memories

By a turn of fate, I am currently working in the same exact hospital where I had spent many months traveling back and forth with him for his chemotherapy, blood checks, follow ups and the bone marrow transplant. I've been working here for the past 4 years now. My first day there was just a mere 6 months after his passing, and walking into those same front doors with so many painful memories was agonizing. I used to have to stop just before approaching the front doors, take a deep breath, give out a long sigh and recompose myself. Then I walked in, with my heart beat thumping in my ears, and a lump in my throat. I would pass a row of seats at the front door, where patients used to sit, waiting for whom ever is to pick them up arrived at the "pick up/drop off" drive through. Many were bald, had masks on indicating they were immunocompromised and needed extra precautions. One particular patient used to sit regularly at HIS seat, and sat there with the same body composure as HIM, slightly slouched and legs crossed. Each morning I saw this patient, it would trigger off so many memories, that at times I get startled thinking that it was HIM. But no, it was another battling the same ordeal. On some occasions, I may have stared too long at this person, that he notices that someone is looking at him. Initially, I would quickly look away, so not to give him the impression that I was looking. Its rude to stare.....
Many weeks went on like this. The hospital was large, and I worked in a different section from where my late hubby had received his treatment. But on occasions, I would have to go into the same wards as where we spent many nights together, me on the foldable chair, and him imprisoned in the ward. There were even times where I had to go back to the same bed where HE had passed on. "Be strong. Be strong" I kept telling myself. I did crumble the first time I went back to Bed 33 on ward U11. I had understanding collegues who took over.....but I couldn't keep crumbling everytime I was called to that ward. The next time, I did it. It wasn't as tough as I thought it would be. The nurses and staff there all recognised me, and asked how I was. The place looked a lot different too from those last 5 nights when I had spent near Bed 33. It was the High Dependency ward and had 4 beds in that cubicle. It looked a lot smaller than when I remembered it to be. It looked crowded and uncomfortable. But from what I recall 6 months ago, as I spent the last 5 nights with him there, the cubicle was very spacious. I was at ease and so was he.
The last night there, as HE was drifting in and out, mumbling words, and hearing him say the Syahadah in between his dhikr and reliving past memories, I had stayed by his side as much as possible. We were reciting the quran close to him, to give him guidance for the final journey. I heard him call my name asking for a hug. It was a very quick hug yet the most meaningful. It was also the last hug he gave me, and he quickly pushed me away. That gesture told me it was going to be soon.
Morning did come for us, and it was a very long night. He wanted a hair cut and asked me to cut his nails. I told him I'll do the nails, but the hair cut might be a bit too challenging, as I smiled at him. Unfortunately, I didn't even get to finish his nails when his breathing suddenly became shallow. The Consultant was there with us doing her rounds as I was whispering the Shahadah in his ears. She asked me if I wanted any form of active resuscitation. I shook my head and she understood. She left us for our last moments together. I whispered again in his ears to tell him how much we love him, and that we will miss him. But, we will see each other again later, as our bond will never be broken. I heard him say our little girl's name. I hope that the angels have come for him in the form of our daughter, a familiar figure he loves so much, so that he will not be afraid to follow.
He passed away peacefully with me cradling him. Surprisingly, I felt a tremendous sense of relief for him. His fight and suffering had finished and he will be resting in peace now, God willing. I also felt a relief for me, not because caring for him was a burden, but now, I no longer have to see him suffer.
4 and a half years on, I now walk into those same front doors with more strength than ever. I see the same patients sitting there, but this time, I do make eye contact and smile at them. I walk down the same corridors we used to walk along, remembering. But now, it is a memory of how much we love each other and the journey we shared.