There are some secrets you take to the grave. This is one of them.
I lay in the bed, connected to the machines, my life expectancy counted in hours. I had been dying for some time, kept alive on chemicals, but it was now time to go.
I’d been in this bed for almost two months, and it was hard on Julie. Often she slept in the hospital to be with me, and I didn’t want her to. I wanted to die alone. I wanted to die in privacy.
Julie was sitting on the chair, holding her head just so. I remembered our honeymoon, she was sitting on the bed, her head held down, crying or near to it.
I didn’t speak to it then, I didn’t speak to it now.
When you know something matters too much, don’t reduce it to sound.
So this secret comes with me to the grave.