You know the words you're about to hear before you hear them. You beg some invisible thing to make it not true, you make deals, you promise to do whatever, take me instead.
Ten, twenty, thirty years later you come back to that moment when you least expect it. A smell on the wind, a stranger's laugh, a movie in the background. That moment comes back as real as a smack upside the head or a wet kiss on the lips.
Sometimes you say the same prayers even when you know you aren't going to hear those words. You say them just in case and wonder why you ever quit smoking. Even when the doctor comes towards you smiling you brace yourself, you talk yourself out of living a lifetime in a moment because you know you're going to get to live that lifetime for real. You live it anyway, in that second, all the things ... even when the words are she's fine and will be awake in a little bit you don't really believe the words until you see for yourself.
You live that second every day, slower and in real time. You make sure to say the things, you touch her, you get lost in as many of the moments that make up the rest of this life. That's the lesson learned, the great take away from the moment you know they're going to say the words to the moment they actually say them.
I don't know why I watch Grey's Anatomy anymore.