Lost Love

Nichole took off in a dead run towards the gurney bearing her husband.

She didn't see Jimmy moving towards her, but she felt his arms around her waist as he picked her up and pulled her close. Her arms and legs flailed, trying to escape his grasp.

"Goddamn it, let me go! Let me go!" Nichole shrieked, futilely pulling against Jimmy's strong arms. She stretched her arm out towards her husband. "Michael! Michael, you can't leave me like this! You can't leave me . . . You can't leave me . . ."

The orderlies pushed Michael into the elevator and the doors closed behind them. Nathan took his sister in his arms, wrapping her in a loving bear hug. Tears ran down his cheeks.

Nichole's struggling subsided, her voice dropped to a whisper. "He can't leave me . . . he can't . . ."

She started to sob. Hard, uncontrollable sobs. Nathan and Nichole collapsed on the floor in each others' arms.

Michael was in surgery for close to six hours.

Nichole, John and Elizabeth never left the hospital. Everyone else came and went in shifts, to rest themselves and to make sure Michael's parents and wife ate and took a nap and ate something.

After waiting for hours, Nichole, John and Elizabeth huddled around Michael's bed in the ICU. His face was bruised, but washed. A hospital gown covered the stitches on his chest. He was on a respirator and a heart pump.

The faint sounds of the machines were the only noises in the room.

"Dr. McKenzie is cleaning up," the nurse said. She had a warm, generous smile. "He'll be in shortly."

After all the waiting, a more few minutes wasn't much longer. But it seemed like an eternity.

Nichole jumped when the door opened. Three men walked in. One was a nurse who began hanging up x-rays in front of a light on the wall. Two were of a chest, and the third sheet had CAT scans on it.

"Good evening," one of the other men said. He looked at his watch. "Or rather, good morning. I'm Steve McKenzie, this is Dr. Walker."

According to Nichole's sister, Dr. McKenzie was a well-known cardiothorasic surgeon. She didn't know Dr. Walker.

"Would you folks come over here for a second?" Dr. McKenzie pointed at the chest x-rays. He had a pleasant, easy-going bedside manner, unlike most doctors Nichole knew. "Michael's chest partially collapsed when the airbag hit him. The ribs here, here and here were broken and his lung was punctured here. That's not the real problem; Dr. Rivas and Dr. Tran down in the ER did a magnificent job of taking care of those injuries."

He turned to John and Elizabeth. "Do either of you have heart problems? No? Hmmm . . . Michael's heart is about ten percent larger than the average heart for an adult male his size. Generally, that's good. But he also had valve that wasn't as efficient as it should have been. Did he ever complain of chest pain?"

Nichole shook her head.

"That's probably because with an extra-large heart, he was pumping more blood, which covered up for the leaky valve. When the airbag went off, his heart stopped. It's bruised here and here. The tricuspid valve here between the atrium and ventricle was damaged and had to be replaced. Also, his heart is not pumping at full strength; that's why he's on the heart pump."

"How strong is his heart?" John asked.

"About forty percent right now."

"Can we expect a full recovery?" Elizabeth gripped Nichole and John's hands.

The two doctors exchanged nervous glances. Nichole's mouth went dry and her heart leaped into her throat.

"Dr. Walker is our resident brain surgeon and he can best address that."

Walker's voice was much deeper. Gravelly. He was intense and cut quickly to the chase. "When Michael's heart stopped, blood stopped flowing to his brain. From the time of the accident until the when the Jaws of Life got him out of the car, about 15 minutes passed. Dr. McKenzie thinks his heart was stopped for the entire time."

He paused to let the words sink in.

"In essence, Michael suffered a massive stroke. If you'll look at these fMRI images, you'll notice that there is no activity in most of brain. These parts should be green, red or yellow, not gray or black."

Tears started to flow down Nichole's cheeks. She would have fallen if Dr. McKenzie didn't catch her.

"Even his hypothalamus, the part that regulates involuntary functions, suffered some damage."

Dr. McKenzie held Nichole's hands. "We can repair his heart and his lungs. But we can't repair his brain."

John pulled Elizabeth and Nichole close to him. All three started to cry. The doctors stood around uncomfortably for several minutes while Nichole, John and Elizabeth held each other.

"May I speak to you outside?" John asked the doctors, leaving Nichole and Elizabeth alone with Michael.

They stood there, arm in arm, staring at the shell of someone they loved more than life itself. Neither said a word.

John came back in a few minutes later. "I called Ernie and Carole and the rest of the family. They'll be here shortly."

His eyes were still wet, but he had a steely veneer. Nichole knew he was dying inside, but for everyone else, John wanted to be seen as strong and unassailable. She envied his ability to sublimate his fear and sadness.

"Dr. McKenzie and Dr. Walker say his chances of recovery are one in a million. Michael left a living will; did you know about that, Nichole? He never wanted to be put on one of those damn machines."

"I know," Nichole said, wiping away the tears. "We talked about this once. I didn't want to, but he wouldn't let it drop."

"I've made arrangements with Dr. McKenzie to have him removed from life support as soon as the rest of the family says good-bye." John pulled his wife close as she started to sob. Nichole took several deep breaths and tried to hold back her own.

"I want to take him home," Nichole said suddenly. "I don't want him to die here. Not like this."

John and Elizabeth both looked shocked, but nodded their assent. Hospitals were sterile and crowded. They were noisy. Impersonal. Michael deserved to die in peace, in a familiar place. At home.

