noah wyle wrote an episode so full of humanity it pulsed with life.
you’re in the car with your spouse and things haven’t been the best lately. tempers are short. there’s distance between the two of you that is new and scary when there’s time to give it thought. a maybe-vacation is brought up but there’s too much to consider and there’s too much going on. you know it’s a bit of a hail mary but you’re desperate to bridge the gap between you but everything starts coming out wrong and suddenly the two of you are yelling at each other. both of you are frustrated. neither of you are hearing the other. someone says something thoughtlessly cruel that you use as a stepping stone to then say something else full of vitriol and you know it’s all just in the heat of the moment but it hurts it hurts it hurts—but it’s not the words, not anymore; it’s the accident. and you’re in the hospital being confronted with the real possibility of everything changing—far beyond a simple miscommunication, a few weeks of space. we are rarely ever gifted the knowledge of when things are about to end, when it’s your last time doing something. what do you do when your spouse may die and the last words you exchanged were ones of hate? when your last memory together is one that is cruel? how do you reckon with that being it? no do-over. no going back in time.
you’re married to a man who is kind and good and it’s been a few years but you kinda still can’t stop thinking about your ex-husband even though you swear—you’ll swear to just about anyone—that you’re over him. and you’re having a normal day until you get a call from the emergency room about said ex-husband who you—of course—don’t think about! at least not that often! and before you know what you’re doing you’re already at the hospital asking for him, your hands restless, the pit in your stomach growing by the second. there’s a bitter taste in your mouth; you know you’re doing something edging into the area of not okay but you can’t stop. your ex-husband—michael, michael—looks different but the same but different but the same and you feel so twisted inside you don’t quite know what it is you feel for him. it’s been so long and things were so bad at the end but when you look into his eyes it’s like you’re back several years ago full of warmth and laughter and—yes, you’re remarried; can’t stop fiddling with your ring in fact and—michael is—michael is—sick. really sick. and seemingly alone considering he never changed his emergency contact. you try not to feel anything about that. but you can’t help yourself from asking the question that’s been fighting its way out since you heard what’s wrong and the answer does not bring you comfort. this thing inside michael that has sucked much of the light and life out of him is most likely the reason behind all his personality changes. is most likely the reason behind what caused the beginning of the end for the two of you. how do you carry the weight of knowing? how do you move forward now that you know michael didn’t one day just decide to start picking fights at bars and being aggressive with you and it actually was something completely out of his control? something that if caught earlier could have saved—.
you hate this holiday. it’s not one you’ve ever particularly been fond of but for the past few years the days leading up to july 4th are some of your most dreaded. you’re already on edge, have been for most of the week. you’re shorter, more easily irritated with others in a way you know you’ll feel badly about after all this passes but it’s hard to do much of anything when the—when the firecrackers are going off like your own personal war zone. but still. you do your best. you try to keep to your routine despite your shakiness. so you start preparing your samovar and then you are no longer in your home but back—back—back—there and it’s so so loud and there are screams and shouts and crying and the sounds are animalistic and you retch and realize those noises are your noises and you are in your kitchen and not at synagogue. and god. you’re at the hospital and the doctor is handsome and jewish and has sad eyes but is patient and kind and you find yourself talking about things you do not even allow yourself to often let fully become thoughts. time passes but you still are made to remember like nothing has changed at all. what do you do in light of that? when your faith in others, in yourself, in your faith itself—in everything—has been rocked? when everyone expects you to get better in time but you aren’t even sure what better means anymore?
