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Part Three
I'd love to get up and go outside. I'd love to breathe some fresh air. It would feel great to have the warm sun on my face. But I can't get up. Not with her like this. Not while she lies there, struggling to stay in some strange place between life and death. And then I think about him. I try not to. It drives me insane every time those thoughts come to my mind, but somehow they always come. I guess it's natural. When you spend your days looking down at your injured wife, it's only natural to think about the man that put her in this hospital bed. We've never met, but I hate him. I know a few details about his life. He's 28 years old. He has a girlfriend. He sometimes plays hockey and he has no history of legal issues. Those things were all told to me by my lawyer. They tell me that I could have met him if I had wanted to. Believe me, I want to. I want nothing more but to look into the eyes of the man that ruined two lives with one drunken joyride. I want him to see the face of the person he hurt. I want to tell him the story of the woman he injured. I want him to feel just a little bit of the pain I live with every day. But I decided not to meet him. I decided not to because it wouldn't fix anything. Meeting him face-to-face wouldn't really make me feel any better. It wouldn't bring Jessica back. Even if he feels all the remorse in the world, I could never forgive him. Plus, if I met him, there is a chance I would kill him. Standing in the same room with the man that did this to my wife without lashing out would be impossible. Knowing that his decision to step behind the wheel of his 2007 silver Ford F-150 after having a few two men is the reason we're in this situation fills me with rage. Having to look at him, knowing that no matter what he thinks he will never understand the pain I am in, would drive me over the edge. I would need to be physically restrained. And so instead I am sitting beside a hospital bed. She likely doesn't know I'm here. The doctors think she can sense when someone is around, but they have no proof. It's difficult to feel positive at all. She has had very little improvement over the past six months and every day a little bit of the hope inside me dies. Sometimes I wish she would just slip away, and then I quickly shake my head to make that thought disappear. It would be easier... for both of us. I'm sure she's not enjoying her current state, if she even knows what's going on. It must feel like she is trapped inside her own body. The doctors have speculated that there is no brain damage and that, if she ever comes to, she will be the same as she always was. If that's true and if she's aware of what's happening, it must be torture for her. Every moment must be emotional agony. She lies there, unable to move, but her brain understands everything... it's difficult to comprehend. Of course, this isn't easy on me either. There is no way I am going to compare my situation to hers, but it's true. Each morning I drive to this hospital and sit here for as long as possible. Each night I head back home and sleep alone. I rarely go back to our house in the suburbs. I can't bring myself to be there, knowing that it was supposed to become the home of our family. Every inch of that place reminds me of her. She picked out the paint colour, she chose the furniture, she decorated every room. No, I can't be there. Instead I go to our condo in London. It's smaller, but it's closer to the hospital and I can at least exist there without constantly crying. She barely stayed in that condo. She didn't really like it. That makes it easier to sleep at night. But I'm still sleeping alone. Sometimes the only sound in this room comes from the clock above her bed. At least it's the only sound I hear. There is always a dim whirl of machines and the beeping of monitors, but I have tuned those noises out. They barely exist for me and yet, if they were to stop working, my wife would die. Usually I don't hear any noise at all but sometimes, if I sit very still, I hear the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. Counting down the moments in my life. Counting down the time Jessica is forced to remain in this state. Counting down my sanity. This is not how I pictured my coming retirement. I thought we would have children. I thought we would have a dog. I thought we would be happy. Instead, we're both trapped in this tiny room as a lone clock ticks away. She is fighting for her life. I am fighting for my mental health. We are both engaged in our own separate struggles and each journey seems to have no end. We're alone, and yet we're together. We may be in the same room, but we are worlds apart. A marriage is a partnership. It is a union between two people and those two people live their lives on the same team. They help each other fight their respective battles and they share in each other's triumphs. But that is not what is happening here. I cannot help her right now. There is nothing I can do. Likewise, she cannot help me. We are each on our own separate path and fighting our own private war. The destination may be similar, but we must each conquer our own demons in order to get there. Look at her. If you weren't aware of the incredible trauma she is going through, you might even say she looks peaceful. She's lying there, her eyes closed, her lips slightly pursed. Then you look again and it's obvious that she has a ventilator over her mouth to assist her breathing. She is wearing a heart monitor and has several IVs in her arms. She is wearing a device that monitors her brain activity. She is definitely far from someone at peace. Just then a nurse opens the door. "Mr. Styles, visiting hours are over." "Oh.... of course." With that I stand from my chair. I emit a loud groan as every muscle and joint in my body aches. The nurse pretends not to notice. I slowly limp over towards Jessica's bed. I pause for a moment and look down at her still, almost lifeless body. I sigh. I can feel the tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes. I try desperately to will them away. They come anyway. I lean over and kiss Jessica on the forehead. A single tear falls off of my face and lands on her cheek. It glistens in the powerful lights above her bed. "Goodnight Jessica. I love you." I turn and slowly walk out of the room. The nurse politely smiles and nods as I leave. "Goodnight Mr. Styles." "Thank you. Have a good night." I slowly walk out of the room. I then stop and turn back towards my wife. "I'll be back first thing tomorrow morning Jessica." CONTINUE |