I’m standing on a beach, my callused feet sinking into the soft sand beneath me. I’m staring at the sunset, as the cold waves crash around me. With each wave, the water gets closer, and my feet sink deeper. The sky is painted with every shade of red and orange. Everything around me is reflecting in a gold-colored hue. As the sun is swallowed by the ocean, so am I. I close my eyes and I try to think of him; and in doing so, I must think of the things that happened before.

‘Before’ can mean so many things to me. There are some days when I wish I could live in the ‘before,’ because that is where I can still find him. Some days, like today, I let my mind pretend that I am. ‘Before’ is where he is healthy, happy, and chasing me along this same beach, our beach. ‘Before’ is where he and I lay on our beach to look at the stars at night and contemplate how many of them might already be dead. How fascinating I find it, that many of the stars we see at night have been dead, burned out, long ago; and yet we still see their light long after they are gone. Staring at dead stars feels like staring into a past that continues to light the future. ‘Before’ is when he tells me he loves me, and no matter how lost I ever get, he will be there to come find me and bring me home. ‘Before’ is when he is laughing – So often he is laughing, filling the room with his joyful spirit. What I try not to think about is why he is gone. When I let my mind drift to the memories of his body breaking, I can’t help but be swept into it, and it again feels like I am in those horrible moments.

It all begins with him breathing heavier, walking slower, and struggling to make it up the stairs without becoming breathless. He tells us all that he is fine, but ‘I’m just trying to catch my breath’ so quickly turns into, ‘I can’t breathe.’ And suddenly, he is in the hospital, fighting for air. The doctors are perplexed, and so am I. So many machines assist him as he slowly suffocates, and the sound of those machines will haunt my nightmares. I visit him daily.

At first, he is awake, with a tube down his throat and unable to speak with words. Nonetheless, his joyful spirit remains intact. He and I play board games in his hospital room. He pretends not to notice while I cheat. Periodically, he writes me messages on a pad of paper. His horrible penmanship never improves.

The first time his heart stops, I am startled by the sudden onslaught of alarms and lights coming from the monitors above his bed. Immediately a hoard of doctors and nurses come sweeping into his room, ushering me to stand against the wall. No one seems to be paying particular attention to me as tears begin streaming down my face. I cover my mouth with my hand to keep the scream forming on my lips from making a sound. I let my back fall against the wall and slid down it until I am sitting with my knees curled against my chest. I feel my heart caving in. Just when I think my world will break apart, I see that the team of people crowding his room have restored his heartbeat and given him more time to live. Still, I don’t let myself breathe deeply. Someone, a nurse I believe, silently places a glass of water in my hand. I stare at it listlessly. Finally, because it is something to do other than marinate in my pain, I take a drink. The monotonous act is a shattering of sorts, breaking the chains around my mind and allowing me to imagine moving forward. In that moment, I feel the tugging in my heart, urging me not to give up. He is not gone, not yet at least, so therefore I must continue as well.

Next, he is on his stomach with his feet in the air, suspended to give his lungs the maximum opportunity to fill with breath. I speak his name, but he does not respond. He has been asleep for weeks now, sedated to keep him from the panic. I continue talking to him regardless, hoping a piece of my words might reach wherever his mind is resting. I hold his oversized hand and I sing our song, just like he used to sing to me.

Then, we are all crying. A nameless man in a white coat says it is ‘the end.’ “However,” he counters, contradicting his own words to give us a feather of hope, “we have a Hail Mary we can try.” I don’t know what ‘Hail Mary’ means, but I have a feeling it isn’t good. In fact, the ‘Hail Mary’ gives him only a few more days. More than anything, it gives me the chance to see him awake one last time.

In ‘the end’ I am surprised to see his eyes open, head held high, and a pensive expression on his face. He tries to smile for me, but it does not reach his eyes. He has a large tube coming out of his neck, red fluid leaking out all around it. He still cannot speak; his tongue having died with the last of his words weeks ago. He still cannot breathe, the tube in his neck now making breathing unnecessary. What horrible, despicable irony it is that he will never have the luxury of taking a final breath or saying his last words before he is taken away from me. Instead, it is a machine that has the last say on a life cut too short. We are both crying as my gaze collides with his. He begs me with his eyes to understand something important, but I can’t interpret the message. I tell him that I love him, thank him for all that he has given me, and promise that he will never be forgotten.

The man in the white coat is back, standing at the door. His head is down, shoulders slumped in defeat. He keeps whispering “I’m sorry.” I find it odd that this man I do not know is apologizing for the nightmare I am living in. I find it hard to blame him when I don’t even know his name, but I do it anyways.

The sun shines brightly through the windows of the hospital room, mocking us, and contrasting the pain storming like thunder in our hearts. I am angered by this. This moment, cloaked in sadness and suffering, deserves to be echoed throughout the world and reflected in the weather. Nevertheless, the sun keeps shining.

There is a woman in the corner of the room. She has one hand over her mouth, her other hand and arm wrapped tightly around her waist. She is trying to physically hold herself together, but that isn’t possible. She is shattering. She makes a noise that is the most heart wrenching sound I’ve ever heard. It’s the sound of a mother losing her child. In that moment, I know that her pain, at least, will be echoed through time; colliding with the pain of every woman who has ever had a child ripped away from her. She sinks slowly to her knees and breaks apart. The severity of her heartbreak is diminished by the cacophony of despair already present in the room. Children cry for their father, a wife cries for her husband, siblings cry for their brother, and I am paralyzed. I try not to let this moment define me, but I know I am destined to live in it. I am a snow globe, trapped inside my memories, periodically shaking them to see if I can view them in a different light. Maybe they’ll become beautiful if I can just shake them hard enough.

Back in my present on the beach, I shake my head and try to pull myself away from my painful memories. But despite my best intentions, as my feet sink deeper into the sand and the water rises around me, I continue to think about ‘the end.’ I think about the look in his eyes as I said goodbye, the tears that streamed down his face, and the pain of things unfinished clenching the muscles in his body. I sink even deeper, and I begin grasping for something to hold on too.

Finally, I think of the stars. I think of the light that we see even when a star has been gone longer than we will ever know. I think of him chasing me, running, smiling as our feet hit the sand. I think of being lost, and the comfort of knowing that someone will care to find me. I think of his laugh. I can’t even remember the sound of it anymore, but I still remember how it made me feel, how it filled me up with joy. I think of the look on his face as he sang our song to me. How the beautiful words made my heart dance. I think of him dancing, pulling me into his arms, and spinning me until I’m dizzy.

I think of a little girl falling off her bike, tears streaming down her face, but strong arms wrap around her and pick her up.

“I’ll catch you if you fall.”

I think of a late night, stopping at his office on our way home. He hands me a large, decorative, metal key. “What’s this?” I ask him.

“The key to my heart. Keep it safe for me.”

I think of love, and how simultaneously beautiful and cruel it can be. Love has destroyed me, but it has always been worth it. My life has been built and broken by love.

Still sinking on the beach, I look up at the sky and notice that the sun has set long ago. I can see the brightest stars making their appearance, speckling the night sky. I think about how he is exactly like them. His light will keep shinning and lighting my way long after it burned out; my certainty in this comforts me. He is a star, and I am the sand, destined to be crushed by the waves and swayed in whichever way the tide takes me.

My feet are still planted in the sand. I continue sinking deeper, but I have not yet sunk. My head is still above the water, and I intend to keep it that way. I will not be taken under. With this decision made, I climb out of the sand. With great effort, I am able to pull my feet free from where they have taken root. I wade out of the water and walk back into my life. Back into the ‘after.’