Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer
“Can you take the dog for a walk? It wouldn’t fucking kill you?” I laughed facetiously as I rushed out the door.
It was a perfectly, ordinary day. So ordinary that none of us remembered what he was wearing.
I got a call from an unknown number…the usual dilemma…do you answer? An unfamiliar voice asked if I had a small, white dog. I cautiously admitted to it. The voice told me that the ‘gentleman’ who had been walking the dog had collapsed. He was wondering what to do with the dog. I couldn’t think. The dog wasn’t perfect. I wondered if he had sat down loyally or had ran around like an idiot. By the end of the conversation I knew that they were attempting to revive my husband and that he would be taken to hospital.
My son was shopping in a store nearby, I rushed to find him. He had just found the perfect pair of shorts. I had to decide whether we should spend two minutes buying the shorts or whether that time was more urgently required. It was a ninety minute drive home. We bought the shorts.
I had to give my daughter some tough choices. I interrupted her day. She had taken the opportunity to ride her bike to a friend’s house. She had a roast chicken and a bottle of cider in the basket. She was celebrating perfect spring weather and the beginning of the school holidays. Your Dad has collapsed. It doesn’t sound good. They’re taking him to hospital. You can wait for us or go to the hospital. If you go, you might see him recover. You might get to say good-bye. It might be too late. My brave girl went to the hospital.
I love to read. There always seems to be a miracle amongst the devastation. I called my best friend. I asked her if she could meet my girl at the hospital. She was already there. She was working. She would look after her. I don’t believe my luck. It is a convenient plot line that I thought only happens in fiction.
I thought I was an optimistic person but I warn my son that the situation is ‘not good.’ He knows I am the queen of understatement and reads my look. As we drive along the highway my son voices his grief. If he’d been better behaved, would it have been different?
No I state firmly.
It’s not fair he mutters miserably. It’s not fucking fair.
You’re right. Open the window and scream it.
IT’S NOT FUCKING FAIR.
Does the universe hear if your sentiments are blown away from a car travelling at a hundred?
He becomes briefly hopeful. We have a dear friend who was revived under remarkable circumstances only six months prior.
My phone rings. My son answers. It is my daughter. I pull over. I take the phone. Mum, I’m in the emergency department. I’ve waited an hour. Dad’s not here. They don’t know anything about it. I think they’ve made a mistake.
Something tells me he is not going to the hospital because there is nothing a hospital can do for him. I say I’ll make a call. The only person I can call is the unknown number. I tell him my daughter is at the hospital. I tell him the hospital have not been alerted. There is a pause.
Haven’t the police contacted you? They told me not to say anything. You seem calm. They could not revive your husband. We tried everything until the ambulance arrived. They tried everything.
I thanked him.
I called my friend. Bring Freya home. Neil won’t be coming to the hospital. She understood. We arrived home at the same time. Another literary moment.
Someone I had never met told me my husband was dead. I called the police, the ambulance and the hospital. No one knew anything. Even so, I could not allow myself to think it was a mistake. We waited for the police. It took too long, an inexplicably long time. They came.