Loved and Lost

The room smelled stale. Looked stale. Felt stale. A heart monitor beeped rhythmically in the silence, and the rustle of the night nurses, their typing and muffled laughter, crept through the thin walls. Laughter. The best medicine. But laughter would not cure the disease that plagued this room. The digital clock on the side table flipped another minute. 10:59.

A man sat in a cushioned, burgundy chair to the side of the hospital bed, his grey hair fell ungroomed across his temples. More rustling, this time from the bed as a woman’s eyes fluttered open. The man reached for the woman’s frail hand, which lay across her waist, IV in place. He lifted it gently and kissed it. He smiled at her, but her eyes were wide, and her mouth turned down. She pulled her hand away. The man looked down at the bed, and then back up at the woman whose expression remained one of bewilderment.

Tears filled his eyes and he stood slowly, his joints stiff from the long night at her bedside. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and removed a picture from the first slot. He placed the photo on the off-white fleece blanket covering her thighs. He pointed at the two young people in the picture, a wedding, black and white. He pointed at the man, and then put a hand to his own chest. He flipped the picture over to reveal two names “Robert & Barbara” and the date “June 12, 1965” scrawled in perfect cursive across the back.

Robert glanced up at Barbara, his eyes flickering briefly into a squint of pain and anticipation, his smile returning hesitantly. She stared at the picture, and then back at Robert. He nodded. She looked back at the picture and smiled, the wrinkles in her face becoming more pronounced as her aged cheeks lifted to the creases in her eyes. He let out a quick breath, a mixture of laugh and sob. Robert pulled another picture from his wallet, handing it to her. In faded color, Robert and Barbara stood center, Barbara in a light blue dress that hung to her shins. She held a toddler girl, and three young boys grinned broadly around them. “Robert Jr., William, Daniel, and Anne. September 9, 1978.”

Barbara smiled broadly, cupping her hand to her mouth. Her eyes darted around the room and then at Robert, gleaming. His lips pursed. He looked down and shook his head. The excitement drained from her face, and she threw her hands to her eyes, weeping softly.

Robert patted her thigh, then lifted himself to sit next to her on the bed. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, leaving his lips there until Barbara’s hands moved up to cradle his face. He took both of her hands in his, placing them on her lap between them. Cradling one of her hands, he flipped it over, and drew a heart with his finger on her palm. She smiled, a tear strolling down her cheek. Robert lifted his hand to brush the tear away and lingered it there on her cheek. She pressed her face into his palm and closed her eyes, her smile softening, content. Her expression softened further, and her breathing slowed. The heart monitor pulsed with two more beeps, and then fell constant. Robert leaned forward and placed one more kiss on her forehead, a tear falling from his cheek onto hers. The clock flipped again. 11:11.

*This story was written in loving memory of my paternal grandma who developed Alzheimer's disease. I will never forget the day she forgot who I was...or maybe I will, and that truly scares me. Sending love to all the families dealing with dementia (or other hardships).