All the 22 days that I was there, when I did not know when my time there would end and how, I would wonder at times if I would return there. Not as I was then, but just to visit. It may sound insane, but for those days, it was what my life was.
It was around five in the evening. Just before the rush and chaos of going up to the ICU for visiting hours. She was sitting alone. Looking around. Her gaze would, it seemed, inadvertently stop at a spot. The person next to her asked her who she was there for. This was usually how conversations started there.
No one, she said, almost whispering. I used to sit here for him. It's been a year today.
I never did go back though. Life takes over.
But then, these stories that I am writing after over three years are proof that I keep going back all the time.