5:40 on a Monday

Our love arrived at the hospital promptly at 5:40 on a Monday.
Sometime between the bruised knees and salty kisses it's heart stopped beating.

It arrived quietly, held in my shaking arms.
There were no sirens, no screaming, just silent tears.

It was placed on a gurney where it was rushed to surgery.
I was the concerned loved one sitting in the waiting room. I was the surgeon thrusting my palms against a still heart just hoping for a beat.

I was waiting. I was hoping.

Where were you?
Probably still sitting on that mountain where our love collapsed.

I couldn't explain to the urgent surgeon our medical history or past.

Everything was fine.
Everything seemed fine.
And then suddenly everything was anything but fine.

Maybe it started when I couldn't look at him when he got in the car.
Or it could've been when I turned up the radio to avoid conversation.
Maybe it was when he brought me to the edge of a cliff and forgot I hated heights.
Or it might've been when I was sobbing into my knees and I refused to let him touch me.

When all I could do was throw rocks down the cliff and watch them disappear? When I stood on the cliff to clear my head despite my fear? When he pulled my hair from tear stained face? When I bruised my knees falling, probably for something or someone I shouldn't? Was it in front of that building where it all began? Or my refusal to hear his constant apologies?

Maybe all of those are all wrong. Maybe they're all right.

Maybe it's a combination of all those things.

But all I can stutter is  "I never saw it coming."
Because the signs weren't there.

It was asymptomatic.
No signs or symptoms existed until it was too late. Fatal.

Did you know that women are more likely to die of a heart attack than men?
This is due to the fact that they wait longer to go the emergency room because they think they're fine.

I thought we were fine.
I didn't drag you into the emergency room with our hearts held in hands.
I simply declared the pain in my chest as normal, something that would go away with time.

But the pain didn't go away, you did.

And I'm pacing in the hallway waiting for an update.

I'm in the OR trying to restart our heart.
I'm stitching up old wounds,
Pouring more blood, time, effort, and salt into us.
I'm examining monitors and screaming "God damn it, just beat."
I'm pushing away hands trying to pull me away from the patient.

With desperate hands and a stuttering heart I'm trying everything I can.
Flat lines and still breaths.
And someone's shouting at me "we're losing them."
I'm losing you. You're losing me.
It's all about to be lost.

I'm on my knees, head bent, whispering fervent prayers.
And the hospital halls hear more sincerity than any church pew ever will.
The sterilized floor has heard more hail marys than a confessional.
Because when death plays tag in the hospital halls, everybody converts to the religion of fear.

I'm begging God to lend a ear.
I'm making bargains and deals.

I have an iron first, trying to turn his will into mine.
I'm asking for a little more time.

But the prolonged beep signals a flat line,
That the hour and minute hand have fallen,
We're out of time.

"Call it"
I'm on my knees in the OR.

"Call it"
I'm on my knees in the hallway.

And just as the words leave my mouth, "time of death- 10:35."
You appear in the hallway with hopeful eyes.

You pull me to my feet and into your arms, "I'm sorry."
But it's too late to apologize.

I was the loved one falling apart in the hallway.

I was the surgeon desperately trying to fix all that had gone wrong.

I was the coroner who couldn't find a cause of death.

And you were gone.