You don’t know what loss feels like until you’re on the ground, sobbing as you’re watching the person you love the most in the world be lowered into a six foot hole in the ground. You don’t know sorrow until it comes in the form of sobs ripping their way out of your chest, falling onto the casket of the person you love, onto the grass, anywhere you can find the smallest amount of purchase to keep you from collapsing. You don’t know what regret is until you’re left alone in the dark, in an empty bed, with nothing but your own thoughts.

So many things led to that moment, the one where I watched them lower you into the ground, the one where I lost myself to the raw tidal wave of pain of being left here without you.

You’d called, and I’d answered, pinning the phone between my shoulder and my ear, listening to the words slur out of your mouth.

“Come down to the bar, beautiful.” Your voice was demanding, pleading and adorable all at the same time.

“I don’t want to go out, you know I have a lecture tomorrow.” I’d reminded you for the hundredth time that evening.

“But it’s not as fun without you taking off your shirt and dancing on the tables!” I’m sure I’ve mentioned to you a million times how cute you are when you pout.

“As fun as that sounds, being hung over at a lecture sucks. Being hung over and teaching a lecture is worse.” I’d laughed as I put away the last of the dishes.

“You’re a funsucker.”

“Only on weekdays, beautiful. See you when you wander home after last call.”

“Love you, Mr. Boringpants.”

“That’s Professor Boringpants, and I love you too.”

And that was it.
You hung up.

I think the worse part out of all of this was that you were so close. You were a block away from our apartment. You’d opted for a cab (buses were not your idea of ‘transportation’.) and when that damn bust driver dozed off on his wat to the depot to drop off the bus and head home, you were leaning forward, like you always do, telling the cabbie to turn left.

And then the intersection exploded with noise.
And that noise woke everyone within a block’s radius.

Including me.

I woke up to the awful sound of metal shrieking against metal, of the taxi’s horn blowing until it ran out of air and faded to nothing. I heard the sirens that signalled that the fire, police and ambulance had all shown up.

And I tried to figure out, as I lay in my bed, what had caused all the noise.

And then, I called your phone.
And once more, for good measure.

I’d figured you’d most likely ended up at Rachel’s again. It wouldn’t be the first time, at least. I checked the time, over and over.
3:05 AM.
3:07 AM.
3:12 AM.

Time was moving slower than molasses in January.

I’d managed to fall back asleep around 3:40.
But at 4:07 AM, I got a call on my cellphone. Half-asleep and assuming it was you, I answered without checking the caller ID.
“Hey.”

“Hello, is this… Blaine Anderson?”

That wasn’t your voice. At all. “Yes. Why… Who’s asking?” I asked, waking up a lot faster now.

“I’m Constable Charles Thompson… you were listed as the emergency contact for Kurt Hummel?”

Suddenly, the feeling left my legs. The blood drained from my face and pooled in my stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“Kurt was in a vehicle accident, and is in critical condition… he’s been brought to Lenox Hill hospital-” The constable started.
I figured it out.
That accident.
That was the hospital closest to our apartment building, and in accidents, you’re always rushed to the closest hospital.

“I’m on my way.” I cut in, and hung up. I flew out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt. You know, the one I always wear when I’m grading papers, the one you always tell me that I look so lazy in.
And then I was in my car, speeding the whole way to the hospital.

Lord, there were so many ambulances.

I ran into the ER, making my way between sobbing couples and sickly strangers. Straight to the desk with the pretty receptionist. “Kurt Hummel.” Your name fell from my lips like stones falling into water, sending little shudders down my spine.

“He’s in surgery,” The lady offered, looking down at the board, “There was an accident, a bus and a cab, from what I heard-” But I wasn’t listening any more, I was making a beeline for the OR.
Just before I could burst through the doors, there was a strong hand on my shoulder, pulling me to a stop.

“Mr. Anderson?” The voice matched the one that had called me, and I stopped dead, turning to face him. I didn’t even have the power in me to correct him, tell him it was Professor Anderson.

“I need to see Kurt.” My voice sounded so weak, like when he stopped me I lost all the adrenaline that had been keeping me going.

“I understand but-“

“No. No. You don’t understand!” I barked, and looked between the officer and the doors frantically, “I need to see him.”

“Mr. Anderson, you can’t go in the operating room-“

“I can’t let him be alone!”

“I can’t let you in there, but he’s not alone.” His hands rested heavy and somehow comforting on my shoulders. “He’s in good hands. They’re doing everything they can.” In the back of my mind, I realized he didn’t say ‘they’re going to fix him’ or ‘he’ll be okay’. But I couldn’t protest. Me knees began to shake and threaten to give out as my reckless abandon died down and Constable Thompson led me to a bank of cold, uncomfortable, plastic chairs where I sat.

And waited.

And waited.

At 6 AM, the doors of the OR opened and at 6:02 AM, the doctor made his way from the receptionist desk to where I sat.

“Mr. Anderson?” I nodded and stood up. He was here to tell me you were fine, after all. And I was going to march into your room and see you. “I’m the surgeon that operated on your friend-“

“Boyfriend,” I interjected.

“Boyfriend, sorry. Ah… Kurt came to us in poor condition. The collision left him with four shattered ribs, a collapsed, punctured lung, severe lacerations to his face and arms, as well as a broken arm and collarbone.” He took a break as I stared at him numbly.
So?
You were fine, right?
“We did our best to correct and inflate the lung when his heart stopped. We managed to get it going again, and successfully re-inflated the lung when he crashed again. Despite our best efforts… we couldn’t get Kurt’s heart beating on it’s own again. He… I’m very sorry, but he didn’t make it.”

The air left my lungs. I felt like water was rushing over me, crushing me. My knees quaked and shook.

Deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead.

I had been planning to surprise you, take you on a vacation to San Francisco. I was going to ask you to marry me.

Dead.

The doctor fluttered on the edge of my vision as I fell to the floor, sobbing into my knees in a crumpled, defeated heap, and then he drifted off. I don’t remember calling Rachel, but I remember her showing up, dragging me through the motions every step of the way. From that moment to this one, where I’m finally alone in my bed after your funeral, exhausted but unable to sleep.

I remember calling your dad. I remember putting on my suit this morning. But I don’t remember telling myself I wanted to do it.

But what I remember the most, Kurt, is the way you would wrap yourself around me in your sleep, the way your breathing sounded in my ear. The warmth of you in bed next to me.

How will I ever forget, now that our bed is so cold?