26 hours. 26 hours I stayed by your side after you passed away. The nurses kept asking if I was okay, asking if I wanted some fresh air or something to eat, but I just shook my head and said “I’m fine.” I never moved out of the chair beside your bed once. My whole body was numb, I couldn’t feel anything as I watched your pale, limp body sag into the bedsheets. One nurse in particular, Nora, her name was, sat down and told me that everything was going to be okay, and that I should stay strong. She told me that I could get my life back on track if I believed in myself. I looked her in the eye and broke down, I felt so weak and powerless. Crying into her shoulder I said “I can’t do it without him.”
I don’t think she understood what I’ve went through over the years. Mom, Dad, Bobby and now you, Sammy. My whole family are gone. I have no one. I get moments when I just want to end all this pain, all this loneliness but then I know that it’s not what you would’ve wanted. I’m trying to make you proud. There are times when I have to release my frustration on a few demons, but there are also times when I just sit in damp and dreary motels expecting you to burst through the door. I know it will never happen but I don’t think I can move on.
I’ll keep on fighting for you and Mom and Dad.
See you in Heaven, Sammy, when the time comes. You better have fireworks ready for me.