And, then, suddenly, I was startled by the . . . silence. The deafening, ear-splitting silence. It was the sound of the most important person in my life no longer making a sound. The oxygen machine was still clanking, and Marilyn and Bob were wailing, but all my ears could register was the noise I wasn’t hearing. I hadn’t realized how deeply tethered my soul had been to his breathing. Until, at 10:30 p.m., it stopped.
