This is not an Epitaph

You suddenly blocked my way. You and your stretcher and the paramedics and all that medical equipment. He was giving you CPR, and I could see your big belly was still steady, untouched by his hands. No sign of breath.

Who are you? Did your belly decide to move again? Did your hands gain strength? Did your heart wake up?

I’m sorry that I just stood there and watched your lifeless hands. I’m not sure if you were dead, or just temporarily dead. But man, you looked so gone. Were you watching from above? Did you see that light? What about the tunnel? Any memories? I overheard you were single and had diabetes.

There were so many paramedics. They didn’t look overwhelmed or surprised by your lack of life. Nothing really changed while they were taking you out of the gym. Some people stopped to look at you, but I realized they were just waiting for you and your stretcher to move out of the entrance. If you were really dead, I’m really sorry that we didn’t have a moment of silence. I’m pretty sure you deserved it. Or were you an asshole?

Did it hurt when you suddenly stumble to the floor? Did you have any plans for tonight? What were you supposed to do tomorrow? Did you miss anything? How does it feel to lose your right to live? Do you feel powerless? Where are you? Did you survive?

I’m sorry that we met under these circumstances.