“This is it. I am sorry.”
He spoke to me with his eyes filled with tears and pain. Not from what he had done to himself but from what he had lost. What he always had, but never could call his own. What he always lived with, but never got to embrace.
The moment I opened the door, he made one last try to reach his hands to me. It appeared to me as if he was waiting for that moment. For me to open that door, and that he would try to reach his hands to me. It felt as if he planned this whole thing, his whole life. His fate. His destiny.
I was standing by the door. The sight that met my eyes had shocked me to speechlessness. I could hardly bear my own weight, and it felt as if I had been fixed to the ground. I collected all my strength to run and hold his hands one last time, but I could barely move. Helpless, I watched his tear-filled eyes slowly shut down as if someone somewhere had pressed that power off button. His pain. His agony. Everything coming to an end.
I let out a frantic cry. The bouquet I had for him drops from my hand. The lady who I purchased the bouquet from had told me that the flowers were freshly picked. But now they are all over the floor shattered into pieces like glass.
This was the day he was supposed to be discharged from the hospital. I had long waited for him to start anew. But the second I opened the door, I knew that something was terribly wrong. The bed sheet that used to be crystal white during my earlier visits was all red. So was the duvet that covered his frail body. In shocking pain, I realized that he had painted himself red with his own blood. He had done the unthinkable! He had taken his own life.
Seconds. Minutes. Hours. I saw all his life appear in a series of flashbacks. My eyes were unbearably heavy and I felt the urge to close them. Something warm rolled down my cheeks and hit the floor screaming, crying out loud – why? The answer was nothing but an echoing why.
“Help!” – I finally manage to swim back to the surface. I scream. I cry. I hope it to be nothing other than a drowning dream. I desperately want someone to wake me up, hold me tightly and tell me that everything is ok.
“Oh! My God!” – The nurse squeaks and trembles as she removes the duvet. She did not have to see this. It did not have to be a part of her life.
More people in white coats run into the room. Someone murmurs something in my ears and guides me out. I follow his steps like his puppet.