I'll never forget the amount of time I had to save the life of the man I loved, 34 minutes.
Later, they would say I did everything right, but they couldn't be more wrong, could they.
If that were true, a beautiful life would remain instead of the legacy of pain and death that has followed every day since.
Besides, who is it that determines what is right and wrong in situations like these.
I've begged God for those 34 minutes back, to have another chance to get it right and not fail him this time, but God isn't listening just as he wasn't that night.

I made the call for help, the only one I thought would make a difference.
I called who I always called for protection and help, my father, not just mine but like a father to him as well.
A call made in desperation, a call made out of fear and panic.
Had I known the burden I was placing on shoulders I've always felt were beyond limit, I might have made a different call.
I know now that, because of that call, the regret and guilt and self-doubt that I carry are carried by my father as well.

Did we do the right thing? What could've been said or done differently to change the outcome?
The truth is we'll never know and the not knowing is the cross we both have to bare each and every day.
34 minutes from that phone call to the gunshot that ultimately became the single most horrific and defining  moment of my life.
The moment that serves as both the starting point and ending point for all events to come before and after.
The moment that serves as both an internal compass and measuring stick for all progress and demise.

A dark quiet family home in a good neighborhood, where most were making their way to bed for the night.
A place where things like this weren't supposed to happen, not to people like us anyway.
Civil servants, a policeman and a nurse, paying our taxes and raising our children and living our lives right.
Our two perfect little princes asleep in their beds, unaware of the bomb about to implode in their tiny worlds.
An alert family pet with an instinctual sense of something amiss and at the ready to protect at all cost.

34 minutes for a husband to say goodbye, caught in emotional turmoil between his unwavering love for his family and a sense of loyalty to men he calls brothers.
Secrets, held for reasons of protection and self-preservation, suddenly brought to light for the whole world to see and judge.
Hopelessness for a future of unimaginable shame and consequences for impossible decisions already made.
Actions carefully planned and taken to end an overwhelming and unbearable pain, which didn't quite go as planned, so a new plan had to be put into action.
A desire to hold on to the love he was about to leave forever, overshadowed by the mental inability to face the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

34 minutes for a wife, so devoted and terrified, to say the things that would change his mind and save them both.
I said everything I thought would matter and searched my mind for something more.
I ran the gamut of emotions, trying to sway his disillusioned mind or gain control of the situation.
Through my tears and pleas and cries  and begging for reconsideration came his screams and threats and tears and professions of love.
I was rational and emotional and weak, which was no match for his incoherence and determination and strength.

Then the doorbell rang and I looked at the clock where 34 minutes had passed and my time is up.
Maybe my father could help where I had failed but deep down I felt my husband, my love, slip from my grasp.
My father tried to reason but was met with his mounting anger and pleas to take me and our boys and leave.
With weapon already present, my father had no choice but to take his grandsons and daughter to safety.
As I argued with my father to take the boys and leave me there, the screams from inside the house for just me to stay were getting louder and angrier, and I was torn between staying with my love and maybe having him take me with him and leaving with my boys who are the truly helpless innocent victims in this tragedy.

My father in his immense love for me and his grandsons made the right decision for me, for I would have undoubtably chosen wrong.
We sent help and it arrived quickly, but I knew when I crossed the threshold to leave, I left everything I knew and loved behind.
My husband, the center of my world, was gone and I failed in the 34 minutes I was given to save him.
34 minutes that have haunted me every day since, each one I have relived millions of times.
34 minutes which cause me so much pain to remember but I am terrified to forget because they are my last 34 minutes with him.

34 minutes, too short to sum up the love in my heart and the hearts of our boys for him.
34 minutes to convince him that everything would be alright and that he would make it through because we would be right beside him.
34 minutes to make him realize all the experiences and moments he would be missing out on as our boys grew into the men he would help mold them into.
34 minutes to convey the pain and heartache and utter carnage he would leave in his wake as we tried to pick up the pieces of our broken lives and go on without him.
34 minutes, not long enough to change his mind which was already made up, but long enough to change the way my mind thinks about everything forever.