I heard his voice in my head gasping for breath, crying, pleading for help! It was me! I was dying all alone in the hospital bed in a private room…a lonely room! There are times for privacy but this was not one of them! I don’t want to be alone! I want to be with my family! I want to tell them… I want to see them! I want to say I love you to each one of them! Why can’t they be here now? To hell with safety protocols! I know my time is up. I know I am fading… I cry for myself. I cry for my family. I cry for my wife, my sons, my daughters, my father, my mother…They have to carry on without me now. They have to cope. They have to be okay. I need to tell them they will be okay without me somehow. I don’t know how but what else can I say? They need to be encouraged. They need to see me smile one last time or maybe it’s better this way. Maybe they should hold on to the best memories from before and not see me like this. Maybe this would make it easier for them. Oh, but I’m scared for me! Where will I go? What will happen to me? Will I go anywhere? Will there be a me? Is it just a sleep as I have heard or will there be flames and punishment? I don’t know now. I have to believe. I have to be strong for myself. I always believed in heaven. I believed that’s where I would go, so that’s where I will go. I will be me and I will go on. But I am not ready to go. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be alone. No one said how hard it will be to let go of my life.
Is it hard though? I think I can let go. I think I just have to stop crying. I just have to relax…Yes, I think that’s it. The pain is not so bad now. I’m not burning up anymore. It’s not so hard to breathe anymore…It’s not so bad…It’s getting quiet now. I don’t hear the monitors beeping anymore. It’s getting brighter. Where is the light coming from? I…wait! I can see someone. I see a man standing there in front of me.
“Hello, what’s going on. I was dying in a lot of pain and now I don’t feel any pain. I feel light and free”. He points below my feet so I look down.
I can see myself! I can see me in the hospital bed hooked up to the ventilator and other machines. The door swings open and a nurse runs in. She looks at me and the machines and runs back out. She returns almost immediately with a couple of doctors and another nurse.
They are trying to bring me back! One of the doctors, I remember his name was Gabriel Lawson, but he told me to call him Gabe. He was picking up some paddles and a nurse squirted some gel on them. The other doctor was already performing chest compressions. He made way for Gabe to use the paddles on me... My body…I’m not sure that’s me anymore.
They try to shock me back to life is the only way I can describe it. Time and again they tried. I couldn’t feel any of it. It seemed so much like how they do it on tv and so unreal that it is happening to me now. I didn’t realize it when it happened. I just wanted peace. I wanted the pain to stop and I couldn’t breathe.
I wanted to tell them to stop: I don’t want to come back to that pain and suffocate again. I don’t want all that misery all over again, but they only tried once more before they stopped. I noticed it was as though they heard me and everyone seemed to freeze for a second before the other doctor, Michael Greenway, said something and they disconnected the machines. Dr Gabe lingered a couple of seconds and held my hand. I could see he was saddened as he pulled the blanket over me-my body- and they all left. I looked back at the man in front of me and I heard him say “Welcome!” and everything went white!
About the Creator
Godwin
A bit of a Philosopher, Poet and Photographer
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
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