Missing You

I guess you don’t realise the impact that a person has on your life unless you lose them, whether you know them distantly, or you are their flesh and blood. This is the thought crossing my mind as I see the bright headlights speeding towards me, the screech of the breaks deafening. From the pavement I can hear my husband screaming at me, and my three children screaming at him. I look back at them for a split second, their eyes as wide as saucers, their mouths like cheerios.
As the car hits me I can feel every bone in my body snapping, the fresh sound of celery crunching, pain searing through my body, making my teeth tingle. A single tear works its way down my face, a sign of silent suffering. I don’t make a sound, my throat clogged up with so many things I want to say. As I lay on the ground, my heart thumping loudly in my chest, I contemplate my life, my achievements. I can feel my husband checking my pulse, my children’s hands clamouring for mummy’s love. Even then, I know it is not worth all of their trying, I can feel myself weakening, my breathing becoming less. Eric reaches for my hand, a last gesture of love, to tell me that he’s there, to reassure me, just in case I could have forgotten him.
The sirens are too loud, they hurt my ears, the blue lights temporarily blinding. My open eyes hurting, but I cannot close them, not ever. As the emergency team rush me to hospital, I wish they’d never tried, it’s no use, I am know I am gone, but they can’t lose faith in me yet. The crisp linen on the hospital bed feels alien on my skin, the cool of the stethoscope sending shivers down my frozen spine. The monitor bleeps, calling all staff to the room, a crash trolley has somehow made it in here too. I can feel the shocks surging through my body, their pitiful attempts to try and bring me back. ‘Let me be.’ I want to scream at them, but would they listen?
Finally, all goes quiet. I can’t see, except to look at the murky ceiling, a damp patch beginning to show. The team backs off, and Eric enters with our kids. He walks over to me, and brushes the hair back from my face, planting a clumsy kiss there instead. The kids each come up to kiss me, none of them really understanding what is going on. My youngest puts her tiny hand on my forehead, trying to initiate a game we played, she doesn’t notice the anguish on her father’s face.