The night I died, my husband of 25 years was watching fireworks with our children. I called for him. I called his phone, hoping he would come.
"I'm busy," he said. "Stop your whining and just come join us!"
"Matthew," I breathed out, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Is that Mom complaining that we're leaving her out again?" I heard my son say. "God she's annoying."
"Dad, just hang up. She's going to have her tantrum one way or the other. Why let it ruin the night?" I heard my daughter snark.
The phone dropped from my hand as my consciousness wavered and then finally collapsed.
Hours passed, and my family didn't even notice that I had not only not arrived for the fireworks display but had also stopped calling or texting.
When the display ended and my family gathered their belongings, they noticed I wasn't in the crowd.
"She's still having a tantrum," my daughter, Anna, said, rolling her eyes. "She's probably at home sulking."
"She's just being petulant," my son, Alex, said. "Because we didn't wait for her to come."
"I'll deal with her when we get home," Matthew, my supposed loving husband, said as he closed the trunk of his car once he'd stowed the picnic blankets and food I had carefully and lovingly packed for our family outing to watch the annual fireworks display our city put on for Founder's Day.
The three of them drove home expecting me to be there waiting.
They were surprised when they got to our house and saw that none of the lights were on.
"Even if she goes to sleep before us, Mom always leaves a light on," Alex said, frowning in confusion.
"She's being childish," Anna said. "She didn't get her way because we asked her to go grab something and she wasn't back when we were ready to go."
And that was true.
Before we planned to leave, Anna and Alex asked for a specific drink we could only find at one store across town. They insisted they had to have the drink at the fireworks display, as it was their tradition. I had forgotten to buy the drink, so I had to go out and get it for them.
It's not like they are incapable of driving. They both have licences and they each have their own cars. But my supposedly loving husband, with whom I had raised our two children, giving up my position at a law firm in the city to stay home with, argued that I had neglected to get it in all my preparations for the evening's event. Therefore, I was responsible for rectifying it by going across town during rush hour to retrieve this precious drink.
And so, because I had devoted my life to the happiness of my husband and children, often to the sacrifice of my own happiness and comfort, I got into my car and headed out, asking only that they wait for my return before leaving for the fireworks.
I never made it to the store.
On the way, a terrible accident was on the highway ahead of me. I maneuvered around it but was blindsided by a truck that had decided to speed around the accident site and had hit my car, forcing it off the road and down an embankment. I lost consciousness as my car rolled to the bottom of the embankment and landed against a tree.
By the time I came around, the sun had set. My vision was blurry, and my left leg felt like it was on fire. The car's roof had collapsed somewhat, and the car had come to rest against the tree, and I was still strapped into my seat. I heard nothing around me but the sound of traffic on the highway above. I didn't even see any flashing lights of any emergency vehicles. Was it possible that not one driver had noticed my car get hit by that truck? Had the truck driver not reported that he'd hit a car and thrown it down the embankment?
With much difficulty and much pain, I very carefully undid my seatbelt, using my left leg to brace myself against the middle console. I pulled at the cracked sunroof and dragged my broken and bruised body through it, managing a couple of nice, deep gashes courtesy of the shattered glass.
Thankfully, my phone had been in my pocket while I was driving, so I tried to retrieve it once I got away from the car and lay on my back in the dirt disturbed by the rolling car.
Above my head, I could see that the fireworks display had begun. I didn't know how much time had passed and how much of the display was left. I pressed Matthew's contact on my phone.
"What do you want?" was how he answered when he picked up. "We waited until we couldn't wait any longer. Where are you? It's ten minutes back and forth and you never bothered to show up. You didn't even come here to meet us. You know this display is important to the twins and I and you couldn't even manage to get everything prepared correctly."
I was trying to stay conscious as he berated me for something that was out of my control.
"You've disappointed the twins by conveniently forgetting their favourite drink, and then by being petulant and immature and not even bothering to come home in time to leave with us. Now the display is almost over and you still haven't shown up," he continued.
"Where is she?" I heard Anna ask.
"Who cares anymore?" Alex said. "Just tell her we're busy and to meet us here or whatever. She's probably mad we didn't wait for her."
"I'm busy," Matthew said. "Stop your whining and just come join us."
"Matthew," I breathed out, my voice barely above a whisper. I was trying to get him to hear me. I was trying to get him to hear that my life was ebbing out of me. I didn't know it, but one of the cuts on my legs had sliced a small cut into a femoral vein and nicked the artery. I was bleeding out but all I felt was cold and tired.
"Is that Mom complaining that we're leaving her out again?" I heard my son say. "God she's annoying."
"Dad, just hang up. She's going to have her tantrum one way or the other. Why let it ruin the night?" I heard my daughter snark.
My consciousness collapsed, and slowly, my life ebbed away. I died, alone, at the bottom of an embankment, unseen by the world above.