Written By: Lauren Howard
I raced across our small neighborhood like a mad woman.
I honked at other drivers, drove on the wrong side, and broke nearly every traffic law imaginable.
I just knew. The universe was telling me.
I didn’t even shut the SUV door on the way into the house. Steal the car. I don’t even care. I burst through the door and into the bedroom where you were on the bed. As soon as I crossed the threshold, our eyes locked.
That next second might have been a year. Everything happened in slow motion. You said everything to me through your eyes. It was like a novel, a tribute, and an opus all packed into that one transfixed gaze. I knew. You knew. This was it.
Once that eternal second was over, though, everything started happening so fast. The control I had been holding on to for dear life was gone. Your color changed. You started vomiting. Your labored respirations stopped.
I had only left you an hour before. It was the first time that we had been apart during the day in weeks. I just wanted a little bit of time with our 6-week-old daughter and my husband. The two of them barely got to be together because we were always with you. That’s not a complaint, but it was really hard. I wouldn’t give back a second of any of that time.
I’ll wonder if that was the right decision for the rest of my life.
We called an ambulance. They tried to revive you. The paramedic said it was very grave but not over as he hugged me through my shock. An hour later, a doctor at the hospital would tell us that they couldn’t save you.
But I already knew that because you told me. You waited for me. You held on those extra few minutes so we could say a wordless goodbye. You gave me what I had told my husband over and over that I needed. That you couldn’t leave this world without me beside you. That I couldn’t miss that moment. That I had to see you off. I had never said it to you, but you knew it and you waited. And you made sure that the world stopped spinning long enough for us to wordlessly say everything we needed to say.
I love you. We’ll be okay, but don’t leave me. I’m not ready for this, but I’ll never be ready for this. Please, just another few minutes. I know, I know. It’s time.
My dad has been gone for seven years today. In honor of that, I wanted to share the first-ever excerpt from my unpublished book that has been sitting in the cloud. He was my best friend. He was my person. I had him for 29 years, and a hundred more still wouldn’t have been enough. I hope we’re making you proud every day, Larry B. The hole you left isn’t smaller, but we have built this giant world around it that you would love so much.
I hope you have someone in your life that you love enough that you would miss them this much. It makes you one of the lucky ones.
Founder & CEO at elletwo