job, as they enjoyed watching cable in the waiting room, which we didn't have in our house. Don's aunt and uncle decided to stay in the waiting room, too. I remained sitting on the bed next to Don, his hand in mine, my other hand stroking his hair or his chest, while my parents-in-law settled down in the chairs next to the window.

We talked quietly. Don was motionless, his partially open eyes seeming to be fixed on the light from the window. The irises of his eyes looked peculiarly dull, as if the light behind them had already been extinguished. His breathing grew shallower, and I remembered what the brother who was a doctor had told me.

"He'll probably die of CO2 narcosis," he'd said. "It's a painless and easy way to go."

I'd somehow expected Don's last hours to be a desperate struggle for air, a last hard fight, but it seemed that my brother-in-law was right. The struggle was over. Don lay there, motionless and quiet, his breathing growing more and more shallow. The conversation lagged, and we sat there, simply watching him.

At last, around 11:20, he drew a long, shuddering breath, and then... silence. I squeezed his hand, very gently. "Is that it?" I asked him in a whisper.

A long, long pause. Then one final breath.

I saw a wet patch appear on the sheets, a sign that his sphincters had relaxed. The literature in the ward had helpfully informed me this was an indicator of death. I squeezed his hand one last time, and stood up.

"I think he's gone," I said to my in-laws, very gently. I was amazed by my own ability to speak, but for whatever reason, I felt quite calm. Maybe I was in shock, or maybe I'd just gotten all the tears out of the way earlier. "Shall I go get the doctor and have her make sure?"

My mother-in-law nodded. "Please," she whispered. Her voice shook so hard she was barely able to get the word out.

I left the room, still dry-eyed, and walked to the nurses station. They looked up as I approached.

"Hey," I said, still very calmly. "I think my husband has passed away. Would you have the doctor come check, please?"

They told me they were sorry, and that the doctor would be right there. I walked back to the room, and sat back down on the bed, holding Don's hand. A moment later, the nice female doctor came in, put her stethoscope to Don's chest, and listened carefully.

At last she looked over at us sympathetically.

"I'm sorry," she said gently. "He's gone."

My father-in-law fell to his knees, buried his face in his wife's lap, and began sobbing. She began to cry, too.

I didn't cry. I simply kissed Don on the forehead and told him goodbye.

And then I slipped the wedding ring off his finger and put it on a chain around my neck.

More to come...