At Some Point...

The quiet suffocates and stillness is deafening. Even today. Maybe more so. And to think, those were things I prayed for. 

Note to self: Be careful what you pray for. You may actually get it.

At some point,

I had to describe his last moments on this earth to paramedics and police officers. I provided details about the last time I talked to him and how he'd had a 'back spasm' for almost two weeks. I repeated the story so many times my throat burned. Understand, I had to provide this information while my shell of a husband was still lying on the living room floor. For too long, he was uncovered.

At some point,

An older officer instructed the paramedics to cover him up. 

At some point,

My parents showed up. Somebody went for food. Everybody cried. My mother called people who needed to know. We waited to call his mother (that's Another Story). 

We sat around his shell making hollow conversation. 

At some point,

My sister showed up. The body still being there made her look as sick as I felt. She left.

But not I. I had to stay in the very room I so desperately wanted to escape. My eyes leaked involuntarily. I let them. I was shell=shocked. Later I would discover that I'd been traumatized. I kept glancing over at his shell, willing it to move.

No response.

At some point,

Funeral home workers came to examine and remove his shell. 

Moving furniture.

The smell of cigarettes.

The body on the gurney. 

A guttural howl impregnated by pain associated with deep loss.

A pain in my chest that shot down my shoulders.

And then,

At some point,

We contacted his mother.