In honor of National Suicide Prevention month. This (fictional) Short Story was inspired by different people I’ve known, stories I’ve heard, and experiences I’ve had.
-To anyone who’s ever lost someone-
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I sat in the waiting room listening to the sounds, trying to stay awake, just a little longer.
I could hear the steady beep, beep, beep, of the hospital monitors in the rooms down the hallway. The few nurses were chatting quietly at the desk at the front of the room. I could hear faint cries from some room down the hall where someone just received bad news. Other than a few soft noises, it was quiet.
I glanced out the window where the sun had long already set and darkness had fallen over the land. The stars peeked softly in the dark abbess. I took in the pretty sight of the moon and stars from the other side of the window.
I wiped my tear-stained eyes and focused my attention back on the white and gray marble floor. I went back to listening to the monitors. The steady beep, beep, beep, sounded soothing and calming in a strange way.
In order to stay awake, I decided to take a walk.
I walked softly down the hall, careful not to disturb anyone. A few nurses were bobbing in and out of rooms, doing their rounds for the night. Every now and then, I would see a visitor leaving from seeing a friend or family member.
As I walked down the hall, I made a mental note of some of the sleeping patients that were here, of the few that had their doors open or that I could peek through, or some I simply knew from being here.
There was a seven-year-old boy who broke his leg with a bright green cast with different doodles drawn on it. He was to be released the next day, but in the meantime, he enjoyed the service of the nurses and the ice cream. He had the funniest comments and definitely kept them all laughing.
Another door down, there was a little girl, about two or three years old, who was really sick. The doctors weren’t sure if she would make it. Both of her parents stayed with her every minute they could. Her room was decorated with colorful cards, stuffed animals, and balloons. She had the brightest smile and most infectious laugh, even when she looked pale and sickly. She didn’t quite understand her fate or why her parents would look at her with such sad eyes most of the time, she just knew she wanted to make them happy as much as she could.
The next room had a middle-aged man who just found out he had aggressive brain cancer. The kind that would never be completely gone or cured. He sat awake in bed that night wondering how he would care for his family of four kids now that he was told he would never be able to work a normal job again. For the moment, the cancer itself was the least of his worries. He wondered what would happen to his family if he didn’t make it. After all, the doctors told him he had less than three months to live.
On the other side of the hall was an elderly man who didn’t have much time left. For as long as I’ve known he was here, he’s never had any visitors. No one to tell his stories to. No one to comfort him. There were no cards on the wall, or stuffed animals on the bed, or balloons tied on the chair. He had nothing to remind him that he’s loved or remembered, or that he’ll be missed when he’s gone. If you look a little closer, you might catch the tear that was slipping from his eye as his monitor sounds went silent.
I walked across the waiting room and into the next hallway. In the first room on the left, there was a teenage girl who was in for a catheterization. She just had to stay the night, but she could hardly sleep. She was terrified of hospitals. She trembled as she tried to sleep, she tried to remember that there was nothing to be afraid of, but the fear remained. She cuddled her favorite stuffed animal tightly as she curled up into her favorite blanket she brought with her, and finally, she eventually fell asleep.
I felt my time was just about up as I walked back to my room. I saw my parents sitting in the chairs around my bed, watching my shallow breathing from my sleeping figure. My mom was crying, and my dad looked disappointed and torn apart, but trying to stay strong. I frowned at them as I realized the pain I caused them.
I thought back to all the people I saw through the halls. The old man who had no one to tell his stories to, the middle-aged man who would give anything to see all his kids grow up, the sick little girl who should’ve gotten a fair chance to live, and all the other patients who are struggling to hold onto life.
And I just threw mine away.
As the memories of the patients flashed through my mind, my mom crying and my dad fighting tears as my monitor flat-lined and went silent.
My last tear fell, and with all my soul I regretted ever pulling that trigger.
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“The Struggles along the way are only meant to shape you for your purpose,” ~ Chadwick Boseman
~Ms.Believer
Inspirited Devotion 