WHILE THE HEART STILL BEATS

Him

The monitor skipped again, and the nurse glanced at the door instead of at you. I held your hand. The monitor skipped again when she moved. The doctors said they couldn’t do anything until the heartbeat was gone. Your boys waited in the hall. Our control had failed. We had done what we could. Chance kept the rest.

“Nice to meet you,” I said. We shook hands.

“What do you do?” you asked.

“I’m an artist.”

You smiled. A smile a man falls for.

It was my fault. I had been dressed well. I had been drinking. You stood up for me when the man at the bar started trouble. He wiped his nose and looked away. You told him everyone could see it. You stood up too fast and smiled it away before anyone could notice. That was when I knew.

The monitor paused again. Longer this time. The nurse looked at me now, not the door. I heard your oldest son telling your middle son to be kind to the youngest. The youngest was playing. He didn’t know. Your father and I understood each other without speaking.

I held your hand. It went limp in mine a few moments before the last beep. The doctor came back into the room.

“Time of death, two seventeen AM,” he said.

Your father set his hand on my shoulder. My head fell forward. We hadn’t known each other long. Now there was only your hand in mine. You told me you wanted something for the future. Your body only had room for today.

Her

The doctor tells me they can’t intervene while there is still a heartbeat. He tells me he’s sorry and leaves the room. I look at the man I met two months ago. His face has gone pale. I try to sit up, and my vision slips. My father is already moving towards me.

A nurse comes in and starts adjusting the monitor at my bedside. It skips. I hear her asking my father if there’s an advanced directive. I lie back, my heart stutters harder. No one tells us how long this lasts. I already know the answer.

I’m too weak to speak, so I use what strength I have to signal to my partner that I want comfort. I stretch my fingers out towards him. He clasps my hand in his. His are warm. Mine are cold. He doesn’t let go.

I hear my sons arguing outside the room. I try to turn my head toward the door, but my body doesn’t follow. I wanted to hold them once more.

“All we can do is make sure she’s comfortable,” the nurse says to my father.

I feel my partner’s grip tighten. I feel mine loosen.

The only reason I am still lying here is because of the heartbeat I now carry inside of me. A life that won’t survive without me. Two lives tied together, and neither of them allowed to be saved.