Someday I will have my own place. My world won’t be confined to my room. I will stumble sleepily through the house in the morning, opening the blinds. I will sit out in the backyard and look at the stars. I will go out whenever I want to. I will survive long enough to have that.
Nine. That’s how many minutes it took for the ambulance to get to us.
Eight. The door slams early morning waking the house, I paused and waited. Listened. Unsure. Another set of feet run down the stairs and out the door. Down the stairs I brought my bare feet to round the corner , the big window in our front room brought me the first glimpse of the image I’ll soon never forget and my mind Slowly decoded what had been said before the slam. ‘Grayson is dead’
Seven. In the dewy grass in the early july morning my barefoot parents Swing the car door open and his lifeless is body brought to the grass under his fathers arms. Fear struck and I would be stuck permanently in this moment. Feeling the panic stricken fear of watching my greatest fear unfold.
Six. The pale flushed face of the cancer patient that once resembled my Mother wept quiet tears. Choosing not to count along with him and the 911 operator on the phone. instead to speak to him softly. To comfort, Begging him to live .. come
On Grayson… come on.
But I can still hear them counting. I can always hear them counting.
1 2 3 4 5. breathe
Five. As the forced air of his parents entered his body he changed from horrid blue to gray. As if the clouds moved in.
My heart sank to my stomach to spend time with the baby nestled under my lungs. Nothing else mattered in this moment. Nothing would matter again.
Four. Should we have bothered? Those blue lips sang the tell tale sign of overdose and death. A gurgle of something caught in his throat made my mind race of how his death would have come about, did he choke. Did he fall asleep and die, was he scared?
Did he see me walk across the grass last night when I came home from work..
did he need me? Did he try and come home to find the door locked by me ..
could I have changed this?
Three. Quiet wails of the nearby ambulance slowly grow into a scream, neighbours peer out their windows as a tragic scene unfolds before them but not a soul appears to be of help or support.
1 2 3 4 5 Breathe
The sound of the chest compressions coupled with the sounds of his body’s protest. I can still hear those too. The voices begin to quiet as desperation kicks in. There’s a sense of helplessness as I listen, I watch them try with everything in them to save him. Begging him to live. Begging a corpse to breathe.
The wet grass turns my feet cold and I wonder how long he’d be here. I wonder if he wanted off the wet grass.
