some mornings

Flashing lights of the paramedics make me numb. The sounds of the siren of an ambulance triggers an influx of memories. Memories that are not my own. I was not there to witness the moment. But memories I have created, in retrospect. Memories I have patched together, based on what I heard. It would have been so much easier to be part of the scene, than to imagine it. It’s like putting pieces of a puzzle together. I know the end. Yet, I just want to know the steps that led to it.

When the ambulance this morning struggled to make its way through Shoreline Blvd’s morning madness, I shivered inside my very warm car. It was best to park on the side and take a moment to let the feeling go, and also let the ambulance go where it needed to.

Yet, there were people on the road who were unwilling to give way to the ambulance. So absorbed in their lives, and their desire or perhaps need to make it to work in time, they could not relate to that someone whose survival depends on them.

Was there an ambulance? Did it come on time? Was it delayed because of traffic? Could things be different if it had come on time? Was there a doctor who could provide CPR if needed? Or was he already gone by then? Did they take him with them in the ambulance? Would I have let that happen? What did Mom feel when they were taking him away? What did Stuti feel when she saw them take him away. Did he feel pain or did he just cease to exist ?

And where was I? Why was I asleep? Do you really sleep through the biggest loss of your life? Apparently you do when you live across the globe. I wish I had felt something. A twitch, some pain, a whisper. 

Did he really just leave without talking to me one more time? Didn’t he have anything to say to me? How very selfish of me to only think of myself here.

These are the thoughts that come rushing when I see the flashing lights of an ambulance.

No one likes to see an ambulance. But I particularly detest them.

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