{:.x.:The Decision:.x.:}

The memory of her smiling face seemed to contrast the sight lying in the bed. Skinny, frail, weak. Her skin somehow pale, and she was still. Not the spunky woman I had grown to know. Not the spirit I had loved. She just laid there, motionless. And somehow, it made it sink in even deeper.
She always lived life to the extreme. "It's not fun unless it's fast and furious," she'd always tell me, grinning away. There was always "happy hour" and "cracking time" where she'd take the cork out of the wine bottle. She was the life of the party, always on her feet, laughing. Not this shell of a person. She was full optimism, even taught it to me. Her example would even bring a light to my face. "It's all about me," she'd say, and take another sip of her beer.
It just doesn't make sense that it would be her... Not her, no. They can't take her away, she can't go! I thought angrily, trying to remain in denial. She loved life, how can it be taken away from her? An almost irresistible urge surged through me, and I wanted to rip the tubes out of her, removed the wires, and hold her, try and call her back. I didn't want to her to look so lifeless. But those machines were the only thing that kept her breathing. I tried to shake off the feeling, but the more I looked at her, the more I just wanted to cry. Cry for her, for life, for family, for tragedy, for comedy, for everything and anything; it made no sense.
But even in her deep coma, I knew that if she could speak, she'd tell me to stop; to be happy for her. To be happy that she had such a great life, to smile for her. To think good of her. I was so torn between the two thoughts, the two choices, it split my mind down the center and numbed me. I just sat there on the chair in the corner of the hospital room, starring at her. Her mother sat closest to her, talking to her, holding her hand, hoping she'd come back. But I knew what she knew, what we all knew. But none of us wanted to say it.
The doctor had walked in earlier and told us everything, but they didn't want to accept it. I didn't, I couldn't, but somehow, I had. My grandmother sat there, almost begging for her daughter to hear her, while the rest of the family sat, or paced, or talked, or cried. Or all of the above. But the cold voice kept echoing those words. "She'll never wake up."
The room seemed smaller then it was, and it was harder to breathe. I kept telling myself the truth, trying to force myself to believe, but the more I kept glancing over to her, the more I caught myself hoping, searching, waiting, for her to move. Even just her pinky. Just to show she was still there. Still here. With me. But that was impossible and I knew it. A stroke, then a heart attack, then lapsing into a coma? Who could hope to wake from that? Even some miracle wouldn't save her. The left side of her brain was so heavily damaged, it wouldn't be life for her anymore... a single tear fell down my cheek and as I remembered what only seemed to be yesterday when I was sitting with her on the sandy shore line of the beach. She always knew how to cheer me up, just a few words. So who was left now? I asked morbidly to no one.
Slowly, I looked up and gazed to the other corner of the room to her husband. How eerily silent he was, staring at his wife underneath the pale white sheets. He didn't move, didn't blink, just stared, having so many thoughts running through his head. And the decision. It was up to him, and solely him, on what to do. To keep waiting, to keep hoping, or honor her request. She had told him she never wanted to waste away, just to be quick and be done with it. To pull the plug. She didn't want to waste away like a vegetable.And only he could say the words; no one else had the power. No one should be faced with such a decision, yet here the poor man was, caught in the trap.
I wanted soterribly to rise from my chair and run to him, hug him, comfort him, but my knees buckled at the very thought of getting up. I couldn't hold myself up, I was so heavy, I was weightless. I understood all with crystal clarity, yet I was so confused. The moment I took hold of something, it went right through my fingers like sand and my world would spin again. Was there no end? I wondered, then another look to her body, and it answered my unvoiced question. Why her? How could you take her away from me?! I cried bitterly and another tear dripped down. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was so young, so happy, so... so her. So who could be next? My eyes darted around to all the grieving faces, and thehorrific thought donned that any one of us could be next. We could die at any second. I tried to take in a deep breath to calm myself, but I only succeeded in making myself tremble.
A nurse walked in and saw me. She came up to me and smiled softly. "It's hard, isn't it, to watch someone like this? I know how you feel," she said, and somehow my anger flared again. How can she possibly know what it's like?! All she does iscomfort the dying and then get rid of them to usher in others; she doesn't care! My hate-filled thoughts nearly came out of my mouth, but she took her leave and walked up to the man in the corner and spoke softly. My world suddenly came to a stop, froze, and found itself lodged in my throat. This was the moment. The room fell dead silent and all eyes were on the two. He couldn't speak; no words cold be formed to say what he wanted, what he felt, what he thought. All he could dowas cry silentlyand nod reluctantly. The nurse, too,nodded and walked over to the machine. As she reached for the cord, my grandmother let out a wail that nearly made me join her. The nurse tugged at it, and the machine went blank, and I saw her chest rise for the final time.
Gone, but Not Forgotten.
~September 9th, 2007