There were beeps from machines, the hum of people just outside the room working, the occasional alarm that a new patient was arriving.

But everyone in my room had gone. The doctors. The nurses. Even the nurse that transported with me to this new place. Gone.

Now we waited. I waited. Alone in a room.

A room that felt so quiet. A room where I had nothing of me. A room that felt so strange, sterile, and so empty.

My thoughts started rushing in. Did I tell him I loved him as they took me? Did I hug all the kids before we left the house? Does he know that I love him, do they?

I’m not ready for this shit, why is this happening. Oh Daddy, why did I inherit your genetics. Did you feel like this? Were you alone? Did you cry?

It all flooded in, as I lay alone on a bed in a hospital so far from where I started this life. So far from so many beginning. It felt heavy and uncontrollable as my body released the fear. The reality of it all sinking in.

As I calmed, as my logical parts comforted my emotional ones. What do I do? What can I do?

I wrote. I wrote my children letters. So they’d know – if it really was today, or tomorrow, or whenever – how much their mama loved them in this moment. When I thought this life might irrevocably change from before and after.

Then I took a breath and tried to hold my thoughts steady. Would I change anything? Would I do it all again? The heartbreak at all the things I might miss flashed before me. I felt the tears brimming. I felt the sadness wash over me.

But then, the reality of all that had been shown brighter. The adventures of my own. The adventures of us. Each little miracle of them coming into this world. They broke my heart all the time, it the best ways. Living is dying. Yes, I’d do it all again.

The nurse came in. At first quite brisk. Then realizing my body needed to let go of all this fear, she did what mothers do. She adjusted things in the room for what little comfort she could offer. She got me water, she covered me in a warm blanket, and she softly said, “try to rest.”

I kept breathing. I kept trying to rest. I would nod off, and then be brought crashing back into the moment. I texted people I loved. I knew it was early where they were, but I needed them to know.

Then a nurse came in asking if I knew a person. My phone buzzed, “Trying to get to you.” Yes, yes, I know him.

He walked in. He hugged me. I hugged him. We cried. We cried.