HIM:

There are good days and there are bad days. Lately I’ve categorized a good day as her remembering me as her husband even if she can’t remember my name.

Today is our wedding anniversary. I brought her yellow roses the same as I had done for the past fifty years. Oh, God, Please. I want her to remember me today. I want her to allow me to hug her. I would love to kiss my wife today.

I gather up my gifts and all the physical and emotional strength I can muster and shuffle toward her room. The kids have done a great job decorating her space. They’ve made the room bright and colorful bringing her crocheted blankets and trinkets from home. They even brought our rocking chairs here and positioned them to face the window where we can sit together and watch the birds at the feeder as we would have done at home. Family photos line the shelves and today I am drawn to the big one in the middle. The bride and groom on their wedding day. The decades may have faded the photo, but not her beauty and spirit.

“Hello, who’s there?” she asked from her bed.

“It’s me, sweetheart.” I reply

“Who is me and what does me want?” she spits out in annoyance.

I can feel my heart cracking, wanting to spill out and take my life. Today may not be a good day.

“Darling, do you know who I am? Maybe if I come a little closer. Look, I’ve brought you gifts.”

She looks at me now. Her foggy eyes searching mine and then I see it. A spark of recognition. She softens her expression and I hold my breath.

“My Love! You’ve brought me roses.” she says with a smile and I exhale.

My heart is leaping for joy and I’m as giddy as a young man.

I have to take it slow with her, though. Her memory comes and goes so quickly. I wish her a happy anniversary and she can’t believe how many years it has been. Dates are often difficult. She may remember who we are, but sometimes she’s ten or more years in the past. To tell her otherwise, confuses her and it is naturally upsetting to become aware of the lost time. The kids and I never argue with her. We let her live wherever and whenever she is in.

I ask her if she’d like to rock with me and watch the birds. She almost never says no to this. She always said watching the birds was better than watching television. I have to call the nurse’s station for assistance. My wife’s legs are weak and her balance is all but gone. She requires help getting from her bed to the rocking chair. She requires a lot of help these days.

I watch my bride as she watches the birds. It is her who breaks the silence.

“What is your name, again?” she asked.

I have to clear my throat before I respond. She sits back and rocks slowly. I can tell she’s trying to remember.

“Would you like to hear a story, today?” I asked her and she nods as she rocks.

I’ve been saving this story for our anniversary. The story of our first kiss. I have to decide if I tell her it’s our story or not. I tread lightly, not wanting to upset her.

“It’s a story of a couple’s first kiss!” I say with enthusiasm and she blushes as she asks, “Have we kissed?”

I wink at her.

She loves the story, but some time in the middle of it she refers to the star couple as ‘them’ instead of ‘us’. This shouldn’t surprise me, I guess. I should be getting used to it and be grateful for the short spans of time I am allowed. I can tell she’s not as interested as she was at the start. The aide comes to ask if she will take her lunch in her room or in the dining hall. I opt to accompany her to the dining hall.

The dining hall is bustling. Staff are serving residents their lunches one table at a time. The plate is brought out and it looks like it is straight from a jar of baby food. They have her on a special diet of thickened liquids and soft solids. I try not to let her see me scowl at it. I put the spoon in her hand and guide it to the plate in front of her. She needs prompting or she will not eat.

She has eaten less than half of her lunch when she pushes the tray away across the table, almost violently. I try pleading with her to have a little more as she needs the calories. She’s feather light these days and I know this is not a good sign. She tightens her lips and looks away from me. I don’t fight her. I signal to the aide that she is finished. They tell me that they will take her for a shower now and I can wait in the library. I lean in to kiss her out of habit, and she screams and slaps me away.

I scoot hurriedly outside to the courtyard and find the nearest bench. This is where I let it out. The tears start to trickle down my face and I fight to swallow the rising lump. I fight to breathe. I lose and I begin to sob. Eventually, I stop. I curse the sky. I curse the birds. I curse the memory snatching disease that riddles her mind and I curse the cancer that riddles her body.

She doesn’t remember that she has cancer and I don’t remind her. She fought admirably for so long. There were thirty rounds of radiation that burned her both inside and out. She had two years in remission before a new scan showed the cancer had not only returned, but spread. The doctors tell us she is now at Stage 4 and that they don’t have any available treatments options. The kids and I had to come to the difficult decision of admitting my sweetheart to this facility where she can be cared for around the clock. This is hospice.

I realize I’ve been outside for way too long. I gather myself and make my way back to her room. I hear the laughter before I enter. I stop outside the door to listen. She is telling her aide the story of OUR first kiss. My sweet beautiful wife! I am praying now. Dear God, please let her see me. Let her remember me.

Her eyes meet mine. The laughter stops and she smiles from ear to ear. She holds out her arms for a hug and I wrap my arms around her. I pull back and she puckers up for a kiss. I don’t hesitate. Today, I will kiss my bride.

HER:

I wonder if he knows just how fast it’s fading. My memory and my life. He thinks I have forgotten the cancer, but I just don’t like reminding my loved ones that death is imminent. Yes, I forget sometimes, but in those moments when I am present, I don’t want to remember the cancer. It is what will get me in the end.

We have lived such a beautiful life. Today, he reminded me of our first kiss. Tonight will be our last kiss. The call to go home is too great. I will leave this world with the touch of his lips still on mine. The warmth of his embrace replaced by the light of Heaven.