The Most Esquisite Kind of Agony

Exquisite

Myself, and my brother who works in the Emergency Department assisted the nurse to turn my Mother onto her side.

As we turned her, brown fluid poured from her mouth and nose filling her oxygen mask.

My brother knew exactly what that meant.

“Ohhh Mum” he mumbled his eyes began to tear.

Momentarily maintaining his composure as he looked over at me and sighed “She’s gone”.

In disbelief I asked “What do you mean?”.

The nurse interrupted, suggesting we wait in the family room.

As I walked out of the resuscitation suite and down the hall toward the family room, my hand automatically reached for my phone and I began dialing my sister.

Somehow I imagined that when I broke the news to her, the nurse would come and tell me that Mum had started breathing again.

It wasn’t until I heard my sister crying over the phone, that the reality of Mum’s passing hit me.

It was the most exquisite kind of agony.

Suddenly everything felt surreal.

Passersby moved as if in slow motion, their voices an echoing muffle.

And, all I could do was cry.

I closed my eyes tight and through the tears and heartache wished that when I opened my eyes again, that I would be waking from a dream.

A horrible dream.

I cried that morning until I could cry no more.

The pain was such, that I still feel it today while recounting what happened four years ago.

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