Page 142 of I’m Already Gone

“I… I suddenly don’t feel so good,” I mumble, my jaw clenching as a spasm of coughing forces its way out.

The surge of energy I’d felt earlier is gone. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.

The last thing I remember is Ethan’s panicked shouts as his face swims in and out of focus before the world tilts and everything goes dark.

Ethan

“It’s a known phenomenon, often called terminal lucidity. It’s when a patient experiences a sudden, brief period of increased energy, appetite, and mental clarity before her last days,” the nurse explains.

My stomach drops to my feet. In other words, before she dies.

Just hours ago, it felt like we’d finally caught a break. Lily was laughing, actually eating her dinner, soaking up time with the kids, and enjoying life. And then, it all came crashing down. Every bite she took was rejected by her tiny, weakened body.

The nurse came soon after, and her earlier words about what to expect replay in my mind like a horror film.

Talking and physical activity will decrease significantly.

Interest in eating and drinking decreases or stops altogether.

Skin may become purplish, pale, gray, or blotchy.

Pain will increase.

Breathing may become irregular.

I rub my hand over my head aggressively. “This can’t be happening,” I mutter, pacing the living room. The kids are sitting outside our bedroom door, afraid their mother is going to go at any minute, and they’ll miss her final moments.

“I’m so sorry, Ethan,” the nurse says. “I understand how difficult⁠—”

“No, you don’t!” I snap, halting in place. “My kids are afraid that if they close their eyes, they’ll open them to find their mother gone. I…I…I can’t…”

“If you would like,” she offers, “I can arrange for an aide to come by and assist with bathing, feeding, and anything else that Lily may need. It would ease some of the burden you’re carrying.”

“No,” I say. “I will take care of her.” My eyes are blurring with tears. “She is mi—mine to take care of. Until her la—last breath,” I croak.

She nods slowly, her smile sympathetic. “I will do everything I can to keep her comfortable for as long as possible.” She places a hand on my arm, a silent acknowledgment of my pain.

“Gather the rest of your family, Ethan,” she urges, “and spend these last days with her. Tell her how much you love her and help make it easier for her when she is ready to let go.”

I am losing the love of my life.

My wife.

My Sunshine.

Ethan

“Iscared you,” Lily whispers, her voice barely a breath as I wheel her out of the house. It feels like she is growing weaker with every second.

Her shoulders slump. “I hate this for you. For all of you,” she says.

I stop the chair abruptly, stepping around to stand in front of her. I crouch down, bracing my hands on the arms of her wheelchair, meeting her gaze steadily.

“I hate this for you, too, but none of this is your fault, Lily.” I notice her soft cardigan has slipped, exposing a shoulder. I pull it back up around her.

She lets out a weary sigh. “A part of me knows you’re right, but it’s hard not to feel that way.”

“I understand,” I say, offering a tender smile. I cup the side of her face, my thumb brushing her cheekbone. “I love you so much.”