The Place Where Home Isn’t

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep

A voice echoed in my head.

“Five beeps means that it’s for them, not me,” my dad had said, pointing to the machine next to the bed.

I glanced at the empty space where he’d been, his words now sounding like a prophecy.

Cords, wires, tubes—everything about him had looked so unnatural, his humanity swallowed by the machinery. For the first time, his usual calm seemed frayed. Worry had etched itself into the lines of his face. Or maybe it was just my imagination, twisting the sight of him into something I feared.

He was gone now, taken down the hall. Mom had clung to his hand like she could anchor him to this world, only letting go when the nurse stopped her. I’d watched her kiss him goodbye, her lips trembling as though she couldn’t bear to let him go, her face pale and drawn. The moment the doors clicked shut, her face crumpled, tears spilling silently.

A hiccup rose in my throat, but I bit it back, knowing I had to be strong. For her.

Here I sat—alone, but not really. Surrounded by people, but somehow distant, as though the world had gone quiet and I was the only one left hearing the echo of our last moments together.

On the other side of the curtain, his roommate coughed—a thin, raspy sound that belonged to someone whose life felt stretched too thin. She wasn’t kind or comforting, just a reminder I wasn’t alone. Mom waited downstairs, pacing the floor of the waiting room. My husband was next to me, his arm draped around my shoulders like a shield I couldn’t feel.

And yet, even with the presence of others, I’ve never felt so alone.

He shifted, pulling me to my feet. “You need a break,” he murmured, his voice soft but insistent.

I resisted for a moment. The room was the same as it had always been, adorned with an ugly shade of yellow meant to be soothing, yet looked more like vomit. The flickering light along the wall caught stains and scratches—evidence of past struggles, a silent reminder that this room was as broken as I felt. The beeping…

I turned back one last time, but something about that final glance made it real. He’s gone. And I don’t know if he’ll be back.