Page 28 of Chasing Waves

Quietly, I crawled out of bed, careful not to wake Bridger, and sank to the bathroom floor, squeezing my knees to my chest tightly and burying my face. Rocking back and forth, sobbing softly, I peered up and peeked through the open bathroom door to watch Bridger as he slept deeply. His breathing had been so labored last night I was worried I would lose him while I was asleep. His hair had gotten longer over the months and his face was stubbled from days of not shaving and, yet, I admired his beauty even more now than I ever had.

My stomach muscles ached from the hours of sobbing on the floor, and the pain in my head was excruciating. The anguish was relentless, and I was physically and emotionally drained at this point. Watching Bridger deteriorate and suffer had broken me in unimaginable ways. No one should have to tuck their loved one in at night and wonder if that would be the last time. After the beach, he was so exhausted that he had passed out instantly and hadn’t so much as flinched since. It made me wonder if he would wake to say goodbye or if the past several days had drained him too much.

I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I never would be.

A fresh wave of despair hit me when the nurse arrived and had difficulty waking Bridger to give him his meds. His gaze was distant and his voice was barely audible, his words coming out more like grunts. After she added meds to his IV, she pulled me into the hallway.

“His vitals are weak.” Her mouth was downturned and a somber feeling hung thickly in the air.

Tears rushed down my face once again, and I clutched my chest as if my heart could break through my rib cage and fall to the ground. My breathing turned into quick bursts as the brevity of reality took hold, and I had to lean on the wall for stability.

“I’m not ready,” I cried softly.

The nurse squeezed my arm gently. “I’m so sorry. I wish there was more I could do to ease the pain for both of you.”

I could tell she wanted to say more, but what more was there to say to a woman who was about to be widowed at thirty-nine?

“Would you like me to call the funeral home with an update?”

No, I wanted to scream. No, I didn’t want her to call the funeral home. I didn’t want anyone to. What I wanted was my husband healthy and surfing the waves around the world like he had always wanted. Instead, his life was cut too short. He should have had more time.

We should have had more time.

After I collected myself, I managed to glance up at her. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” She turned to leave, but I stopped her.

“How long do you think he has?”

“Not long,” she admitted sadly, her eyes downcast. “Maybe a few hours. I gave him some meds that will hopefully help him be more coherent for a little bit.”

“Thank you,” I said.

The nurse left us alone and her voice carried through the hallway as she quietly talked to someone that I could only assume was the funeral home. I was lucky to have her because I didn’t have anyone else. Bridger requested that his family not be here when he passed. He wanted it to be just him and me, like it had always been.

Till the end.

I had climbed back into bed with him and watched his lucidity slowly return. He rolled his head toward me and managed a weak smile.

“Hey, you,” he whispered.

Turning into him and putting on my bravest smile, I reached my hand out and stroked the side of his face, his stubble scratching my palm.

“Hey, yourself.”

Whatever the nurse had given him was working. He had almost looked better, giving me what I knew was false hope.

He fumbled with his hand to try to reach me, but he was weak and struggling, so I cupped my hand over his and squeezed lightly.

“I’m sorry I’m the one causing you so much pain,” he said as a tear fell from his eye.

“Please, don’t, B. Never apologize for this. It’s not your fault.”

“I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you, Char.” He reached up and caught a tear from my cheek.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” His skin was disarmingly cold as I stroked his cheek again.

He coughed for a few moments and then cleared his throat. I grabbed a tissue and wiped his mouth with trembling hands.

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