The longest of days, the coldest of springs
How deep can your soul be? Is it infinite? Is it willing to take anything that we push onto it, oh so forcefully? How deep is a man's soul really? How much things can you shove down its throat and still get to keep it?
22:00 pm. Dull hum of the emergency vehicle. The driver, stern, trying to make a 2 hour drive fit into 60 minutes. Me, tired, knocked down, staring at my mother's pale face. My mother, asleep, sick, in pain. A pack of souls, rushing towards hope, towards a battle we all wanted to win, but deep inside we knew that we're going to lose. My mother, more than all of us. She was in and out of a conscious state each 20 minutes or so. I felt a sweet syrupy smell in her breath. The smell of her soul preparing for death it seems. I had to hold her hand and stroke her hair to calm her down, just as she did when I was a baby. She was wearing a sweater that I bought her for her last birthday. Oh, the irony.
She begged me not to take her to the hospital. Why didn't I listen? Was I too much of a fighter to simply surrender and let her die at home? Was I too egoistic to see that her life should be her call, even though she was not herself? I didn't want to see her in so much pain. I never meant to play a hero. I didn't ask for that. I thought that I have to make the tough call, and even though I will never be sure, I still think I made the right decision by trying to save her. If there is heaven, I hope that she's there and that she forgave me.
The hospital. Clean. Smells like medicine. Full with sick people asking for help and with good people trying to help them. Midnight. I was pacing through the hallways, explaining the same thing over and over again, as fast as I can, and in the best way that I can, to unknown people in white coats. Diabetes. Heart. Blood pressure. The beeping sounds of heart monitors. The good doctors were looking at the examination results, talking to each other in low voices, stealing glances of me from time to time. There was no optimism in those glances. I knew then what lies ahead. They were straight with me. Explained how and what are they going to try, and that there are slim chances of success. They brought my mother into the intensive care, and sent me home. 02:00 am.
I couldn't get much sleep. That one hour that I slept I didn't dream anything. I didn't feel anything. 06:00 am, I woke up to the sound of my phone vibrating. The chief doctor was on the other side.
- I regret to inform you that your mother died at 04:00 hours. We never got the chance to try and properly help her. My condolences.
I replied nothing. I was not sure that all of that was real. That I was real. I'm still not sure.
- I know that you are in shock right now. Take your time. The hospital will be in touch to explain how to proceed.
I managed to mutter a single "Thank you".
Shivers. 15 minutes of blank. I was not sure what happened. The air was so damn cold, although it was early spring. Why the fuck was it so cold?
07:00 am. The hospital again. I was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. The place was still clean, still smelled like medicine, but this time I was walking slowly. I saw the same people that I saw the day before. This time I had to fill out the paperwork for the release of my mother's body. I had to arrange a car from a funeral home so that I can bring her back home just as I brought her there with the emergency van. I went out to the parking lot in front of the hospital and let the lump in my throat give up. I cried until there were no more tears. I did well, I had to. I had a long day ahead of me, and I had to be strong for the others. That parking lot was the only luxury I could afford that day.
09:00 am. The van from the funeral home arrived and a man with a kind face was telling me what to do next. We headed to the morgue. My mother was there, lifeless, staring at the ceiling with a set of cold, deep blue eyes. An image I will never forget, although I choose to remember her looking at me with a pair of happy green eyes, same like mine. She seemed as if she was smiling.
11:00 am. As we were going back home, there was no rush. We were silent. Powerless, as I was, as I am, as I will be.
And then it started snowing.
And it didn't stop snowing that day at all. I have never seen a snowfall like that before, with falling not snowflakes, but pieces of snow, pieces size of a palm. It was still snowing around 17:00 pm when we were at the funeral. It was snowing like there's no tomorrow, as if it wants to cover us all and make the world forget about us, about all of that. Other graves were barely peaking through the snow. All those people, mothers, fathers, sons and daughters. All that pain buried under 6 feet of dirt and another 3 feet of snow.
22:00 pm. I was alone home with my father. For the past couple of hours I was repeating words of comfort, trying to calm him down, spreading wisdom like there's any wisdom that you can sell to a man that just lost his wife. It seemed I succeeded though: he fell asleep, and I got up and stood by the window. It was still snowing.
I stood like that for hours. Years maybe, if you ask my soul. Maybe a lifetime. A day worth of memories, lasting for centuries. Memories of the longest of days. Cold memories made in the coldest of springs, and the coldest of springs became a new tenant of my soul. Welcome, coldest of springs, for there is still place inside for a lot of you. I do not know exactly how deep can a man's soul be, but it has to be deep enough. It has to be, for a man's life has not one, but many long days, and many cold springs lie ahead. There are many of them, and a man's soul is just one. I hope it is deep enough.
