Don't Let Go

I think I'm dying. I feel pain but it's peaceful. All I could hear were the faint sounds of sirens coming up over the hill in the distance. I could smell the fumes of leaking fluids and a burning smell of rubber, maybe tires? I could barely hear or focus to see what was directly in front of me. Was it fear, shock perhaps or just disbelief? I could feel the heat of the day intensify while holding his hand as he lay trapped under the crushing weight of the metal. Everything was happening so fast but in slow motion. I could feel his hand getting heavier and his voice was more of a whisper now. I leaned down beside him to let him know I was still there and that help was on the way. He told me to tell his family he loved them and all of the things a dying person might want or need to say. I was listening intently but also telling him not to give up. I didn't want to interrupt his final words if in fact they were but I wanted him to know and believe that he would be ok.

I still hear the terrifying screaming sounds of the sirens coming but it feels like they aren't getting here fast enough. I call back to beg for instructions from the 911 operator that sent out the request for emergency assistance. She assures me they are on route and that I just need to be calm and wait. I explain to her frantically yet as calmly as I possibly can that his dire situation is getting rapidly worse and I don't know what else to do. The initial instructions were to keep him still and not do anything to risk further injury. Just keep him calm and stay with him. This can’t be right, I screamed...I have to do something! Do I move the bike? He is asking me to take off his helmet. Please tell me what to do! She repeats her initial statement in a monotone voice as if talking like a robot was going to calm me down. It pissed me off! I know she is trying to keep me focused but seemingly misunderstanding the critical situation I was in.

The young man was looking up at me with a desperate stare. He was whispering something to me that I couldn’t quite understand. Suddenly his heavy hand started slowly moving back and forth across mine as if he was trying to sooth me. I think he knows he’s dying and I’m terrible at making him understand that he’s not. I need to get it together because I’m all he’s got right now and he needs me. He continues to move his thumb across the top of my hand as I try to make conversation to try and distract him. I ask him his name and where he's from. If he has a wife or children. He isn’t answering anything. I continue on with more questions . I ask him his favorite color and what sports he likes. The tears pouring down my face indicate that this is very bad and I’m not fooling him with my stupid small talk.

Finally, the ambulance arrives and an army of paramedics swarm over to take my place. The overwhelming relief takes hold of me so hard that I can’t even stand up. Everything is happening so rapidly and the scene is loud and chaotic. The motorcycle has been moved and his helmet is off. I can finally see who I’m holding onto. The emergency team is telling me to let go and move now but he is squeezing my hand and says no. So I didn’t. They are working intensely to get him stabilized enough to move. Again, a paramedic demands I move, but he won’t let go. I ask if I can go along with him in the ambulance and they immediately and sternly tell me no. The young man looks up at the paramedic and slightly nods his head.

Once we are in the ambulance and feeling every bump and swerve in the road. The sirens deafening from the inside. Beeps and dings and medical garbage everywhere I silently wonder what is going to happen. The back doors are suddenly ripped open and another army of people are standing in a line waiting. I am assisted in hopping off of the truck alongside his gurney still holding his hand. As they rush him through what seems like five miles of hallways we finally arrive at a huge room full of equipment and more people. They tell me that’s it, I have to go. The young man whispers to me in a gurgling weak voice, please hold my hand until my mom gets here. I don’t know what to do! There is nothing I can do, they are forcing me to let go and leave him. As I panic and look desperately at the doctors I feel his grip loosen. I hear the orders being yelled over top of one another and the words, he’s lost consciousness. I suddenly realize his weak grip on my hand has fallen away. A massive hustle takes over the room and I am hastily escorted out of the room.

All of my emotions are on hold as I sit in this hard chair in the hall outside listening and wondering. I hear commotion and medical terms being expressed with authority. I notice police officers at the nurses station. I hear calls for assistance to his room over the intercom. I don’t know what to listen for, I don’t know where to look. I concentrate on the policeman once I hear the conversation regarding the motorcycle accident. I notice a frantic looking woman standing close by looking very disheveled. The officer is asking her questions. I heard her trying to give details of not seeing him coming and that her light was green. She is very emotional and apologetic but very stern that this was not her fault. I wonder where she had been while I was holding him on the street? I didn’t see anyone and nobody came to help me assist him. I wait with extreme curiosity and impatience for the officer to approach me next.

As I am consumed by the details while watching him write on a notepad my focus is abruptly broken by a mad dash of medical staff rushing into the room. I try to listen but it is extreme madness and nothing can be interpreted. Minute after minute I am consumed by the ticking clock across from me. I watch the big hand clicking hard. I hear things hitting the floor and see dozens of doctors' shoes under the curtain. All of a sudden I see the rapid shuffling stop and I don’t hear anything. A few moments later the curtain opens and several men and women walk out with no expression while pulling at the ties of their gowns. I immediately stand up but they proceed past me without looking in my direction. I look back towards the room and see the light being turned off as the last nurse leaves. She looked at me and with her eyes told me he was gone. I feel weak in the knees and don’t think I am breathing but I meet her in the middle of the hall and ask if I can hold his hand until his mom gets there? She approaches the few doctors who are now updating the police officer. I see her lean in and then look back over at me as she signals a head motion towards his room.

I took several deep breaths as I stood behind the curtain. The nurse took my hand and led me to his side. She turned his hand in a position for me to hold it. As my fingers interlocked with his I felt nothing back. The weak grip and the soothing caress I had felt earlier was gone. I could hear the clock on the wall still ticking as if nothing had happened. I stood there holding his lifeless hand for several hours. The nurse checked in on me several times and offered a chair. She stopped by as she was leaving at the end of her shift. She asked how long I planned to stay? I said until his mom gets here. She stood beside me silently for a little while and then stepped out. A few minutes later she returned to wait with me “if that was alright”.

The silence in the room was sad, the mess still all around. The machines still hooked up but nothing was turned on. The blood on his body had dried and his hand was no longer warm to hold. Suddenly I heard what I assumed to be his mother approaching the room. Escorted by a few familiar faces she entered the room. The look on her face was indescribable. She paused for a brief moment before staggering to his bed. She let out a scream that took my breath away. As I stood there in silence crying along with her, the nurse gently took my hand and put moms in its place. I said goodbye inside my head and walked away with the only thing I could be content with. I had done all I could, I held his hand.