Gone

He sat in the chair with his head in his hands. He felt old. Time had taken its toll. He thought for a minute, he had been to visit her everyday for the last six months. She just continued to get worse, she couldn’t beat it.

The doctors had given her three maybe four months, but she had always been a fighter. She was admitted after the radiation treatments failed and she could no longer keep any food or liquids down. The nurses were always supportive. They looked the other way when he stayed after visiting hours or when he brought the kids. He sometimes stayed all night, sleeping in that chair next to her bed.

Today was different. Not in his visits, he always brought fresh flowers, magazines, the mail, letters and cards from friends and family. Whatever she wanted, but today was different.

She hadn’t remembered. She was weak, could barely breathe on her own. She looked so much older in that bed. She hadn’t woken up when he came in, she didn’t respond to his touch either. The oxygen tube and the equipment surrounding her bed still hadn’t taken away the beauty he saw; she was still 22 in his eyes. Not 47 as indicated in her charts.

He stood up, touched her hand, she was cold. He pulled up the blanket on her and he whispered in her ear, as he did every day, “I love you and added happy anniversary. 25 years today. I’ll be right back dear, don’t go anywhere. ”

He left her in her bed as he went to ask the nurse about bringing the kids back this afternoon.

She left him that day. By the time he reached the nurses station, they were already running towards her room. The alarms had gone off, she was gone.