Just Keep Moving

I’ve always hated this place…correction this place has always terrified me! The cold chill in the air does nothing to bring me comfort; just keep moving. The smell of disinfectant reminds me of the sterile mundane nature of some of the people who actively choose to be here and all they’re here for. The heavy weighted feeling of hearts who exist in either a state of shock, hope, or despair consumes me. Yet here I am…and all I feel is panic. As my mind continues to race with memories I have to remind myself that this, is not “that.”

But now, as I’m rushing to the given room number, I’m fighting every instinct to run in the opposite direction. But how can that be? How can I want to run away when the love of my life needs me the most? Fear can be such a peculiar thing, especially when having to face a fear that continues to haunt you. As my eyes quickly skim room numbers with my feet unconsciously leading me through the twists and turns of the maze that determines my future, I come to an immediate halt. 

A group of doctors stand outside the only room I’ve been searching for. It’s not just that they’re standing there, it’s that they’re standing there with expressions I recognize. I can no longer move, I need to move, but I can’t. The sadness and sympathy in their eyes immediately pierced through what little resolve I’ve tried to maintain since the dreaded phone call I received to come here. One doctor, clearly the superior in comparison to his younger counterparts, notices and addresses me by name; My last name that I officially took as my own just three short years ago, when I finally decided to let myself really and truly be happy. I still can’t move as he approaches me. As my eyes begin to water, I now know that this…is exactly “that.” 

I can’t move, I need to move. He continues to speak but I can no longer hear the explanation of what happened to the only person who completed the other half of me. My mind is running rapidly with the blocked-out memories that haven’t surfaced in so long. I need to move, I think I can move. I make a shaky step towards the doorway overwhelmed with the sight before me. My love, I don’t even recognize, the warmth presence that always enveloped me before we would even lay eyes on each other, is no longer there. I see him but I can’t feel him. I can’t move, I need to move. The doctor continues to talk after a brief pause, while my mind is now blurring with memories of the life that’s no longer ours. The only words my racing mind registers and snaps me out of the daze of heartbreak is “organ donor.” Move! I need to move. I think I can move, so I do the thing I’ve wanted to do since I first stepped foot in this place that continues to torture me…I run.

I run because I always have. He’s the only one who maintained enough love, patience, kindness, and courage to always catch me. I ignore the calls of my name as the same steps that followed me become more faint in the distance. With each stride I take, my mind flashes with every memory of pain I’ve had and nothing compares to this. You can move; Just keep moving. I’m ducking and dodging the different items and passersby in the hallways, just like the hurdles and obstacles of my life that have always seemed to be never-ending. And now I’m being faced with one of the biggest I’ve ever had to deal with. As I make it out of the exit, out of this place I disdain, the sight of night mocks me and continues to chill my skin. It was just this morning in the daylight when everything was perfect and warm and peaceful. A peace that I’ve only experienced in the more recent phases of my life…a peace I shared with my love. I can’t keep moving, so I find a bench to sit on. 

I can already sense this will torment me in a different way than “that” ever did, because this is on me. How am I meant to make a decision like this? Now here I am with the same heavy heart, praying for a miracle. Miracles can happen, right? Or will I just be prolonging the inevitable for my own sake of sanity? Everything happened so fast from a somewhat hopeful phone call to a devastating reality. I take a deep breath and look at the night sky, the stars twinkle reminding me of that particular spark in his eye that showed pure love and adoration.

Whenever he tried to talk about things like this I would avoid it. Just the thought of it made me sick to my stomach with fear, and now again here I am. I always ran from things in life and he always RAN his life, one of his most admirable qualities. He took charge and set his pace. He slowed down to think things through and he’d speed up to challenge himself or take beneficial risks. He faced and overcame whatever stood in his way and never let it lead him off the course of his vision, and because of that, his life is victorious. But I am not him. I don’t know how to even do this. I don’t want to move but I have to move anyway. However, with this, I can’t run anymore, if not for myself, for my love.

As the night breeze hits the tracks of my fallen tears I make my way back inside. This time pacing myself as I reflect on what happens now. I have to find a way to keep moving. I return to the room, this time with those same doctors keeping their distance and giving me space. I fully enter the room confronted with the eerie sound of the machine that sustains my love from taking his last breath. The thought was quickly interrupted by the obnoxious beeping incessantly reminding me how little time we actually have left. I touch him, still trying to feel the warmth I desire…it’s still not there. I brush his forehead, I caress his cheek, and I hold his hand. It’s still not there I can’t feel him and I can’t bear it any longer. How do I move, now? With every bit of strength I have left I lean down to kiss my love for the last time. I look over to the salt-and-pepper-haired man across the hall. His eyes are searching mine for a response, gears turning in his head searching for what to do next. All I can do is nod my head in approval. I let my love’s hand go and leave wishing to never have to return to this place again…the very wish I’ve made before betraying me once again.

Hours pass with the same consistent blur as I arrive back to what was once my haven, to what is now my nightmare. I don’t quite remember how I got here, but I’m here. I guess I have to move. I open the door met with whispers of moments I can’t escape. This includes the items in the plastic bag I hold that feels like a heavy weight burning my hand at the touch. It’s completely quiet, I am all alone…again. What does moving on even mean? I have no more energy left as I attempt to make my way to the bedroom, but all I can do is stare. The bed is too big! I bury my face in the pillows and blankets I grabbed off the bed, they smell like him…I still don’t feel him. I guess I have to keep moving. I head to the couch knowing my restless soul will get no sleep, but something catches my eye stopping me in my tracks with a brief realization. A realization of a possible fate that could be even more cruel than this one; a fate I was contemplating before the phone call that flipped my entire world upside down. I drop everything and maneuver my way to the brown paper bag on the bathroom countertop. It’s amazing how fast your life can change in an instant. How possibilities are no longer an aspiration but a pure dread. I think that’s why I’ve always chosen to run because I’d rather not deal with either. 

The opened box that came from the bag must have fallen to the floor. I start to quickly search for the empty box’s missing item. In the midst of my haste, I knock over a small bottle of pills. The same bottle that use to bring me such comfort in moments like this…my old companion through my pain. It’s been so long since the idea even had me ponder the potential relief it could bring. The relief from my new hell. I need to move, how do I move on?

And yet, right next to the very bottle that is beginning to call out to me, I find what I’ve been looking for. Peaking from under the sink is a little white stick lying face down. My heartbeat is racing as I grab the bottle and the stick still terrified for what remains to be read on the other side. My left hand holds the bottle, and my right hand holds the stick. As I slowly turn turn it over, I read the glowing sign sealing my fate, and let go of my grip on the bottle. It is then that I truly realize when it comes to the course of my life. I can’t run anymore. And it is then as I place my hand on my stomach…that I can finally feel him…I gotta keep moving.