This time it only took me 8 minutes to get to the emergency room.
I don't know why I am drawn to this spot. I suppose it could be that this was the last location that I felt that Cindy was semi-conscious. I'm sure I am not the only one who stakes out their emergency room. There's never a parking spot close by and I see other people sitting in their cars like me.
I like to study the people in the waiting area. They sit shell-shocked or impatient not knowing what to expect. It's amazing more people don't hurl the waiting room chairs through the glass windows. Cindy would never have been able to sit in an ER waiting room. Those who knew her may remember that she couldn't even stand the exit traffic in a movie theatre parking lot.
I feel empathy for the people I see standing outside the ER entrance feverishly smoking a cigarette or pacing up and down. I am sure a deafening amount of thoughts are racing through their minds like they were for me. Liz pointed out to me weeks later that when she met me in the ER that night that I was oddly tapping my head and shaking it. And since then I've even caught myself shaking my head side-to-side every so often. It happens when the gruesome thoughts about Cindy's aneurysm bombard my head. Sometimes, I just can't face them. I suppose I've convinced myself that I can just rattle them out of there.
I sat in the car for about an hour and when I got bored watching the live people, I stared at the photos of Cindy on my iTouch. The time that has past between the last photo I have of her and the present day just keeps getting longer and longer.
2 comments:
JM,
I know you don't have to be reminded of this but I will do it anyhow. You are loved. Here and now. Nothing will ever replace what you lost and by now you know there are a wwhole lot of people who are there for you if you need them. You are one frickin strong woman. I'm glad you share your thoughts here. Ok, now picture me giving you one of those big homo hugs. Good god I am such a fag.
I sat holding my cell phone to my chest for months. When I was in CA, it was my only link to what was going on at home. When I was home, it held information about Dad's most current state. I sat with it pressed to my heart and rocked. I still sit in that position when it starts to get to be too much.
And I went on a picture collecting spree before I left NY. I wanted a copy of every picture of my Dad because I knew there wouldn't be any more.
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