205 — Phantom Pulses for the Living

Her father was dying of cancer.

He was furious when he woke up because he was certain he wouldn't wake up ever again. But he did awaken and, instead of waking up dead, which was his wish, his eyes darted back and forth in confusion.

Instead of waking up dead, he woke up angry.

"Shit!" he said, realizing the truth. He had misjudged his timeline only by a day: he would succumb on the day after.

Maddie and family stood vigil. She realized he couldn't just watch his breathing. She knew she had to sit bedside with her finger on his radial pulse, already thready and rapid. He slipped in and out, only lightning bolts of cancer pain--out of the blue--waking him.

His stubborn pulse became slower, weaker. He stopped awakening. He became clammy; Maddie had to skim her finger over his skin to hone in on a pulse. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His shallow breathing became mouth breathing. He experienced air hunger. Finally, his eyes fluttered with the sudden wisdom that descends like a tongue of fire with one's impending death.

He strained for one more breath. His face became blue like the veins on his forehead. His eyes shut tight as part of his desperation to breathe, but then relaxed.

When his pulse became hard to feel, Maddie was there. She wanted closure--a stopped heart. The last agonal breath said it all. No one was surprised.

She felt him getting cold in waves. But this was incorrect. It was not cold seeping in with each pulse, but warmth receding with each one. These pulses Maddie felt were phantom pulses, powered by gravitas. En garde so intensely, her brain continued his vascular cadence, but it was a haunting.

His obituary read, "...died in peace with loved ones..."

But no one dies in peace.

The tether to life is very thick and tensile and it snaps with a tremendous pang--a blow that sobers you right out of life itself. Reaching room temperature doesn't come in gentle waves and ebbs, but as a juggernaut.

Maddie knew. She was there.

But just like jumping into cold water, she knew it wouldn't feel cold for long.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

For Tuesday, July 23, Day 205 of the 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge

366 WORDS (without A/N)

Title-accompaniment photo was AI-generated but the apoptosis was not.

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THE CHALLENGE GRINDS ON, 366 WORDS AT A TIME:

There are currently three surviving Vocal writers still participating in the insane 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge:

• L.C. Schäfer, challenge originator

• Rachel Deeming

• Gerard DiLeo (some other guy)

Read them. Support them. And keep your finger on the pulse of the Challenge.