PART 5 – The Doctors Could Tell Maggie Was Seriously Ill, but I Still Had No Answer About What Had Happened in My Son’s House

I stayed beside Maggie's bed while the hospital staff continued their work.

Every time somebody entered the room, I hoped they had news.

Most of the time, they had another question.

When had she last been well?

Had she taken any medication?

Had she complained about anything before leaving Nashville?

I answered as honestly as I could.

The trouble was that I had not been there.

I knew my wife better than anybody, but I could not tell the doctors what had happened during the days she had spent in Knoxville.

That fact made me feel useless.

For forty-one years, Maggie and I had shared a home, a bed, meals, bills, and the ordinary problems that came with raising a family.

We had learned how to notice when something was wrong with the other person.

A different tone of voice could tell me she was upset.

A quiet evening could tell her I was worried about money.

But this time, I had been three hours away while something happened that neither of us had chosen to share.

I looked at her hand resting beneath the hospital blanket.

It was difficult to believe that the same hand had packed our casserole dish, checked her suitcase, and waved goodbye from the driveway only days earlier.

I remembered how she had stood beside the kitchen island.

She had been so certain that helping Kevin would be simple.

I had not liked the idea, but I had let her go without making a fuss.

Now I wished I had listened more carefully to the doubts I could not explain.

A nurse came in to check on Maggie.

I stood back while she worked.

When she finished, I asked whether there was anything I could do.

She told me to stay close and let the medical team know if Maggie's condition changed.

So I pulled my chair nearer to the bed.

I stayed.

The hours moved slowly.

Sometimes Maggie opened her eyes.

Sometimes she seemed too tired to notice anything around her.

Whenever she looked at me, I told her I was there.

I did not ask her to explain what had happened.

Not yet.

I wanted her to have enough strength to speak without having to spend what little energy she had on my questions.

The doctors continued investigating the cause of her condition.

They had not given me a clear answer.

I knew they needed more information, and I tried not to mistake uncertainty for bad news.

That was harder than it sounds.

I had spent the drive to Knoxville imagining explanations.

I had spent the ambulance ride fearing the worst.

Now I was sitting in a hospital room where nobody could promise me anything.

I could only wait.

At some point, I checked my phone.

There were no messages from Kevin.

There were no missed calls from Brittany.

Neither had followed the ambulance.

I kept looking at the screen longer than necessary.

I had expected my son to call.

Even if he believed I had misunderstood the situation, I thought he would want to know how his mother was doing.

He had not asked.

I put the phone away.

I told myself I would deal with him later.

Maggie needed my attention now.

I watched her breathe and tried to remember the last ordinary morning we had shared.

It had involved coffee, a few remarks about the weather, and her searching for something she had put down only moments earlier.

Nothing important.

Nothing I would have thought to remember.

Yet I found myself holding on to every detail.

I wanted the ordinary life back.

I wanted to return to Nashville with Maggie sitting beside me, telling me I had taken the wrong exit.

I wanted to hear her complain about how much room Kevin's boxes took up.

I wanted to stop wondering whether I had arrived in Knoxville in time.

But the doctors still needed answers.

And I had to accept that loving Maggie would not allow me to supply facts I did not have.

Click here to continue reading: PART 6: I Kept Returning to the Details I Had Overlooked, While Every Hour in the Hospital Reminded Me How Little I Knew