Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance

Night

He couldn’t believe what had happened. Was he dreaming? The pain surely felt real. Still stunned and dazed, the man lay there on the ground. He felt as if he had woken up from a terrible and morbid nightmare. But it’s not a dream, he thought, or is it? He tried to recall what happened; he could still feel a burning sensation in his abdomen. The day came to him faintly at first, but then the truth manifested itself more and more vividly.
It was an especially dreary December afternoon. The man had gone to work under thick dark clouds, thundering lightning, and heavy, cold rain. It was an uneventful day at the hospital, so he had left early. The rain had stopped, and he decided to walk to his favorite bar under the gray fog, even though the distance was great and the location was desolate. He ordered his typical two quarts of beer, griped with the bartender about his daily struggles, and set off to his car again. The man grew pale as his memory grew clearer. Night had set in when he departed, and as he walked under the dimly lit sky, he could feel the cold air nipping at his face and hear the chirping and screeching of the creatures of the night. He was passing by the park, which had always been the part of the travels he detested the most. Any time the trees rustled, he would flinch, and every time he saw something move in the near pitch black darkness he would utter a small cry. As he passed by a tall tree, a mugger had suddenly jumped out of nowhere and took him by surprise. He could still recall the gaunt face, the sickening grin, and those dark, bloodthirsty eyes devoid of empathy or compassion; all this brought out more under the moonlight. The man stood still in front of this beast, who with a blood-curdling voice demanded his money. He didn’t know whether the drinks had been especially heavy that day, but he uttered a timid yet defiant “no”. At that point, the creature’s face contorted, and he jumped on the man. All he could remember after that was a searing pain shooting up through his entire body; everything else was foggy.
It was at this point that the man painfully gulped with terror and suffering. The man looked down to his torso, still hoping that the worst had not indeed happened. With horror, he saw the gaping hole in his stomach, still spewing a noxious mixture of blood, bile, and acid. The evidence was all there, and the man just lay on the floor staring at this gash. Being a doctor, this man knew that the wound was a death sentence without immediate medical care. “Damn It!” he uttered with a newfound strength as his disbelief soon gave way to anger. He was angry at everything. Why would the world allow such monstrosities to run loose? He was always a devout Christian, going to church every Sunday; why would God have allowed such an atrocity to happen? He was livid at the good-for-nothing that had done this to him. All he could think of was of how the son of a bitch would meet his untimely and painful demise. Most of all, however, the doctor was infuriated with himself. Why did he have to choose that day to walk to the bar? Why was he so stupid as to say “no” to the mugger? The injury was now nearly unbearable, and he gasped out in agony as the sharp, throbbing pain grew stronger. He was angry for being such a coward, for not fighting back, for not having brought his cell phone so that he could have at least called the paramedics.
As he writhed with fury and pain, however, his thoughts turned to something else. What would become of his children? His wife had already died in a car accident three years ago, and his young boy of ten and sister of eight had surely suffered enough. Who would take care of them? I cannot leave them by themselves, thought the doctor. You cannot leave them there by themselves God, he prayed frantically, I am all they have! He pleaded and begged to be given just a few more years for their sake. Just until they are old enough to take care of themselves! Please! The man tried to get up. He clumsily staggered for a few feet towards the hospital, but the pain proved too much. His legs buckled under the torment of the mortal injury. As he lost balance he felt an indescribable flash of pain incinerate his whole body. He fell forward, and threw up the same contents that were leaving from his stomach. The man tried screaming for help, but it was too little too late. He let out a raspy whisper, and coughed up blood. As he laid there, blood, vomit, bile, and acid now covering his clothes, he realized he could do no more. It was over.
It was over. He was still in agony over the pain, but that had subsided and given way to a newfound sense of misery. Why me?, he thought. He was still fairly young in his early 40’s and was healthy enough to have lived another 40 years. So why did it have to be him who died so violently and suddenly? Why must he suffer so much? An overwhelming hopelessness and frustration enveloped him as he lay there thinking of all his dreams and aspirations that were cut short. He was going to take the kids to the Caribbean next month. He had never been to the Caribbean himself and was so excited for having that opportunity; that hope was lost now. He would never see his children grow up: He would not share the joys of seeing them graduate, get married, and have children themselves. Other parents would be able to see their family grow and prosper, but not him. He was planning on becoming a manager in the World Health Organization within a few years. This had been his goal since his childhood, and he had strived endlessly to reach this goal; all that work had been wasted. He thought of all the things he had never done, and regretted having not done them sooner. As the pain swelled again, so did a tear in his eyes, and then another. Soon enough he was laying there crying in a mixture of sadness, frustration, and anger.
Everything was becoming foggy and surreal. His pain had numbed somewhat and he lay there, only half-conscious of his surroundings. As he wiped off the tears from his dirty face, the doctor cleared his mind. It was over…so why was he still fighting? There was nothing more for him to do. I’m going to die… it’s not my fault that such a thing is happening to me, he thought. Everyone dies in the end, in fact, he recalled how his wife had died. He was depressed for a while, but he came to terms with it. So now, as he slowly faded off into another world, he made his amends with the Lord and with himself. He prayed for his children to be happy, successful, and healthy, and for the well-being of all those he cared for. When he ended his prayer, he looked at his watch. “10:45…any time now…” A newfound sense of peace and serenity surrounded him. He could barely even feel that cursed wound. He got into a comfortable position and closed his eyes. He heard the rustling of the trees in the night, the chirping of the crickets under the moonlit sky. He felt the rough cool pavement at his back and the crisp air caressing his face and hands. He smelled the mist that slowly crept in. He saw himself with his parents as he first rode his bike, his friends beside him as he passed through elementary school, middle school, high school, and college. He saw the woman that he loved upon their marriage, the birth of their children, and their children’s birthdays. He saw his friends and family around the dinner table at Christmas time, and all those other little moments that give us a spark of hope, happiness, and calm, just as it was giving him. He was almost unconscious now, and all he could see was white. In front of him stood his wife, who smiled at him reassuringly. She reached out her hand. The man smiled, and with a last effort outstretched his hand. Their grasps met, and everything went black.
The trees rustled in the wind. The cold air flowed idly by. All was silent.