On Saturday, I cried all the way to the wedding ceremony. I pulled together during it, but after... I just wanted to go to the hospital. I just wanted to be with Michael. However, my mom had promised to be at the reception as well, so we only got to visit for about an hour. Of course, he was in the ICU, and my family had taken up the entire ICU waiting room. A lot of people were talking and laughing--I felt hope. All at once, and without planning to, I found myself thinking that God's always blessed me, always given me miracles.
Resolutely, I believed Michael would wake up, and we'd both be laughing about the incident this time tomorrow--I'd even let him call me Shacky.

The Valenzuela's were, of course, devastated. However, Damian and Alex, his brothers, were able to smile, and Sylvia, his mother, was holding strong. Irene, his sister and my nina, however, was falling apart. I cried with her for awhile before falling into conversation with the family.
Eventually though, we had to leave, but before we did, I saw Michael. He was sprawled across the bed, tubes and drips scattered around and in him, and there was a nasty scrape on his head. And yet, other than that, he looked like he was sleeping, like he would wake up any moment and ask me what the hell happened.

I broke down crying--I had wanted to talk to him, had even planned what to say, but found that I could hardly breathe between sobs, let alone speak. I managed a few stuttered phrases, "Michael, I love you," "Michael, wake up," "Wake up please. God, wake him up." Finally, I left, though before doing so I cried into Alex for a good five minutes.
I attempted to be cheerful for the reception, but then the music started, and I thought of how Michael always DJ'd for parties, and I was crying again. Soon, everyone at the table was crying, and I wanted to leave, to spend the night at the hospital. Eventually, I got a ride back. Everyone else joined me in the waiting room soon after. More talk. More laughs. More tears. I fall asleep on the waiting room floor, and wake up the next day filled with hope.

Michael will wake up, he has to.

The hours go by, I visit him and cry more, finally everyone's taken over the waiting room again, and Irene breaks the news, sobbing, that tests will be run on Michael to see if his brain's responsive at all.

If two tests come back negative, he will be declared clinically dead.

The doctor said being brain dead is entirely separate to being in a coma. In a coma, the brain is still alive and responsive. When brain dead, it's the equivalent to cutting off blood from your hand. Eventually, it will die and rot. If brain dead, truly and completely, there is no hope of recovery. We wait in hours of anticipation, going back to the talk and laughter--the tests will be positive, Michael will wake up.

Alex then tells everyone to gather in the waiting room. He announces to everyone that the results of the test are back, and they are negative. Michael is brain dead. He's never waking up. Another test will be taken, but it'll likely come back negative as well, and if so, they will remove Michael from life support.
As everyone, including himself and I, cry inconsolably, he states that he knows Michael wouldn't want everyone to cry, and so they're going to hold a party in his honor some time in the near future.

I would switch then on between inconsolable sobs and dazed weeping. My reaction, however, was nothing to that of the Valenzuela's. Irene broke down wailing as Damian tried and failed to console her without crying himself. Sylvia soon broke down herself. After hours of sobbing, everyone gathers around and begins to recall they're favorite 'Michael Moments'.
My time at the hospital was cut short yet again though--I have school, I had to go home. Before we left, I told Michael good-bye.

Michael, I love you so much. You were a wonderful, excellent, exceptional, amazing human being, and I love you. I wish we were closer. I wish I hadn't taken you for granted. I wish I would have taken the time we had together to spend more time with you. I wish you didn't have to go--you have a lot of people who need you. Dominique needs you so much. What will she do without you? I love you, I love you, I wish you didn't have to go. I wish you weren't being taken away.

I love you, Michael. I always will. Good-bye.