He was dead.
I had never imagined that one day I would stand in this place. This strangely familiar place which I had seen so many times in TV drama, especially all those detective or crime related TV series. It is this place when the protagonist received a phone call and rushed to see the body of their dead loved ones.
It was cold. So freezing cold that I have to put my arms around myself. Yet it was of no help. That surge of chill seemed to have come from my heart, rushing through my spine. I stared blankly at his face. His deadly bruised face. He seemed to have turned all blue, or all purple, or all white, or all black, but for a moment or two, every color I saw merged into a blur, and finally, there it comes, tears strolling down my face. And at that very minute, I seemed to have come back to reality. I have no other thought in my head besides knowing that, yea, I was standing in the mortuary and my husband was dead.
An hour or so ago I was putting the night-light on for Valerie. Thanks God the phone call came after Valerie was sound asleep. I rang my sister up after knowing the news. I waited for her to arrive to make sure that Valerie's taken care of. I had her called Mom up about the whole thing. I went out for the hospital.
It's a little ridiculous to recall all these episodes. I realized, from this sequence of errands I've done before seeing my husband for the very last time, that I was calm. Too calm that it's scary to admit.
I sat myself on the floor and let my tears stroll til they ran dry. Mike was lying there. Finally he was silent. We had this little joke between ourselves that we were the perfect match because I was always the one who listen and he was always the one to talk and talk and talk. I started laughing while recalling this trivial. How absurd of that to say that we were the perfect match. I know we were not. If we were the ideal couple, I wouldn't be here. I would be the one who was lying in the ward. That woman.