[ WP ] `` What a shame . Out of all the decisions you could have made today , you chose to die ... ''

He opened his eyes as the sun started to peek through the curtains. The crack in the ceiling was getting wider. It had been for a while now, but nobody else really looked up in that direction for more than a second or two. He, on the other hand. Well, that ’ s the only thing he was able to see until someone came in to position him. 
 
 It was early yet. He could tell that by the way the light refracted gently through the panes of glass, not yet searing his face. The whoosh of the ventilator and the beep of the heart rate monitor soothed him, as he steeled himself for the onslaught of burning pain that came as the rest of his body awakened slowly. 
 
 It was Sunday. He missed the time when he didn ’ t dread Sunday mornings. When that meant that he and his beautiful wife could spend time together, without health aides, without doctors, with as minimal equipment as necessary. 
 
 They ’ d had great chats back then, as she gently massaged his contracted muscles, stretching his legs to relieve the pain. He ’ d crack a joke, and she ’ d squint her eyes, her left one closed completely, right one mostly closed, tilt her head back and just gaffaw. 
 
 It occurred to him that he couldn ’ t remember the last time he ’ d seen her smile. He ’ d queued up a couple of zingers on his speech device, waiting for the right time to let them go, but they sat idle much of the time, like his device itself. 
 
 She had recently put that in the closet, declaring the voice harsh and mechanical; too painful to listen to. He tried to please her, mouthing his words silently, but she wasn ’ t adept at lip reading, so he spent a lot of energy trying to get his point across. 
 
 More and more it seemed as though she was trying to mute him. Pretend like he wasn ’ t there. They had gotten more hours from the agency; he had agreed to go into respite care for two weeks every summer. But it hadn ’ t helped. Every day, he could feel her slipping further and further away from him. 
 
 The door to his room opened slowly. She looked exhausted, deep purple bags under her eyes almost made it look like he ’ d punched her. The way she looked through him this morning chilled him to the bone. She mashed the button on the bed that sat him up, way too fast. The raw fear running through his veins caused his arms to contract inwards, towards his chest. His hands in fists so tight blood started dripping down his palms. 
 
 His arms, she noticed. The way they were positioned made it hard for her to maneuver him onto the lift to get him to the bathroom. She huffed and roughly pried his arms away from his chest. He opened his mouth in a silent scream. His arms snapped back to their original position, contracting so tightly he was afraid his tendons would snap. 
 
 She veritably threw him onto the lift, which carried him slowly and steadily into the bathroom. His body slumped to the left, almost falling out of the hoist. Damn, she had done an ugly job with the positioning. 
 
 Her hands slipped as she was guiding him onto the bath chair and he could sense his legs slowly sliding out from underneath him. He tried getting her attention as she turned her back to grab the shampoo, but as he did, his mouth dipped below the waterline, and water started pouring into his lungs. 
 
 His eyes stared up at her, pleadingly. Water gurgled out of his mouth as his lips turned blue. She stared back at him, as if willing him to fight back. 
 
 “ What a shame, ” she sighed, as his vision dimmed, “ Out of all the decisions you could have made today, you chose to die. ” 

