It is the fourth season of Christmas since the last time I watched his chest lower, heard the last beep of the heart monitor, felt his energy crash into my chest, filing the space between my back and front ribs and once fully contained rushing with force up my spinal cord and shooting out the top of my head.
I knew without looking at the monitor, I had kept reminding myself not to watch just be with him, that the line was flat. He was gone now. I knew with finality. Then I looked and watched the flat line move across the black screen eating the mountains. The line moved fast erasing all that was left of his life. When the line devoured the hills and the mountains and conquered the screen, I looked away. I saw his older brother holding his left hand. The world was still. I heard his mother say we should get him ready. I replaced the head that had been my husbands away from my bosom back onto the hospital pillow and turned to look at his mother who held his right hand in both of hers. She told me to close his eyes. I knew how to do it from training by books and movies. I ran my fingers over his eyes bringing the eyelids to rest before brushing my palm against his cheek stubble. Why had I not shaved him when he asked? He never let me shave him even when I had asked in the shower. Because after that moment was gone, he no longer wanted to be groomed. I took the wet towels away. We had used towels to prop his head straight on the pillow when he no longer had the strength to keep it from falling forward. He would make the sign for rain to tell me to pour a pitcher of ice water on his head. We had not been able to replace the towels after the last rain. I tried to close his mouth but it would not close. It was set open in a gruesome tilted manner. I was sorry that his daughters would have to see it this way.
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