The moment, B

The booming thunder startled me awake as the rain pummeled down. We had not had a storm like this in a while; it was early spring.

I did not want to get out of bed, not typically like me.

I looked at my phone, it was 6:23 am, late for me.

I lay there and listened to the storm, both cats scarce with the loudness of the thunder.

I thought it was weird Brian did not come up to bed when it thundered, he had fallen asleep on the couch again, surely it woke him up. He must still be mad from last night I thought, we had had a tiny argument.

Heartburn and a panic attack, that was the consensus after 4 to 5 hours at emergency room on Sunday.

He thought he was dying, he was scared.

He looked right into the young male doctors’ eyes and said I am not going to die, am I?

No, he replied.

He slept through the next day, they gave him a lot of benzodiazepines to calm him down, he was really scared.

Four days after our visit to the ER and he had heartburn again and was starting to panic about it. I asked him if he wanted me to call an ambulance or take him back to the emergency room, we had gone just a few days prior because of the burning in his chest scared him, ignited a panic attack.

He had woken me up to tell me about the burning, “it’s happening again” he anxiously said to me.

I said, “for heartburn try some peppermint or try a Tums.”

He had gone downstairs and turned on the tv as I fell back asleep.

Reluctantly, Friday morning, I rolled out of bed, thunder still booming.

The cats would be scared, but they needed breakfast and I needed my coffee.

Brian had fallen asleep sitting up on the couch, both fists clenched, the remote by his side, his head tilted to his left shoulder.

I thought oh boy, his neck is going to hurt later.

His mouth looked slightly odd, a little open in an unusual way. I was used to it being open when he slept because he made these little puff sounds in his sleep, like his mom.

I did not turn any lights on when I came down, did not want to wake him. His color looked a little weird, reflection from the tv still being on.

I started the coffee and fed the cats, standing guard so Fergus would not steal his sister’s food.

As I watched them eat, I realized the house was too quiet—no snoring from Brian, no restless movements from the couch.

I stared at him for a minute.

Was his chest rising?

Was that a breath?

I could not tell.

I did not blatantly see his chest move.

This was not the first time I had watched for his breath.

It was not moving.

His chest did not rise.

The ABCs, airway, breathing, circulation, look, listen, feel.

Brian wake up! Wake the fuck up I yelled.

His body was cold to the touch, he felt stiff, his foot was purple, cyanosis.

I knew from my mom’s time in hospice that discolored limbs meant time had passed. Death was imminent when discoloration started, and death had long passed with a full color change.

Not fully taking in what was happening, I knew I could not save him.

I called 911.

911 had me pull his stiff cold body down off the couch onto the floor to start compressions until the ambulance arrived.

I knew nothing I was doing then would make a difference, but I continued doing as I was told. Watching his head bop up and down with each push of the compressions.

His head moving bothered me, somehow worried about hurting his head. That image stays with me.

When they got there and made the declaration, put a white sheet over his body, I went upstairs.

An officer came up with me; he tried to get me to call someone. I could not. I did not want to, Brian was the only person I wanted in that moment, no one was awake yet, I justified.

He held my phone to my face unlocking it if you do not I will. Fine. I will call someone.

I wanted to be alone.

I tried two people no answer.

So, I called Jenny, his sister in Pennsylvania.

What a devastating moment, calling his only sister who had lost her mother just six months prior and now I have to tell her that her little brother died.

She answered, probably because it was so unusual for me to call at that hour.

“He’s dead” I said,

“who’s dead?”

I could not say it; it was so hard to utter his name.

Brian.

Brian’s dead.

I do not have John’s number can you tell him.

Brian and John were “brothers” true friends since they were four years old, but much more than friends, true brothers.

The police were staying until the coroner got there. It took over two hours.

Brian laying under a white sheet on my living room floor with one foot out from under it and his long toes. He hated his long toes.

Thank goodness for John, he was there within minutes. Once he arrived the police could leave my house; John would wait with me for the coroner.

People trickled in as word got around. His lifelong best friends waiting with me.

The coroner finally arrived.

I will never forget the moment, the curtains still drawn, shielding the outside world from the devastation within my living room.

The storm had long passed, the sun was out and ground was damp.

They heaved his body onto the stretcher, covered him in a white sheet as they wheeled him away.

I came out my front door as they rolled him down the sidewalk.

Devastation on my face as I cried and watched.

My neighbor in her window saw my face, my agony, saw the stretcher and came running over in disbelief.

So young.

So young, too young to die.

As always. I would love your comments, feedback, or stories.