“Nah. I drove to my apartment so I could change clothes and grab my laptop and books. I figure if we’re going to spend another night here I could use a productive distraction.” I shrug my shoulders, only then remembering the backpack weighing down my shoulders.
“I wish your mother had something to occupy her while we wait. She’s still sitting next to Belle’s bed, holding her hand and watching her sleep.”
“Well, hopefully the doctor will have good news for us in the next few hours, yeah?”
“I hope so, kiddo. I really hope so.”
When we walk through the door to my sister’s room, my mother is exactly where dad said she’d be, but thankfully with her head laid on the bed, sound asleep. I’m glad she’s resting — I’m pretty sure she’s cried enough for the entire family these last twenty-four hours.
Just as I’m about to set my pack down, the doctor knocks on the doorframe quietly and steps inside.
Thankfully, he sees mom’s sleeping figure and keeps his voice to a whisper. “We’re at the twenty-four hour mark since the accident, and now is the time for her second brain scan. We won’t need to relocate her for the scan; the machine is brought into this room to avoid complications that can arise when moving an intensive care patient.”
“Alright.” Dad rubs his chin as he speaks with the doctor. “Do we stay in the room or do we need to leave for the testing?”
“It’d be best if you stepped out for the time being, simply because we’ll need to move her bed some to accommodate the fMRI. You won’t need to go far, though. Just into the ICU waiting room on this floor. We’ll let you know when the testing is complete.”
“Thanks, doctor.” My dad rubs mom’s shoulder to wake her, andwhispers in her ear that it’s time for testing and we need to relocate for a bit.
Nearly an hour passes before a nurse comes to retrieve us, and I don’t know why but I’m nauseated at the thought of hearing Belle’s test results.
What if she has no brain activity? Will we really let my sister die? What happens to Sunny if she loses both of her parents? Too many questions flood my brain as worry grips my heart tighter and tighter by the second.
Once we’ve resettled in Belle’s room, the doctor enters with a soft smile on his face. Seriously, this guy has the best poker face I’ve ever seen. His demeanor gives nothing away.Come on dude. Give me something.Another doctor enters behind him, and she’s just as calm.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gilmore, Miss Gilmore. After studying the results from Isabelle’s fMRI scans, I’m so sorry to report that she is not showing any signs of improvement. She shows no signs of brain activity, and without any activity after twenty-four hours, I do believe now is the time for you all to say your final goodbyes.”
I’m suddenly underwater. Or at least that’s what this feels like. Sounds around me are muffled at best, distant. I know my eyes are still open but all I see is my sister’s face, laughing at something I’ve said while trying not to shoot soda out of her nose. I can’t hear her, and the memory runs in slow motion, but her face is clear as day. I have no peripheral memory — the room around us is a blur, as is the bed we’re sitting on. Belle rubs her eyes to prevent tears from falling as she continues to laugh uncontrollably.Why is this the vision I see when I’ve just learned my sister is never coming back? This is no laughing matter. What the heck, brain?
“Miss Gilmore, can I get you anything?” I shake out of my stupor as a hand grips my shoulder and suddenly I’m looking into the face of the unknown second doctor.
“Um, what?” I blink a few times to clear my vision, coming back to the present.
“Can I get you anything? Some water, perhaps? Why don’t you have a seat.” The doctor tries to lead me to a chair but I shake her hand off my shoulder.
“Um, no, thank you. I’ll be alright.” I try to give her a reassuring smile but I’m sure she can sense every bit of effort it takes for me to force that one facial expression.
I see my dad continues to provide strength to mom as she falls apart in his arms.How does he do it?This entire time he’s been so calm, collected, acting as our rock while blow after blow smashes against us. The doctor is talking with them but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
“I’ll leave you all to talk through your next steps, and I’ll return shortly to answer any more questions you have.” Both doctors nod politely and sympathetically toward my parents and then me, and turn to leave my family to the most difficult conversation we’ll ever experience.
The smell of the hospital room wraps around me like a heavy cloak, the lights above burning too bright as they flicker against the sterile white surroundings. The mechanical hum of the machines tethered to Belle, to my sister, is deafening in the somber silence that follows the doctor's departure. The empty chair next to her bed seems so forlorn, silently begging for someone to occupy it and hold Belle's hand once again, to whisper words of love, to hope, to pray.
But as I gaze upon my sister's pale, inert form, I know deep down in that abyss of despair curling in the pit of my stomach that all the prayers in the world can't undo this reality. I want to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, to shake Belle until she wakes up, until she laughs and jokes and lights up the room just like she always used to.
Yet I find myself moving mechanically, inching closer to the bed, drawn to her silent presence as though pulled by some invisible thread of sisterhood that refuses to be severed, even now. My hands tremble as I reach out, hovering over her still form before finally settling down to take her cool hand in mine.
She's so still. Not the lively, vibrant force of nature that I know and love, but a quiet echo of herself, lying motionless beneath the crisp hospital sheets. Her face, usually animated with emotion, istranquil now, a peacefulness that belies the turmoil surging like a tempest in the hearts of those left behind.
The tears come unbidden, a torrent of grief cascading down my face as I squeeze her hand, my other hand reaching out to touch her hair, her face, tracing the familiar yet unfamiliar lines and contours with a sort of detached wonder.
My parents stand there, a pair of statues carved from pain and loss, their faces crumpled, their bodies shaking with silent sobs. I can see the questions in their eyes, the shattered dreams and crushed hopes reflecting in their tears as they clutch onto each other, their grasp a lifeline.
I keep waiting to feel Belle's presence in the room, grasping at any gentle reminder that her spirit, the joyous, irrepressible force of nature that was my sister, is still here.
FIVE
Alis
