I wasn't ready to let go.
But you were torn from my grasp before I could even ask...
“What's happening?”
As the car swerved to and fro I saw lights dash in and out of my vision.
Memories pierced my imagination,
and I saw credits roll like at the ending.
This is what they mean when they say,
“My life flashed before my eyes.”
Because then I couldn't see you, feel you, touch, you...
or even say goodbye.
A crash rang out in the darkness, but the traffic didn't stop.
All around us the world kept spinning, but I knew this was our last stop.
Your body penetrated the seat and seat belt's suspension.
You lurched and banged into the windshield.
The airbags were too late and you already lay dead still.
Horns paraded the air and the sound of glass shattering could be heard.
This was really it.
My soul was leaving the earth.

Then the white.
The blank.
The nothing I could see.
I woke up after six days in a hospital surrounded by whiteness and me.
I died for a few days and awoke to myself.
I couldn't ask where you were or even scream for help.
The nurse came and told me...
she said you were gone.
Gone to ICU?
No, to eternity. Sorry, this is right, you're wrong.

Your last will and testament:
not to worry about you, you're in a better place.
You're better off in the afterlife, where you aren't a huge disgrace.
Your parents aren't happy, but they're a hell of a lot less stressed.
And really, you were such a screw-up in life that this can't be for anything but the best.

EXCEPT IT ISN'T.
It is the WORST for me.
The worst for your girlfriend, the one who needed you the most...
well maybe not as much as your unborn, miscarried baby.