Arriving early to the hospital, thrilled to be taking the day off, I rushed in to give Chuck a kiss before leaving for my “day-o-rest-and-relaxation.” The nurse caught me and told me to wait for the doctor.
Dr. Figeroa was on-call for the weekend, a blessing as he and Chuck were kindred spirits. Some evenings the good doctor would sit in Chuck’s room and watch “The Simpsons” with him. He liked Chuck. I liked that he liked Chuck.
“Mrs. Picciuti, Chuck will not make it through the day.” He watched my face to make sure I understood Chuck would die without saying “Chuck will die.” He followed up with, “You may want to call his family and friends.”
Chuck’s best friend, Tod, was first to arrive. He helped me crawl into Chuck’s sand bed, no small feat to be sure. The nurse poked her head in during my acrobatics, backed out sheepishly and said, “I saw nothing.” I had waited for over a year to share the same bed with Chuck; to put my head on his chest; to be in that safe place where nothing and no one could separate us. Tod left us alone, and I just breathed in the moment. For the first time in 15 months, I breathed. I breathed with Chuck. I could hear the rattle in his chest. As I put my hand on across his body, I relaxed with the gentle rising and falling of his breathing. I stayed as long as I could. This was our last time in intimate communion. Alas, my shoulder was hitting hard sand, as the bed had been set to accommodate only 100 pounds, Chuck’s mighty build.
His heart would stop. That is how Chuck would die. I wanted to feel each beat until it was over. So I put my hand on his chest and kept it there all night, feeling the coarseness in his breathing, the struggle to hang on. I wanted so much more. I wanted more time. I wanted more Chuck. But I whispered, “I will miss you every day. But I’ll be okay, Chuck. You can go.” Never before had I lied to my husband.
This was it. This was the price of great love. It was really happening, and no matter how much I loved Chuck, he could not stay.
Nine brave souls joined me in Chuck’s room. We waited through the night, breathing with Chuck. He died early in the morning.
God I loved that man.
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