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I wanted to shake his arm and tell him to get up. I wanted to lift him off that cold slab and say, “What are you doing? You have your life to live. Now get up and live it.” Instead I leaned over and touched his arm, and his hand. They were cold, stiff, and lifeless—not warm and yielding. This wasn’t the Matthew I’d given birth to, raised, and then released into adulthood. But it was him.
It was impossible to understand what my bewildered eyes were observing. This was too much to comprehend, so I put my thoughts and emotions aside to later dissect, one at a time—to re-live each moment, second by second, minute by minute. But for now my tortured mind could not grasp the truth. These were moments best left for another time.
And there, standing beside me was my husband, concern written all over his face. On the inside we were both stunned, and dazed at the same time.
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