Layla
Dear Ben,
I started writing in journals after my dad forced me to see a therapist when I moved from Rockport to Louisiana. I ended up liking it, so I kept doing it. I never told you that.
I’ve been reading over what I wrote when I met you, and I don’t know if it helps with the pain or makes it worse. But it takes me back, to when I was happy, and alive, and with you. I died that day too, Ben. When you left. I don’t know how to do any of this without you.
So I’m putting it down here, for you. And then I’m going to stop writing in journals, because this pain isn’t something words on a page can fix.
It was a Saturday. Last Saturday. You were training with the Guardians that day. I had to work at the bakery in the morning, so our alarm went off early. You rolled over and put your arm around me, like you always did. You kissed my shoulder, then my neck, waking me up.
I was so tired. We stayed up late the night before, and now I’m so glad we did. If I’d of known that would be the last time you touched me, I would’ve paid more attention.
I miss the way you touch me.
After my shift, I came back to the apartment. I passed Max in the hallway, he said hello, asked me how my day was. We made some small talk I barely remember, and then I rushed inside.
You weren’t home yet. I figured you went out with Clark and JJ.
I put my phone on charge and started to make dinner. When I turned it on, it was buzzing nonstop against the counter. Most of the missed calls were from a private number, some were from Clark. I was just about to call him back when another private number lit up my screen.
I picked it up.
“Is this Mrs. Layla Matthews?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m a nurse at Halston Hospital. Your husband, Ben, was brought in this afternoon—”
She started telling me I needed to get to the hospital. Like I wasn’t already sprinting out the door.
When I got there, Clark was in the waiting room. I went to the reception desk first. The woman behind it looked at me like she was in pain. She told me she’d get the doctor, and then she disappeared. The way she moved, fast, like she couldn’t get away from me quickly enough, made my stomach drop.
I walked over to Clark. He hadn’t noticed me. His head was in his hands, elbows on his knees, rocking slightly.
“Clark?”
He looked up, and that’s when I saw the tears. He stood and hugged me. I hesitated before putting my arms around him. I’d never seen him like that.
He started to say something, but then I heard my name.
“Mrs. Matthews, please come with me.”
I left Clark in the corridor as the doctor led me around the corner to a small room. I stopped at the door and stared in. There was a couch, two armchairs, a little side table with a box of tissues. It looked comfortable.
Too comfortable.
Like the kind of room where people hear the worst news of their lives.
“Please, come in, Mrs. Matthews.”
I didn’t like how formal he was. But against my better judgment, I stepped inside. He closed the door behind me, sat down, and motioned for me to do the same.
“There’s never an easy way to say this,” he began.
“Your husband, Ben, suffered from a condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, HCM. It’s a hereditary disease that causes the heart to beat too quickly, or in some cases, irregularly.
We believe Ben had it from birth, and it went undetected until now. ”
“Okay.”
“We believe that’s what caused Ben’s cardiac arrest today.”
I felt a weight pressing down on my chest.
“Where is he? I want to see him. Now. Please”
“I’m so sorry.” He said. “We did everything we could.”
I shook my head. “You’ve got it wrong. There’s nothing wrong with his heart.”
“I need to know you understand what I’ve just told you, Mrs. Matthews.”
“I told you. You’ve made a mistake.” I stared at the notes folded in his lap. “Check them again.”
“Mrs Mat—”
“Stop calling me that! My name is Layla. And I want to speak to someone else. Now.”
He clasped his hands together. “I understand this is difficult, Layla.” He voice was calm. Too calm. “But there is no mistake. Ben passed away at 5.33 this evening.”
I shook my head. “I want to see him.” My arms folded tightly around myself. My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be.
“Of course.”
He stood and led me down a corridor that seemed to go on forever.
That’s when I saw you.
The sheets were tucked neatly around you. You looked like you were sleeping.
“Take your time… the coroner will be here around ten…” The doctor kept talking, explaining things I can’t remember. Then finally, he left me alone.
I climbed on to the bed and curled up beside you. I held your hand, the one with the wedding band I gave you two months ago, and I flinched at the coldness of your skin.
I couldn’t hold anything together.
I cried.
I screamed.
I begged.
I bargained.
I pleaded.
“This isn’t real. This can’t be real. Please don’t leave me, Ben. Please don’t leave me.”
My heart had broken once before, but not like this. This wasn’t just breaking. It was being torn from my chest.
A nurse touched my shoulder and spoke softly, but I didn’t want her voice. I only wanted yours. I didn’t want her touch. I only wanted yours.
“It’s time.”
I shook my head. The coroner’s for someone who’s gone. But you can’t be gone. You wouldn’t leave me like this.
We had plans, remember?
I was going to start my own cake business from our apartment.
We were going to buy a house when I graduated.
We were going to travel.
We were going to have kids, and be better parents than ours ever were.
We were going to have time.
Time.
I hate it.
I hated that stupid room.
I hated those nurses
I hated all of it.
I ignored her and held you tighter. I kissed your cheek. I kissed your lips. I kissed your hands, that always made me feel safe.
I don’t know when they tore me away from you, but they did.
I woke up in a hospital bed. The same nurse stood beside me, her expression pained.
“We gave you a mild sedative, honey.” She sat beside the bed. I curled my legs up to my chest.
“I lost my husband three years ago,” she said. She tried to tell me it gets easier.
I didn’t believe her.
She handed me a cup of tea, I set it down.
“We have his things for you at reception. There’s a list of local funeral homes and clergy for the service. If you need anything, please ask for me.”
She told me her name and reached for my hand.
I pulled away. She took the hint, pressed her lips together, and said quietly.
“You feel this much pain because you were loved this deeply, and you loved him that deeply in return. That’s a blessing.
Some people never get to experience that kind of love. One day, you’ll see it that way.”
I didn’t answer.
Somehow, I stood and made it to reception. They handed me a plastic bag.
Your things.
I looked inside and felt myself fall apart.
Your wedding ring was in there.
“Why is his ring in here?” I asked.
The receptionist looked at me with the same sad eyes. “We always remove jewelry. If you’d like him to have it back, you can give it to the funeral director.”
“He never takes it off. He won’t like that it’s off.”
She looked at her colleague. I couldn’t breathe.
I hated the way they looked at me.
I hated it.
I hated it.
I hated it.
I grabbed the bag and held it to my chest, and then I ran.
I made it to your car before I collapsed completely.
I’m not sure I can live in a world where you don’t exist.
I’m not sure I can ever heal the part of my heart that’s gone with you.
So I’ll live in a world where you never left.
I’ll live in the hope of a tomorrow with you, because I’m not strong enough to say goodbye. Not to you Ben. Never to you.
I miss you.
Please come back to me.
Love,
Layla.