Final Goodbyes

As I held Josh’s hand, looked at his face, eyes shut, tubes in his nose and throat, I teared trying to hold back my emotions from a full-blown cry. It had been several months, and the doctors tried everything, but he remained unresponsive. Every day I prayed for a miracle, but deep within, I knew there wasn’t one. So, I continued to speak and visit him often.

Today he’s being taken off the machines, and now it’s time for final goodbyes.

I watched his chest move slowly up and down until his final breath.

A cold shiver.

He was gone.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Runnin’ On Adrenaline

I’m amazed at how much energy I can muster after that dreaded phone call. It doesn’t matter it’s 3:00 AM. I can sacrifice sleep. I’m dressed in a flash and on the road racing to the hospital, running through hallways, arriving before your final breath, “I’m here Dad, I love you.”

You whisper, “Always remember Helen, you’re my queen of queens.”

And after arranging your funeral, packing your clothes, arguing with my siblings about who gets what, I drag myself home, plop down on the bed thinking I’ll pass out from exhaustion, instead, I think of you and tears erupt.

From Guest Contributor Charles Gray