(Sacred Ordinary – October 2025)
It happened in seconds.
One moment I was leaning close, telling him to take a deep breath —
the next, the room filled with people.
But even before that, I could see it —
the look in his eyes that told me he knew exactly what was happening.
He was terrified.
I don’t know what thoughts were racing through his mind,
but I know he was scared.
And even though my own heart was breaking,
I leaned in close and told him it would be okay —
even though I wasn’t sure.
Voices layered over each other, calm but urgent.
Gloves snapping, machines humming to life,
a rush of movement that swallowed the air.
The nurse in me knew exactly what was happening.
I could name every step, every instrument, every reason why.
I stood there watching, frozen in a body that understood the medicine
but couldn’t process the heartbreak.
Because the wife in me — the woman who’s loved him through decades of ordinary days —
was silently screaming.
All I could think was, please, not like this. Don’t take him from me.
It felt like I was watching the line between life and loss narrow to a thread,
and I couldn’t do anything but stand there.
My best friend had arrived just as the team raced into the room.
They pushed me out into the hallway —
and she was there, right there, in the exact moment I needed her most.
God put her there to catch me when the strength gave out,
to hold me upright when I was falling apart.
For a moment, I collapsed into her arms,
and everything I had been holding in finally broke loose.
Not the quiet kind of tears, but the deep, body-breaking kind
that only come when fear finally has somewhere safe to land.
When it was over, I was left alone with my thoughts
The room was quiet and still and the silence was only broken by the hum of machines
and the soft rhythm of survival.
The team slipped out one by one, leaving a silence so heavy it felt alive.
I sat by that bed for five days, holding his hand,
pleading with God to let him make it.
Every hour felt like a lifetime.
Every breath he has taken since this storm is a prayer answered.
This was the moment that split everything in two — before and after. Every reflection since has been an attempt to find meaning in what almost broke me. Writing about it now feels like exhaling the breath I’ve been holding since that day. 🌿
