Six months later and I still relive the events of April 9th into the 10th like they were yesterday... the head nod indicating she wanted me to be the one in the ambulance with her, her telling the medics she had “stuff to do” and worrying about getting back home, her telling the doctor to give her their best shot, me telling the doctor there were 3 others in the waiting room with us and then him proceeding to tell me, alone, that she wasn’t going to make it, watching helplessly as she was poked and hooked up to countless iv’s and monitors, seeing the pain in her face but trying to encourage her and maintain that everything was going to be okay, sitting in the waiting room to give my dad and aunt time with her only to return and feel my stomach drop as she no longer looked anything like herself, her last words thanking me, curling up in a chair plugging my ears to the god awful sound of an ill-fitting bipap machine, holding her hand as she took her last breaths, gasping for air while I continued to pray for her to miraculously snap back into stability, the phone calls and noticeably empty drive home without her as the sun rose around us. Six hours that changed me in more ways than I can even begin to fathom and I’m sure have yet to discover. Six painstaking hours that, despite her diagnosis, none of us saw coming that day. I took these pictures 8 hours before our trip to the ER on April 9th. She was making plans for April 10th.
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