Nichole rushed out of the room, looking for Dr. McKenzie. She flagged him down in the hallway.

"How long will Michael live once he's taken off the respirator and heart pump?"

Dr. McKenzie thought for a second. "His heart's beating, but it's weak and so is his breathing. Five or six hours. Maybe seven."

"I don't want him to die here," Nichole said.

"I understand," Dr. McKenzie said, a sad, compassionate look in his eye. "I'll make arrangements to have him transported to your house first thing in the morning."

When she returned to her room, the family was starting to trickle in. John was delivering the news of Michael's condition to everyone as they arrived.

"We're taking him home tomorrow," Nichole said to John.

He smiled at her. "You know he loved you more than anything, don't you?"

"I know," Nichole whispered.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. The rest of the family came and tried as best they could to console themselves and each other.

There were some delays in the ambulance service, and Nichole didn't get home until almost dark the next day. She hadn't slept in over 36 hours.

Dr. McKenzie rode in the ambulance with Nichole and Michael. John, Elizabeth, Ernie and Carole were waiting at her apartment, along with all of her brothers and sisters. Emily even managed to get some emergency leave and hopped the first flight in from Orlando.

The ambulance crew wheeled Michael into their bedroom and gently lay him on the bed, even knowing they'd be back the next day. His chest was wrapped in bandages. The cuts on his face were washed. His eyes were closed. He looked like he was sleeping.

Nichole pulled the covers over him. His breathing was shallow but steady.

Michael's family stood in his bedroom silently. The machines were gone. There were no pings or beeps or air pumps. Except for the ambient sounds coming from the streets of the City That Never Sleeps, the room was silent and peaceful.

The initial grief was passed. Everyone was in shock.

Nichole went to the door. "If you would like a few minutes alone with him, now's the time."

Everyone filed out except John and Elizabeth. Nichole closed the door behind them. The sun was setting.

Over the next couple of hours, the family cycled into the bedroom, everyone saying their good-byes, leaving tears and kisses on Michael's cheeks.

The somber mood hung over everyone else until Michael's younger brother Rhett got into the photo albums. He passed them around and the memories started to flow. Tears of joy replaced the tears of sadness as the family recalled Michael's life.

John and Elizabeth reminisced about the day they brought new-born Michael home from the hospital, and the time when Emily tried to glue his hair back on after cutting it off with a pair of sewing scissors. Ernie told the story about Michael's first t-ball at bat when he ran to third instead of first.

With each story, with each memory, they let Michael go. Surrounded by their family, they cherished his memory together, sharing the joys and good times, supporting each other.

The hallmark of the family, laughter, lifted the darkness that hung over their hearts, but everyone fell silent when the last of them had gone in to see Michael. Everyone but Nichole.

Nichole stood and took a deep breath. She walked to the bedroom, aware of the eyes upon her. She closed the door behind her.

The lamp on the nightstand was on. Nichole sat on the edge of the bed. She took Michael's hand in her own.

"I love you," she whispered, choking back tears.

Nichole lay on the bed next to her husband, looking at him for a long time, watching his chest rise and fall with each shallow breath. She reached over and turned out the light. The starlight shone through the window.

She curled up against Michael, and lay her head on his chest. She pulled his arm around her and pretended he was holding her tight.

Closing her eyes, Nichole tried to wish away the previous 48 hours. She expected Michael to tap her on the shoulder and tell her it was all a bad dream. She prayed for a miracle.

Nothing happened.

The tears came, slowly at first, then in heartbreaking sobs.

Nichole was frustrated, scared, angry and sad. She wept for Michael. She wept for herself. She wept for unborn children and memories that would never be. She wept for an uncertain future.

Nichole was angry with Michael for leaving her. She was angry at the drivers of the cars involved in the accident. She was angry with God for taking the love of her life from her.

More than anything, Nichole felt an empty space in her heart. A void of despair and hopelessness. Michael's strength was gone. His encouraging words, his moral certainty and his omnipresent love disappeared.

She cuddled close to him, trying desperately to hold on, as if by the sheer force of her will, she could stave of his death.

Nichole vowed to love him forever, and cried herself to sleep in his arms.

A soft glow filled the room as the first rays of daylight shone through the window, warming her. Michael's arm was still draped around her shoulder.

With a start, Nichole jerked her head up and looked around. She blinked back the haze and looked up at Michael.

He was gone.

--------------------------------------

The company picnic was a week after her night out with Terra and her friends. Ernie and John came out of retirement to run the company once again. Nichole showed up to the picnic smiling and carrying on friendly conversation. It was in the same corner of the Sheep Meadow where she and Michael had reconnected, three short years before.

People felt awkward talking to her; everyone there knew Michael, and everyone's heart broke along with hers when he died. John and Ernie had built a solid company not only into a business but also into a family.

She felt the unspoken support through the hugs and the laughter.

Nichole was quiet; she had been withdrawn for most of the last year. But Ernie noticed something different about her that day. Her smile was back, not fully, but it was a start.

Right before the flag football game started, Nichole reached into her purse and drew out Michael's ashes.

With tears in her eyes, she handed the silver urn to John and Elizabeth.

"It's probably illegal, but I'd like to bury this underneath the oak tree," she said.

"I won't tell if you won't." John smiled at her. "Thank you."

Nathan and Rhett found a shovel and dug a shallow hole. John placed the urn in the hole and began filing it with dirt.

"I love you," Nichole whispered, knowing Michael was looking down upon her—upon them—and smiling.