He stopped breathing.
Those are the words they said. Tiny words but big ones. Huge.

These are not our words David, yours and mine. We have never said those words. We laughed and plotted our lunch for later as we signed you in.

I remember, I held your socks and jacket as you smiled at me and I kissed your whiskers and we thought of later, and later.

Code Blue on the speakers for all to hear, Code Blue.

More words that are not ours. These are not words I know or speak.

And now my heart pounding and the oh-so-slow-motion of a nurse coming to get me. Dropping my bag…clutching your jacket, falling hard to my knees, thinking to scream.
Chaplain…why do we need a chaplain? These are not our words David, not ours. This will not happen to us.

Dark now, a room filled with machines and beeps and buzzes and you there, not a single word…in the center. You feel the same, but where are you now? I dont remember a moment in my whole life when I didnt feel you. People came and went and smiled sadly at me and I knew they didnt understand us. They didnt know us, would never know us.

All through the night, I listened as the machines breathed for you. I watched the screen and your heart beat. I held your hand and in my very worst moments, wrapped in your jacket, I spoke our words.

I said, I love you. I told you, it only works with you. I begged you to come back to me and you squeezed my hand again and again, even when you couldn’t speak.

I couldn’t stop wondering how it was that you were somewhere I could not go.

I slept on your arm. They wanted me to go but I stayed. This is what we do, you and I, isn’t it? And when you wake up, I will be here.

And you will.

– Me