The Passing/Text

Alta slowly walked into the hallway, seeking a public refresher. The room was completely silent save for two beeping machines: a vital signs monitor and a breathing device. All these sounds told me was that Mai was still alive.

I still could not believe that I was actually sitting in that hospital room. My wife of nearly eighteen years had been diagnosed with a severe brain lesion, and the root cause was unknown. The doctors speculated that it was a virus of some type, but neither Alta nor I had been effected. In fact, our daughter had been with Mai for two weeks seemingly non-stop when she suddenly began to vomit blood. I remember the call in my office on Coruscant from Alta while Mai was being admitted in emergency care. Needless to say, my world did more than grind to a halt; it collapsed inward upon itself.

And so it was. Mai had been suffering for three days. She was barely conscious, her vital signs were slowly slipping, and the doctors were completely powerless to do anything about it. Operating on the brain was not possible due to the location of the lesion, and her condition&mdash;as unstable as it was&mdash;made any attempt impossible without the risk of death being an absolute certainty. So, the decision was made before my arrival to stablize my wife before trying anything else. This plan seemed to be strongly failing.

Minor operations on the brain only minimized the effects, but nothing was able to prevent Mai from slipping further and further toward death. I feared that this was the inevitable end. Whatever strength I had, I attempted to show for my daughter. Such vain effort. Even at seventeen, Alta was stronger than I; she was handling everything in stride. Of course, she was visibly tormented by the events that were unfolding, but she was keeping it together far better than even I.

Mai periodically awoke and was partially aware of her surroundings. She'd grab my arm and squeeze as tightly as she could. She had not said anything since my arrival two days prior, but I was not asking for her to say anything. Each time she would moan, as if trying to talk, I wept nearly without control. I only wished that she could have one last chance to speak, if this was in fact the end. One last time for her to tell her daughter that she was loved. That's all I desired should death be imminent.