22:00 pm. Dull hum of the emergency vehicle. The driver, stern, trying to make a 2 hour drive fit into 60 minutes. Me, tired, knocked down, staring at my mother's pale face. My mother, asleep, sick, in pain. A pack of souls, rushing towards hope, towards a battle we all wanted to win, but deep inside we knew that we're going to lose. My mother, more than all of us. She was in and out of a conscious state each 20 minutes or so. I felt a sweet syrupy smell in her breath. The smell of her soul preparing for death it seems. I had to hold her hand and stroke her hair to calm her down, just as she did when I was a baby. She was wearing a sweater that I bought her for her last birthday. Oh, the irony.
She begged me not to take her to the hospital. Why didn't I listen? Was I too much of a fighter to simply surrender and let her die at home? Was I too egoistic to see that her life should be her call, even though she was not herself? I didn't want to see her in so much pain. I never meant to play a hero. I didn't ask for that. I thought that I have to make the tough call, and even though I will never be sure, I still think I made the right decision by trying to save her. If there is heaven, I hope that she's there and that she forgave me.
The hospital. Clean. Smells like medicine. Full with sick people asking for help and with good people trying to help them. Midnight. I was pacing through the hallways, explaining the same thing over and over again, as fast as I can, and in the best way that I can, to unknown people in white coats. Diabetes. Heart. Blood pressure. The beeping sounds of heart monitors. The good doctors were looking at the examination results, talking to each other in low voices, stealing glances of me from time to time. There was no optimism in those glances. I knew then what lies ahead. They were straight with me. Explained how and what are they going to try, and that there are slim chances of success. They brought my mother into the intensive care, and sent me home. 02:00 am.
I couldn't get much sleep. That one hour that I slept I didn't dream anything. I didn't feel anything. 06:00 am, I woke up to the sound of my phone vibrating. The chief doctor was on the other side.
- I regret to inform you that your mother died at 04:00 hours. We never got the chance to try and properly help her. My condolences.
I replied nothing. I was not sure that all of that was real. That I was real. I'm still not sure.
- I know that you are in shock right now. Take your time. The hospital will be in touch to explain how to proceed.
I managed to mutter a single "Thank you".
Shivers. 15 minutes of blank. I was not sure what happened. The air was so damn cold, although it was early spring. Why the fuck was it so cold?
07:00 am. The hospital again. I was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. The place was still clean, still smelled like medicine, but this time I was walking slowly. I saw the same people that I saw the day before. This time I had to fill out the paperwork for the release of my mother's body. I had to arrange a car from a funeral home so that I can bring her back home just as I brought her there with the emergency van. I went out to the parking lot in front of the hospital and let the lump in my throat give up. I cried until there were no more tears. I did well, I had to. I had a long day ahead of me, and I had to be strong for the others. That parking lot was the only luxury I could afford that day.
09:00 am. The van from the funeral home arrived and a man with a kind face was telling me what to do next. We headed to the morgue. My mother was there, lifeless, staring at the ceiling with a set of cold, deep blue eyes. An image I will never forget, although I choose to remember her looking at me with a pair of happy green eyes, same like mine. She seemed as if she was smiling.
11:00 am. As we were going back home, there was no rush. We were silent. Powerless, as I was, as I am, as I will be.
And then it started snowing.
And it didn't stop snowing that day at all. I have never seen a snowfall like that before, with falling not snowflakes, but pieces of snow, pieces size of a palm. It was still snowing around 17:00 pm when we were at the funeral. It was snowing like there's no tomorrow, as if it wants to cover us all and make the world forget about us, about all of that. Other graves were barely peaking through the snow. All those people, mothers, fathers, sons and daughters. All that pain buried under 6 feet of dirt and another 3 feet of snow.
22:00 pm. I was alone home with my father. For the past couple of hours I was repeating words of comfort, trying to calm him down, spreading wisdom like there's any wisdom that you can sell to a man that just lost his wife. It seemed I succeeded though: he fell asleep, and I got up and stood by the window. It was still snowing.
I stood like that for hours. Years maybe, if you ask my soul. Maybe a lifetime. A day worth of memories, lasting for centuries. Memories of the longest of days. Cold memories made in the coldest of springs, and the coldest of springs became a new tenant of my soul. Welcome, coldest of springs, for there is still place inside for a lot of you. I do not know exactly how deep can a man's soul be, but it has to be deep enough. It has to be, for a man's life has not one, but many long days, and many cold springs lie ahead. There are many of them, and a man's soul is just one. I hope it is deep enough.
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