I wasn’t allowed to see Ryan the week of his passing. According to the nurse I caught up with on my last attempt to visit him, only family members were allowed to visit him.
The amount of resentment I have towards the hospital for not letting me say goodbye to the most meaningful and important person in my life is enormous that I want to go back there and burn it to the ground. His doctor tried to calm me down when I got the news concerning his death by saying that it was better for me to stay away from him for my own safety, and all I wanted was to spit in his face and beat the shit out of him. The last image of Ryan I now have in my mind is one that I’ll probably never forget: Him laying on his bed under clean, white sheet. His eyes closed, his skin so pale. On his leg there was a tag tied. He was gone, and it’s still taking me a while to process the fact he is no longer here. I took the elevator down to the ground floor and left the building. I just couldn’t stand being in there anymore.
Back at the hotel, I got a text from Lee sharing her own frustration about the situation she also had to go through at the hospital. It was comforting to know that it wasn’t just me, but that didn’t take away much of the pain and hearthache I was feeling. She also asked me whether I was going to attend the funeral that took place in Orlando, Ryan’s hometown. I didn’t know if it was a good idea at the time, so I said I wasn’t. Now I’m kind of regretting it. All I know is that I was in denial, and showing up at the funeral would’ve confirmed Ryan’s death, and I wasn’t ready to face the truth yet. I just couldn’t accept nor acknowledge it. I started packing so fast without thinking, and before I even knew it, I was back in Chicago. My apartment was so blue when I entered it. It reflected my sadness. That night, I went back in time and tried to remember every moment I spent with Ryan. I feel really guilty about the way I hurt him. If Tye was still alive, he would’ve still been here. Lying in bed, I tried to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come out; I wanted to cry it all out. I wanted to call someone, but no one would understand how big the loss is. I ended up going a bit hysterical; I took an anxiety and sleeping pill to knock myself out, and in less than an hour, I was passed out.