There comes a point when the body is so physically and mentally drained it shuts down. I had passed that point hours ago. Words like, "Her condition is grave. We're doing everything possible, but..." will do that to you.
My clothes were grungy. I reeked of sweat. I wished I would have had time to clean up and change, but I hadn't. The skin on the back of my legs was stuck to the vinyl of the couch in the rear of the hospital chapel where I've been negotiating terms and conditions with God for the last few hours.
I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees. Palms up, I looked down at my hands. Cuts, abrasions, and calluses, not the hands of a white-collar executive any longer. I flicked at a wood sliver with my thumbnail. It would eventually have to come out but not now.
I glanced at the floor. My tennis shoes had sawdust on them. A trickle of sweat down the back of my neck attempted to wash away the sawdust caked there. I closed my eyes. It was quiet.
I didn't hear the door open. Didn't see or hear him walk up. I heard the air escape from the cushion next to me when he sat down. Twenty-seven. That's how many heartbeats I counted before he finally spoke.
"Walk with me," the doctor said, laying a hand on my arm.
I stood on legs that had run marathons. Now they could barely hold my weight. I shuffled like an old man down the corridor.
"I'm sorry. There is nothing more we can do."
I expected it, but expecting and actually hearing the words were two different things. I felt as though someone had opened a valve in my heel and drained out what little life was left in me. I staggered slightly, not sure how I remained upright.
"Does she know?'
"We haven't told her yet, but I think she suspects."
"How long does my wife have?"
"Not long. Again, I am so sorry." When I didn't say anything, he turned and walked back down the corridor. I watched him until he turned the corner. I was alone and soon would be in more ways than one.
I looked to the heavens but only saw the white drop ceiling tiles. Damn it. It's not fair. We haven't even been married nine months! We're still on our honeymoon.
I rested my forehead on the wall outside her room. I watched the tiny salty droplets hit the green tile floor and pool together. I closed my eyes. I didn't have it in me to go into that room just yet. My wife, Laura, would take one look at me and know. How do you say good-bye to someone without their knowing it? How do you watch the life of someone you love come to an end knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it? I bounced my head off the wall.
I had to do this. I was wasting what little time we had left. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I took a deep breath and opened the door.
"If you think this is going to get you out of helping me finish sanding the floors, you're sadly mistaken." I tried to keep my tone upbeat. I willed my legs to move forward. I saw the corners of her beautiful mouth turn upward. I bent down and softly touched my lips to hers. "How are you feeling, my love?"
"I've felt better." She choked, gasped for a breath, and coughed up a small amount of blood. I wiped her mouth with a wet washcloth that was lying next to her bed.
"Don't try to talk." I pressed the adjustment button on the bed and raised her head. "Is that better?"
She nodded.
"The doctor said you're doing better and should be out of here in a couple of days."
She reached out for my hand and our eyes met. She knew.
Please, God, take me, not her, I prayed as we sat there gazing at each other, saying nothing. Words weren't necessary.
I broke the silence. "Remember how we met?" At that, she smiled.
Laura owned a small print shop a block from my office. My only son was getting married. I wanted to have something special printed for him and his wife—a memory of sorts. It was the words to a lullaby he made me sing to him every night before he went to sleep. My late wife, Beth, first sang it to him the night we brought him home from the hospital. I watched from our bedroom door as she sang, just above a whisper, her eyes fixed on the baby in her arms.
Hush, little baby, don't say a word
Momma's gonna buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird won't sing,
Momma's gonna buy you a diamond ring
And so on...
"Hon, isn't that song supposed to say Poppa instead of Momma?" David was fast asleep in her arms.
"When you sing the lullaby to him you can substitute Poppa, but until that time, it's going to be Momma." It was always Momma after that night no matter who sang it.
David was only four, when his mother passed away suddenly. He wouldn't go to sleep unless I sang that lullaby to him. As he grew older, we would sing it together every night. It brought us closer and kept our shared memory of Beth alive.
I had written down the words and wanted to have them printed on parchment and put in a frame. I would give it to his bride with a note that would say, "If David is ever troubled and can't sleep, sing this little lullaby to him. I guarantee that whatever is bothering him will melt away. It worked for the twenty-two years he lived with me. Now, it will be up to you."
I squeezed my wife's hand. "You remember the sly look you gave me when you asked if I wanted the misspelled words corrected or print it the way I had written it?" A flicker of a smile danced across her beautiful face replacing the pain that had been etched on her face.
"I think you captured my heart that day. If not then, when I wore you down and you finally agreed to go out with me. Remember the first time I told you I loved you? The way you scoffed at me saying we had only known each other two months. Then I told you about the accident that had taken away Beth, my first love, and how it had devastated me. In you, God had given me a second chance at happiness." A single tear crept slowly down her cheek.
Laura tried to speak but instead coughed and gasped for air. I hit the call button. The nurse appeared in less than a minute. She slipped a clear mask over Laura's nose and mouth. With the twist of a knob she started an oxygen flow.
"Does that help?"
Laura nodded. I mouthed thank you. She turned off the overhead lights on her way out.
"Now where was I? Oh, I remember. That's when you used your feminine charms to get me to propose to you."
Her eyes were glued to mine as I took her down memory lane. "On our wedding night, I thought I was the odd one not having been with anyone in over four years. When you told me it had been over ten years for you, I was now the nervous one." Laura lightly patted my hand, sucking in a gulp of air.
"Yeah, I know it was stupid of me to worry, but I didn't want to disappoint you." I got up from my chair and moved to the head of her bed. "I was so in love with you, we could have done nothing, and I still would have been the happiest man alive just holding you in my arms."
When she began to cough, I pushed the call button again. The nurse came in and increased the flow of oxygen before giving her a shot of something.
"I'm afraid it won't be long now."
I felt my eyes well up and my throat start to close. The nurse touched my shoulder on her way out. She wouldn't be coming back again while Laura was alive.
