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I remember that day, and the horrendous scene laid out in front of me: "... Sara... Sara..." I heard his voice, grasped the meaning of his words and the tragic dimension of the moment, yet I did not halter from my position.
*clickclickclickclickclickclickclick*
I could not hear his words— his final wishes. His voice continued in his agony, at the moment when his soul was going limp, I did not hear him out. I was afraid.
Afraid of losing him.
That was why I remained deaf to his cries.
*clickclickclickclickclickclickclick*
Instead of dying alongside him, sacrificing my miserable life and rushing to his side, taking his hand, and imagining the ending in which we could escape together— instead of all that, I remained trembling in place, clicking as fast as humanity allowed me to. I silently begged him stop calling my name, to make him stop crying. So afraid to lose my chance at keeping him alive.
In fact, Joe was no longer conscious.
Yet his agony-filled, harrowing voice went on piercing the silence and calling me and me alone.
*clickclickclickclickclickclickclick*
He no longer felt the painful sucking of the tubes; but I did. And yet, I did not react. I let them suck all the blood out of him. I left him alone in the clutches of death. Worse— I was angry with him for having been noisy, for having cried.
"Sara...! Sara...!"
His voice had reached me from so far away, from so close in my heart. But I had done nothing.
I shall never forgive myself. Nor shall I ever forgive the world for making this scenario even possible.
His last word had been my name.
And I had not responded.