I walk down
the long hospital hallway slowly, not because I'm in a particularly thoughtful
mood, but because my right knee hasn't been working well lately and the doctor
recommended that I go easy on it. The
white tile passes by piece by piece under my feet. I glance down at the item clutched in my left
hand, then back up at the hallway. A
long, low sigh burrows its way out of
me, surprising me with the intensity of emotion that accompanies it. A minute or so later I reach the other end
and peer around the corner into the food court, looking for the woman with
glasses and graying hair. I spot her at
a table in the fall corner, talking animatedly on the phone the way she always
does when one of the children calls. I
walk over slowly and sit down next to her.
She finishes the call and looks at me expectantly.
"Room
2304" I say. Who was that on the
phone?"
"Charlie"
"Anything
interesting?"
"Alicia
is expecting! Isn't that wonderful? That will make...twelve grandchildren
now?"
"Fourteen,
counting the twins." She smiles and
I smile back. I think about all of them,
all living happily in their own corners of the world, and decide that life
can't get any better. But then I've been
saying that for sixty years, and every passing day has a way of proving me
wrong. For a while longer I look
intently into the woman's eyes, thinking about all the things that make her
beautiful. After awhile my gaze settles
back down on the object in my hand. I
nod in unspoken agreement to something left unsaid.
"Well,
we'd better do what we came here for."
She puts a
hand on mine. "Are you ready? It's been such a long time."
I think about
it, then nod again. We make our way over
to the elevator and ride it up to the second floor. Partway down the corridor the hallway
branches off into the wing specifically designed for long-term cancer patients.
My heart thumps quickly in my
chest. How will she react to my being
there? Will she even remember me? An almost forgotten feeling from ages past
warms back over me, like that distinctive smell that you never quite forget.
I look at the
number on the door, then back at the paper in my hand. 2304.
I take a deep breath and we walk in.
We sit down on the chairs just inside the door, just as we've done at
countless hospitals with countless friends and associates over the years. But this time will be different.
The lady in
the hospital bed is sound asleep, and so we settle down for what we know from
experience can be a long wait. I open
the book in my hands to the page with the corner turned down.
With a gigantic roar, Thymsdale drew his sword once more
from its sheath.
"What doth it matter if we be outnumbered? Was my fealty to the king to be conditioned
on the odds? I live my life for this
kingdom, and I die for it too."
King Richard looked down at him from his mount in
admiration. "Thou art a miracle to
me," he declared. Then with a
thunderous shout, they turned as one to face the enemy hosts...
A
nudge on my arm interrupts me and I look up to see that the person we are here
to visit is awake and has opened her eyes.
I close the book and trace my finger over the grooved letters of the
author's name. Mercedes A. Clemens. I look over at the lady in the hospital bed.
"It's
been awhile," I say. She nods.
"Yes it
has."
"This is
my wife, Lydia," I say, gesturing over at her. Mercedes nods and smiles with effort, her
purple eyes dimmed with age and disease.
"I
brought your book," I say, gesturing to the tome in my hands. "It's very good. Actually, all of them are very good."
She nods and
smiles again, too taxed to express herself much more profoundly than that. I glance over her old, frail body, wondering
how much more I can do for her. Her golden
hair, now tinged with silver, splays around her head like a crown. The vivacity of her spirit is still there,
but it's buried deep under the extremity of her current condition. Her face radiates peace and purity.
"Thank
you." She says.
"No,
thank you."
We sit there
awhile longer, but all that was needed to be vocalized has already been said. A little later her eyes close again and her
breathing becomes deep and methodical.
It is the last time I will see them open again for a good, long
while. We get up and leave, treading
softly on our way out so as not to wake her.
As we walk
down the hallway away from the room Lydia's hand slips into mine and my eyes
sting with sudden tears. A nearby nurse
nods at me sympathetically, probably thinking that I'm mourning the soon-to-be loss
of a loved one. She doesn't see that
they are tears of happiness. But Lydia
does, and she squeezes my hand a little tighter. I pull her close to me and let the tears flow
freely, not holding anything back. I
tilt my head back, staring up towards the high-arched ceiling, at the legions
of invisible angels that I know are there.
A stream of sunlight arches through the window high above us, bathing all
those who let it in with irrepressible, glorious light.
THE END
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