Someday we will meet again-The ink well-Creative Nonfiction#4

The first week of May 2021, my husband got sick, a doctor from a hospital module, which was located in the neighborhood where I live, went to the house and examined him, told him to have a pulmonary x-ray, she did it and the result was Pneumonia, she indicated a treatment based on antibiotics. For 5 days we gave him antibiotics at home, because there were no beds available to hospitalize him due to the COVID pandemic.

The next day he lost his speech. I was very desperate, I felt he was going to die, many times I left the room so he would not see me crying, it was 7 days of great illness. There were times when I became depressed at the thought of his absence.

One of my sons, Engels, hugged him, kissed him and said: I love you very much, I remember the pleasant moments you shared with us. The guidance and advice you gave us, which helped us to be good men". He smiled and nodded his head in acceptance.

On May 10, in the morning, we contacted the doctor and she told us to take him to the Centro de Medicina Integral (C.D.I.). We called the Fire Department but they could not come because at that time there was no gasoline in our country. His children had to transport him in a wheelchair to the Hospital, which was very far away. It was difficult for us to see the precarious conditions in which he was, taking him like that seemed like a very bad idea but we had no other alternative, when we arrived, those who attended him suspected that he was COVID. They told us to take him the next day at 9 in the morning, to do the test, my children asked to be hospitalized but there was no room in the hospital. It was hard for them, the difficult and long road to get him there was the same to bring him back.

Around 12:00 p.m. that same day he entered the process of going to the afterlife, his 4 children and I were with him in our room at that painful moment. Each one of them placed a kiss on his forehead. Ernesto, told him:

"Dad I love you", the others did the same with tears in their eyes. At 1 a.m. Ernesto took his pulse and said, "He just died". Immediately we all hugged and cried for a long time.

Within seconds we called the doctor, who determined that his death was the result of respiratory arrest.
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We held his funeral at the house for a day. The next day we went to the cemetery and bury it.

That afternoon, when I returned home and did not notice my old man's presence, I felt a great loneliness and pain in my heart. I cried until dawn, with tiredness and pain I fell asleep. I dreamed that I was floating in the sky and the wind was blowing me away like a blade of straw, then the wind stopped blowing and I fell into the grave of my beloved.

Although my children stayed at home to accompany me for 8 days. I felt a void in my being, we had half a century together, a lifetime. I began to lose my appetite, my sleep, I could not get used to his absence. I fell into depression. My children sought professional help
for me.

My children were publishing on hive, and one of them guided me and I started publishing my stories without expecting anything other than to distract my mind by writing.

I took refuge in my stories and in the affection of my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. That is how I learned to accept my husband's death with resignation. And to have patience so that someday, when we meet in the afterlife, I can tell him: "I still love you as the first day I met you".

I was also able to beat depression, all those medicines I threw in the trash can.

Today I am very happy writing my stories and publishing them..