The Five Wishes of Mr. Murray McBride

by Joe Siple

I stumble, but catch myself on a white marble fountain. Water falls out of a bucket tucked under the arm of a naked stone woman. I realize my hands are both wet and holding her breasts, but thankfully no one’s here to see it. I remove my hands, stand up straight, and look more closely at the statue. Wonder if I need to confess this little episode to Father James.

Wtf is this character i can't .

Do you want to let her go? That’s how they asked it. Thought it was tactful, I reckon. Better than Do you want to pull the plug? or Should we let her die now? It was just a matter of words, I knew that. But when they asked it that way—Do you want to let her go now?—how could I answer anything other than No! I’m not ready! I’ll never be able to let her go, she’s my wife! So that’s what I answered, over and over. Until a doctor with a calm, gentle voice told me it was time. That she wasn’t coming back. She wasn’t going to get better. She’d lived a good, long life and part of a good, long life, inevitably, is death. So I agreed to let her go.

They had to lift me off the bed, hours later. They had to pry each of my fingers loose from both her hands. They had to bring in a social worker to tell me it was okay. To escort me out of the room. At the doorway I turned back. She lay there so still. The love of my life. So peaceful. So beautiful, even in death. I wanted so much to break free of the social worker and lay with her again. To stay with her. To never leave that bed until I took my last breath too, and then I’d never have to let her go. But the social worker pressed a gentle hand against my back and slowly, slowly, I left Jenny behind.