Dash

by Shantel Tessier

I crawl on his bed and cuddle up next to him, softly placing my hand over his chest. I hold my breath as I feel his chest slowly move as he breathes with the ventilator no longer there. I close my eyes and remember what his laugh sounded like. I remember what his touch felt like. “Don’t make me live without you,” I whisper as tears run down my face.

I find myself walking to the kitchen. I fall down into a chair at the kitchen table. I look up to see the flowers that sit in the crystal case in front me. They’re dead. Just like Dash. Just like me.

I prayed that God would take me with him. I prayed that God would strike me dead. He didn’t. He left me behind to live out my life,

I sleep on his side of the bed because his smell still lingers. I find myself walking into the bathroom and spraying his cologne, and I swear I can feel him wrap his arms around me. I can hear his voice telling me that I’m gonna be okay. But it’s not and I won’t.

Dash taught me that you’re never guaranteed tomorrow. And yesterday is never enough.