The Coach's Widow by Alexis Pacheco

Author:Alexis Pacheco [McMahan, Alexis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Alexis Pacheco
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

– 12 –

Don’t Quit

W

hen the two large doors swung open, I was stunned to see the number of people in the waiting room. The coaches sat together along with Lindsey, who held her newborn baby. Their faces were solemn, confused and hollow. Three of my friends—Tiffany, Jennifer, and Lily—came toward me immediately. Each one hugged me tightly and cried on my shoulder, and I yearned to fall into each of them. I had never been more grateful to see my friends; here they were, holding me like a child in a place named Camden during a moment we never imaged.

Jorre’s friends were also there, including Jamie, Ashley and Dr. Manning. I wanted to comfort them all; these were a group of people that were an important part of Jorre’s life before I was, and I knew they felt an indescribable pain. Sadly, I had no words, and I felt guilty for my inability to offer words of encouragement or hope. They were stunned and obviously heartbroken, but in my own state of shock, I couldn’t piece their broken hearts back together.

I let our friends know that they had an opportunity to go see Jorre before they took him away. One by one, each went back to say their final good-bye to their loud, boisterous, joyful friend. My sadness deepened when the last friend walked back through the ER doors, and I knew then that Jorre would be finally be taken.

Jennifer’s dad, Mr. Ronald, kindly offered to drive me and my parents home. I climbed in the backseat, and I couldn’t determine what was real. I sat there listening to Mr. Ronald and my parents talk, but I went in and out of consciousness. We pulled out of the hospital parking lot, and I tuned into the conversation. I couldn’t bring myself to look back.

“…go to McDonald’s and get you some food,” someone said.

“Huh? I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Honey, you need food. You need to try and eat something. We’re going to McDonald’s to get some food. What do you want?”

“Oh,” I said faintly. Zoning out again, I thought. Come back. “Um, just some chicken nuggets, fries, and a sweet tea,” I replied.

And then it hit me—the whole odd, sickening strangeness of this current predicament: my husband lay dead somewhere, and I was going to McDonald’s for food. Hunger consumed my stomach, my heart was still beating, my mind still plagued me with thoughts, my blood still ran through my veins, and I was going to McDonald’s. But Jorre—I would never fix his coffee for him again. I’d never cook him a subpar meal again. I’d never roll over during the night and nuzzle next to his warmth. His heart stopped, his brain was stagnant, and the blood was cold in his veins. What universe did I live in now?

The sweet tea tasted good, and I tried to eat, but I couldn’t put much down. I was nauseous, and out of the nowhere, I shook violently. My teeth chattered loudly, and I was freezing, even though it was hot outside.

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