Romero

I sat in the room alone with you and watched as your chest went up and down, up and down as the machine helped you breathe and the drugs helped you forget. Your body shuddered with every breath and heartbeat and I didn't know what that meant, didn't know what anything meant.... Not, the numbers on the monitor, or the backpacks on the floor or the empty space on the dry erase board where it said 'Discharge Date'.

I looked out the window beyond you and watched a man come out on his balcony to smoke. How ironic.

I thought about your wedding at my house, where Keith had made a cross out of branches and entwined it with Orchids. How you and Michael had been so happy. The fact that Sammy was there.

I thought about Christmas' together. How Kevin gave you that ornament she made and you couldn't figure it out.... a tiny red ribbon with.... and we made you say it... a 'jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell, rock' on it, in descending order and once you got the joke, you couldn't stop laughing for a good half hour.

You just have to come out of this.

This just has to be one of those times when everything looks dire and dramatic, and they tell you it could go badly at any moment and you listen to the fear in a sister's voice and you worry hour by hour, minute by minute, and then the good news comes.

This just has to be one of those times.