by David Tiesma on Tuesday, July 24, 2012 at 10:05pm ·
He stared down at the cheap vinyl flooring, not sure of where else to look. It didn't really matter what filled his field of vision because his thoughts were consumed by the tragedy that filled the entirety of his mind. There are many ways to deal with tragedy, but as varied as those experiences can be, very few are expressed in the waiting room of a hospital. In fact, if you have been unfortunate enough to have spent any length of time in a waiting room recently, I am sure you can attest to the fact that almost everyone in a waiting room acts the same.
People speak in whispers, as if the sound of their voices could further damage the loved one they are desparately waiting to hear news of. The predominate feel in the waiting room is one of unspoken dread mixed with a strong desire to hope. There is uncertainty, fear, and often, silent tears. Even the most crass and insensitive of people usually instinctively know to be reverent in the waiting room. Nobody willingly enters a waiting room, because, well, we hate to wait. For anything.
And yet, there are those times that the people sitting in these drab little rooms don't really want to hear the news at all. If possible, they would spend a much greater period of time there, as if not knowing the bad news somehow makes it not true. Hope survives in the uncertainty.
The man's head snapped up as he heard the door open, oblivious to the fact that every other head did the same. A doctor had entered the room. There was news for somebody. The doctor walked towards me, for yes, I am "the man". My heart quickened as he neared, desiring information and yet dreading the worst. His eyes briefly met mine and I started to rise. He quickly broke eye contact and walked past me. The news was not for me after all. I realized I was frozen in a very awkward pose of half standing and sat down again. In any other circumstance I would have been embarrassed. Right now I couldn't care less what anyone thought of me.
She was dying. I knew this. There didn't need to be a doctor to deliver this information to me, I knew it in my heart. My emotions were so mixed, so strong. I didn't want to be so torn up. After all, she divorced me. It had been a few years ago and I had worked very hard on putting her behind me. Put the hard work I had done turned out ot be nearly as effective as I thought it had been. But then again, we never know how strong our barriers are until they are tested by force. The counseling, the self-talk, the books and conversations I had shared; they were all for naught in the face of truly losing her.
I can still see her face in my mind. So clear. She had been so guarded towards me for so long. Keeping me away from her heart, refusing to let me in. And because of my out of balance dependence on her, i started to become more frantic in my efforts. The problem was that the language of my heart was different than hers. And, more importantly, she had stopped listening. She couldn't afford another betrayal. I had already cut her too deeply. Hope became a substance she could no longer afford. One of the Bible verses she used to quote was "Hope deferred makes the heart sick". You never hear anyone using THAT as their "life verse". But I couldn't get better. I was seemingly stuck in my addiction.
The image I was recalling was from just after the surgery. The hysterectomy had gone fine, they said. She was still unconscious but would be waking up shortly. Her mouth was slack, as she was still very much out from the anesthesia. She would have been so embarrassed to be seen by anybody like that. It had been long time since I had seen the "real" Jen. And in her vulnerability, her complete weakness, she was completely beautiful to me. I wanted to hold her, to protect her, to do whatever it would take to win back her heart. It was so refreshing to really see her again. But you have to be genuine when you are completely vulnerable.
Emotion fades, and even though I tried to use it as fuel to stay free, it proved to be as inadequate as everything else I had tried. Because I continued to struggle with my addiction, it probably seemed that I wasn't trying at all. But I was. Truly I was. But when push came to shove, i eventually caved in to the old, familiar darkness. It is tempting to go ahead and spell out the details of what i struggle(d) with, but does it really matter how you describe that which continually seeks to bind you? How can you trade diamonds for garbage? How can you repeat the behavior that has turned the one you love the most into an enemy? How can you not care? How can you be so selfish? And how can you be surprised when you end up so alone?
An empty bed welcomes me every night. It is a constant reminder of my failure. Of what I have lost. Lying next to the woman I loved was one of the greatest gifts i have ever known. Next to my best friend.
That was over now! These thoughts, these emotions were unwelcome. I had not asked for them, wanted them and certainly didn't need them. What else can you do in moments like this? How can you not examine what was?
Her heart had been giving her trouble for some time. Subtle signs had been present even during our marriage, but we mostly ignored them. She hated going to the doctor and hated admitting weakness even more. Her ready reply was "I'm fine". but of course we both knew better, but it was a truth we were not ready to embrace. It was going to have to demand her attention, and now it finally had.
What would have happened if she hadn't been in the hospital when she collapsed? For a woman who didn't like going to the doctor, it still amuses me that she wanted to work in the medical profession so badly. I can't tell you how many stories we have all had to hear of her medical adventures. I can tell she is trying to gross me out. That used to work when we were still married. She would watch one of those crazy shows that showed real operations, and I would run far away. I have been watching "The Walking Dead" for the last few years so now I am immune to her petty stories of gore.
She worked in the ER as a phlebotomist. She was about ready to draw blood from a patient when she collapsed and instead became one.
I got the call at work. From my oldest daughter. I knew right away that something was wrong when I heard her voice.
"Dad, please answer, It's mom, she's in the hospital..." was her message. What a terrible moment. How fast your mind runs while you dial. Thinking of all the possibilities, hoping it's nothing, knowing that it's not.
And so I sat there. In the waiting room. Struggling with this maelstrom of emotion. And HE was there. Of course he was. I shouldn't have hated him, but I did. He hadn't done anything wrong. Except become the best friend to her. Except he replace me. Maybe not in her bed, but in her time and attention. HE now received those smiles that used to belong to me.
There should have been some consolation that she did not love him. In truth, I kind of felt sorry for him. Poor guy, he was madly in love with her and she saw him as a father figure. I laughed when she told me how she made him repeat "You are not my girlfriend". And yet he got to eat up all her time and the little affection she had left to give. He had been chasing her for a few years now. he moved in pretty quickly after he met her. He didn't seem to think the 13 years that made him her senior should matter. It was obvious to everyone that he wanted so much more than a relationship. She pretended to, or refused to, see this.
Who could blame him for being there?
I could.
Even if it didn't make sense.
We didn't speak to each other. Hell, we had only had the minimal amount of conversation that polite society required in normal times. Of course we ran into each other a few times. He would sometimes be there when I dropped off or picked up the kids. I took more glee than i should have in the fact that my kids didn't like him. I liked hearing that. he may have taken my place in my ex-wife's life but he would never have my kids hearts. Those he couldn't steal.
His eyes were red and he looked terrible. It was obvious that his heart was as broken, no, almost as broken as mine. After all, was he there when her 3 children were born? Did he hold her after the miscarriage? After the death of her mother? He didn't grow up with her like I had. He had no right to be more brokenhearted than me. He didn't know the pleasure of being her lover for 15 years. He didn't really know her. Not like I did. Used to. And I hated him that it was past tense, because he was her present tense.
It took the second time for the doctor to say her name before I caught my attention. He was already half way to the doctor before I ever even got up. I quickly made up the ground and got to the doctor a half step behind him.
"She is stable and it looks like she will be ok. There might be some damage to the heart, but it is too early to know for sure. She wants to see you."
And he looked at me.
No comments:
Post a Comment