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We Go On

By Regina Walker

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“I need his shirt.” Liz swiveled on her feet to look around the emergency room. She pointed at a stainless-steel cart. “It was right there. A blue t-shirt. I need it. I have to have that shirt.”
To someone who didn’t know her, she simply sounded adamant. Her husband knew better. Josh could see the slight tremble in her hands, the shorter way she was taking in breath after breath, and he could hear the change in her tone. She was falling apart with each passing moment and he was powerless to stop it. He reached out his hand to touch her shoulder, but she was on the move and his fingers barely missed her.
“I’m sorry ma’am. I haven’t seen it. I’ll help you look for it when I finish my notes.”
“I really need that shirt,” Liz’s voice cracked. She strode over to the trash can next to the cart and peered inside. As she bent over with her hand outstretched, Josh caught her around the waist and pulled her back.
“You can’t dig through a hospital trash can, Liz.”
“I need that shirt.” She turned into him, a balled-up fist landing against his chest as he pulled her in close to him.
“I know. We’ll find it,” he whispered against her head. “Just slow down.”
“Josh, I have to have that shirt,” Liz repeated. She leaned heavily against him for a moment then pulled out of his arms.
“Ma’am?” The nurse laid her hand on Liz’s shoulder. “I found it. It had just been moved.” The crumpled, heather blue, cotton fabric lay wadded up in the nurse’s gloved hand.
Liz plucked the shirt from the kind woman’s hand and she rubbed the tattered fabric between her fingers before she dared to lift it up. When she did, the cruel world grew darker around her as the shirt hung limp in the air, cut straight up the chest. It was beyond repair.
“Liz, why don’t we leave it here? We don’t want to look at that shirt ever again.”
“You don’t. You don’t want to look at this shirt ever again,” she said in a low voice.
“You don’t either babe. It is just a bad memory.”
“The worst,” she admitted, “but it may be the last thing I have of him. The very last thing he ever wore. I have to have it, at least until we know.” She drew the shirt close to her and held it tight to her chest.
“Don’t talk like that, Liz. He’s going to pull through this.”
“You don’t know that.”
Another nurse came into the room and spoke in hushed tones with Colby’s nurse.
“Mr. Miller, Mrs. Miller, I’m here to take Colby to the ICU. I’m Roxy. I’ll only be with you for transport, but I’ll introduce you to the nurses upstairs.”
Liz stared at the nurse as her words rattled around in Liz’s brain. She started to nod and then shrugged, still clutching the shirt.
Josh put his arm protectively around his wife. “We’ll follow you.”
“When we get upstairs, you’ll have to wait in the waiting room while the ICU nurses get his ventilator hooked up and while they make sure all of his meds are correct. It’s standard procedure.”
Liz shifted her gaze to the hospital bed where Colby was lying, the tube in his mouth went into his chest, delivering oxygen that his body couldn’t get for itself at that moment.
“Will he…will he start breathing on his own again soon?” she whispered as she pulled away from Josh and walked toward the hospital bed.
“We can’t say for certain; we don’t know the extent of his injuries yet. The doctor will be by tonight to discuss the CT scan he had when he arrived,” Roxy told Liz.
“Is he uncomfortable in this thing?” Liz reached forward and lightly trailed her finger over the collar holding his neck still.
“It’s probably not the most comfortable, but he’s heavily sedated. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t really know it.”
She reached her hand out and laid it on Colby’s chest, her fingers sprawled between a mess of wires and tubes. The rise and fall of each mechanical breath provided her a small measure of hope and comfort. She quietly studied each of her son’s features. His strong jawline, tan skin, and his dark, trimmed hair. His eyes were closed but she could remember their bright, blue hue just the same. His nose was a little flat on the end. With her free hand she reached up and brushed it gently as her mind drifted to a time not so long ago, when he was just a little boy.

“Mom! You made my nose flat!” Colby burst angrily into her bedroom.
“What on earth are you talking about?” She laughed.
“This flat spot.” He pointed. “You did this to me when I was little! Come see!”
He stormed out of the room, beckoning her to follow. On the family computer, Josh was playing old videos from when the boys were smaller. Several of the clips they watched were from when Colby was just starting to walk. When the small boy would tumble, she would scoop him up, push his nose, and set him on his feet to try again.
“You pushed my nose so many times you made it flat!” he accused.
“I pushed it just enough to give it character. It suits you,” she said.
“I hate it!” He stomped away, swinging his arms in an animated fashion.
“I didn’t really make his nose flat, did I?” Liz asked Josh, sitting on the chair beside him.
“I doubt it. He’ll get over it.”
“But what if he doesn’t?”
“Then some girl will come along and kiss him on the end of that flat nose and tell him it’s her favorite thing. Then he will be over it and he may even come and thank you for making his nose flat.”
“I hope you’re right.”

Josh stepped up behind Liz and placed his hand on the small of her back.
“We need to let them move him upstairs,” he said.
He then laid his hand over hers on Colby’s chest. Tears streamed down her face and she bent over and kissed Colby’s forehead.
“I love you, forever,” she whispered.
Liz kissed Colby’s forehead one more time before stepping back and nodding at the nurses.
The two ladies worked quietly and in unison, attaching the ventilator to the hospital bed, and securing all his tubes and wires for transport. Liz shivered in Josh’s arms as they wheeled Colby out of the trauma room and down the hall. The couple followed close behind. Josh’s arm wrapped around Liz to keep her steady. She held the tattered blue shirt to her chest, following where Josh guided her.

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