He awoke, as he always did during the week, just before 5:00 AM, walked stiffly down the steps and gingerly endeavored to complete his morning workout. It got harder as the years rolled by, but he gritted his teeth and 45 minutes later ambled less stiffly back upstairs to take a shower and get dressed for the office.
His wife had not moved in their bed which was unusual. Normally, she made her way to his side, once vacated, to put her head on his pillow and hug the covers to herself. She did it, she always said, to keep the memory of his presence next to her for as long as possible before she started her day homeschooling their girls, and taking care of the thousand little details necessary for the efficient running of a large and busy household.
"I miss you when you leave," she said in the same explanation over the last quarter century of their lives together. "It helps to lay on your side of the bed."
It was too endearing to him for words, especially after all this time, so he always said nothing and kept his face expressionless lest something, he didn't know what, break.
This morning was different, and a secret stab of deep panic knifed into him. She lay absolutely still, not having moved from when he'd first awoke.
She was breathing, he discovered quickly, but just in odd, shallow and silent inhales that barely moved her chest.
"Jill!" he called her name close to her ear in an intense whisper, his own heart beating wildly.
No response.
"Jill! Wake up! I'm going!"
She would never let him leave the house without saying goodbye and telling him she loved him.
Nothing.
It was inexpressibly odd how quickly the chasm of unbridled terror opened up inside him. She would not wake up. What if she never woke up again?
She was the anchor of his soul. She was why he did nearly everything he did; the background engine of his life; the thing that kept him going despite the ever-growing and unavoidable conviction of the poignant futility of life.
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, desperate for some response.
She lay like a warm and lifeless doll, her hair askew, her consciousness far away and unreachable.
"Jill!" he called again louder, more evident panic in his voice, like a lost little boy in a huge shopping mall.
Then the thought that she was dying descended upon him full force, a crushing, paralyzing weight that froze him in time and space.
Never, ever in his life had he felt… so abandoned and alone.
What followed was an endless 20 minutes of frantic, and quietly desperate efforts to wake her.
Adult rationality had fled. Rather than call 911, or yell for his daughters' to get help, or do anything remotely sensible, he was caught up in a mindless attempt to get his beloved wife back from wherever she had gone.
In retrospect, it was the stupidest, most irresponsible thing he could have done. He risked her life by not thinking. Rather than act as quickly as possible to get an EMT or an ambulance, he knelt on the bed over her, tears streaming unnoticed down his face, shaking and pleading wordlessly for her to wake up.
It worked.
In the muted daylight of the bedroom he saw the glint of her brown eyes as they slowly opened.
She tried to speak, and couldn't at first, but then, "Something's wrong..." she slurred.
© aqvik 2011
