The Wrong Sister

In the spring of 2014, I was laid up in the hospital, knowing that everything that mattered to me was gone. I had lost my will to live. All I could do was lie there, staring glumly at the ceiling until my inevitable release and then my death, for I had planned to hang myself as soon as I had access to some rope and about seven feet. I just had to hide my depression as best I could, and oh, was it hard. One can’t fool the professionals as easily as they may hope they can. The doctors and nurses were reluctant to let me go because they sensed what was on my mind. See, many people had lost their loved ones and homes. It wasn’t just me. Some didn’t have family nearby or family who were able to take them in. In my case, my only close remaining family member that I was actually in contact with was my sister, Ashlyn, but after suffering from a heart attack, fibromyalgia, and other things, she wasn’t in a position to deal with me, as heartbroken as she was for me and my loss. In the meantime, the state and government were working as fast as they could to supply survivors with new housing and jobs if they needed them. A large apartment complex was to be built. This could take a few months for the few thousand or so people in need, and temporary arrangements needed to be made until then. Most could go to friends or family, but I wasn’t in the “most” category. The survivors were issued immediate funds to purchase necessities such as food and clothing, while certain buildings were designated as temporary housing facilities. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care who had set up what. I just wanted to get out of the hospital and get dead. Death would be my only release from hell; only the hospital couldn’t discharge me anytime soon. Not with a broken leg and a sprinkling of nasty cuts and bruises. Oh, and first, I had to awaken from the coma the ordeal had put me in. The shaking had begun in my sleep. My first thought was that Henry had bumped into the corner of the bed on his way out of bed and into the bathroom. But the shaking continued, harder this time. I then thought that for some reason he was trying to wake me up, though he usually just called to me when he did. Startled and confused, I sat up straight as the shaking grew more violent, sending things crashing to the floor that sat atop the dresser and nightstands. I called out Henry’s name, but there was no answer. More shaking and crashing. I began to scream as the sounds of shattering glass grew louder. I tried to get out of bed but quickly lost my footing. I went from confused to terrified real fast. I kept trying to locate Henry, but the chaos was so loud by now that I couldn’t hear my own voice over it. I cut my foot stepping on glass. I thought if I could just make it to the bedroom doorway, then I could see most of the house from there. Crawling on my bloodied hands and knees, I made it to the doorway. When I glanced in both directions, all I saw was intense shaking and things falling. Then bits and pieces of plaster began to crumble. The air was becoming “powdery.” I choked and coughed, knowing I had to get out of there as fast as I could, no matter where Henry might be at the moment. But I didn’t make it. Something smashed into the back of my head and knocked me out cold. When I realized I was waking up in a hospital (based on the sounds and smells), I tried to will myself back down into my safe, comforting cocoon of blackness, but I only continued to float higher and higher to the surface of the water I’d drowned in. Eventually, there was no keeping my head under any longer. Again, you can’t fool the pros too easily. I reluctantly opened my eyes and looked into the crystal-blue eyes of the blond nurse who gently coaxed me back into a world I no longer wanted to be a part of. Fine, I thought. Death could wait a little longer. They couldn’t keep me there forever, after all, and I wasn’t about to go to some strange apartment in a strange town, take some generic job that’d bore me to tears, and live with the untold loneliness Henry’s loss would bring. Then came the real surprise. Like an angel from heaven, she appeared. I never would have guessed as much, but much to my astonishment, I was napping one afternoon when I woke up sensing a nearby presence. I opened my eyes and slowly turned my head to find her sitting by my bedside. Her warm brown eyes were filled with compassion and concern. She shifted in her chair so she could face me better. “Hi, Shaylin.” “Stacey.” “M-hm,” she said with a slight nod and tight smile.