1989
The Year was 1989. Rock and Roll still ruled the airwaves, spilling out of car speakers and bedroom radios, gritty guitar riffs, big choruses, and voices that sounded like they’d been dragged across miles of highway. It was the kind of music that made everything feel bigger than it was: your dreams, your anger, your nights that stretched too long. Cassette tapes clicked and rewound, posters curled slightly at the corners, and the world seemed caught between rebellion and something new just around the bend.At home, though, things were smaller. Quieter.The hum of a lamp. The soft buzz of a late-night station playing somewhere in the background. A half-finished drink sitting forgotten on the table. The kind of stillness that settles in after midnight, when the rest of the world feels far away. Something isn’t right. Time stretches in strange ways. The song changes, but you barely notice. The room tilts not dramatically, just enough to feel wrong. Breathing becomes something you have to think about, not something that just happens. A voice. Urgent now. Someone realizing. “Hey… hey, can you hear me?” The quiet breaks all at once. The calm is gone, replaced by sharp panic. Hands on your shoulders, trying to keep you upright. The music is abruptly cut off, leaving only voices and the sound of something falling to the floor. “Call 911. Now.” You’re lowered down, carefully but quickly. There’s a rush of motion, someone kneeling beside you, checking your breathing, your pulse. The room that felt so still moments ago is suddenly full of action, fear, and determination. “Stay with me. Come on, stay with me.”Then the rhythm changes again, this time not music, but hands pressing firmly, counting under their breath. CPR. Steady, urgent, or maybe just desperate. “One, two, three, four…”Each compression is an attempt to pull you back, to keep something going that’s trying to stop. Paramedics move fast when they arrive. There’s the sound of equipment being set down, the snap of something opened, the quiet efficiency of people who have done this before. The room fills with motion again. “Come on… you’re okay… just stay…”“Starting compressions.” Hands locked at the center of your chest. Then the rhythm began stronger, more precise now than before. Not rushed. “One, two, three, four…”“Pulse check….hold compressions.” A brief pause. Just a second or two, but it felt like everything hung in that space. “We got him back .” back but for how long……