The Sun's Caress

THE SUN’S CARESS

Six inches at a time was all Henry Meador could manage. Push. Drag your feet. Push again. The walker wearily advanced across the expansive dining room carpet. Henry’s hands trembled and arms quivered as he leaned his weight into the metal frame. The chatter of residents, clanking dishes, and a light piano drone melted into an endless white noise that he knew would echo in his head for hours. Like it did every night when dinner was long over. The vibrations pounded in his mind every time the day closed in and the sun started to descend. Each evening, all of Henry’s ninety-one years became lost in the din of spreading darkness.

Push. Drag. Push. Henry creeped toward the glass doors leading to the terrace. The stone-floored patio remained cool in the summer but still held the promise of the sun’s caress. It was his favorite spot, the only place where he found some semblance of peace. Plush west-facing chairs were set in small groups around low tables offering serene views of the sunset behind the mountain ridge. The terrace breathed calm. The chairs offered solace from the reality of the present, inviting shadowy memories of years when life was expectant and unknown. Not predetermined like now.

Henry always heard the sanctuary calling for him before he’d even sat down for the evening meal. Of course, he never disclosed that to anyone. The nurses might think that dementia had finally set in and try to lock him away in the memory care unit. Come, be at peace in the evening sunshine, the patio seemed to say. As he slowly pushed forward, Henry squinted his eyes to dull the stark florescent light in the room. That haze always remained behind his eyelids, glaring like ice long after he climbed into bed. It was the same kind of light as the hospital room where Evelyn had taken her last breath, while Henry held her hand and the monitor screamed its announcement of life taking flight. The only thing he saw now when he closed his eyes was Evelyn’s hollow face, empty stare, and the sharp outline of her bones visible beneath her pink nightgown. Henry could never get the image out of his mind. He longed to see Evelyn’s smile again, free of pain, young with hope. But the last image of his wife was painted into the picture frame of his mind. Push. Drag. Push. Henry ached to leave that miserable picture of Evelyn behind. Maybe tonight the evening sun blanketing the ground with yellow cheer might fade the naked white image.

Finally, the doors leading outside were in front of him. Henry held on to the walker with one hand and with the other pushed the automatic opener. The gates swung open, waiting patiently while he inched his way into the evening sun. There was no one else resting in the chairs. Henry never could understand why such a special place didn’t lure the other residents. Weren’t they just as tired of artificial light and non-stop sounds of confinement? Didn’t they long to feel the summer sun dance across their faces, warming their mouths into smiles? Henry had always felt that the sun held special powers. It could miraculously lift a dark mood, erasing hours of rumination with just a peak from a cloudy sky. It could brighten an otherwise dismal and empty day. But as much as he enjoyed the cocoon of the sun’s rays, Henry knew the sun’s powers were limited. The sun couldn’t make Anna visit him more than once a year. The sun couldn’t make his only child move to this side of the country. The sun couldn’t bring Evelyn back. The sun couldn’t put him back in the home he missed so much. Henry wished the sun had the ability to grant wishes like that imaginative genie in a bottle. But even though the sun was real and that genie was only a child’s wish, the sun wasn’t God. And even God had refused to get involved.

Henry maneuvered over to one of the cushioned chairs and plopped down with an unmannerly thud. The weight off his legs made him groan with relief. Damn arthritis. His heart was pounding from exertion, and he panted to catch his breath. Damn weak heart valves. If Henry had someone to talk to now, he would have said something like, “Growing old is a real bitch, ain’t it?” But there was no one to complain to, so the words stayed caught in his throat as he gasped for air. Finally, his body calmed, and Henry felt the familiar ease of the evening summer sun settle over him.

This day in June hadn’t been any different from the days before it. Each morning when he awoke, reality was waiting for him, reminding him that he’d lost his wife and then his home of forty years because he could no longer care for himself. The truth hovered like an unwanted guest in the corner of his bedroom. The ghost of That Which is Over laughed as it reminded him each day of the stark fact that his days on this earth were fewer with each passing hour, and there was no way to take back time that had disappeared behind him. But somehow, this evening did seem a bit different. More surreal. More sedative. Even more golden.

Henry leaned back into the chair and stretched out his legs. He suddenly felt very tired. He was stiff and sore and a dull pain was shooting through his shoulder blades. He hadn’t exerted himself more than usual today—just three slow trips to the dining room for meals and the usual shuffling into the activity room for bingo. This day toward the end of June had been as bland and boring as the dinner he had just consumed. Minutes and morsels ingested but not tasted. Henry didn’t even know the day’s date, just like he couldn’t identify many of the things on his plate. Maybe because there was nothing to excite him, the little energy that had helped propel him outside vanished into the warm air. Henry rested his head on the cushion behind him and closed his eyes. The midsummer sun shone down on him with a miracle’s radiance.

Standing in front of him was Evelyn. She was wearing the white cotton dress she’d worn when they first rode bikes out to the state park--bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine tucked securely in his backpack. Evelyn laughed and skipped off into the trees with Henry running after her. The grass was moist with evening dew as they fell down together. Then there was Evelyn in her wedding dress, beautiful beyond anything he had ever seen, the years waiting in front of them like an endless melody. Henry watched as Evelyn handed newborn Anna over to him, proud eyes wet with promise, Anna content just to be in his arms. As the sun shone down on Henry’s shoulders, he saw Anna whisper, “I love you, Daddy,” and heard her giggle as she kissed him and ran down the hall.

Then there was Evelyn reaching for his hand. He had forgotten how soft her skin was. Henry felt her pull him up from the chair, his other arm slipping around her waist. There was music, as if it had always been there, a song he and Evelyn used to dance to, a song that had entirely slipped from his mind. Henry and Evelyn glided around the terrace together, laughing and whispering things long forgotten. Henry felt the energy of his youth and the renewal of his aging body. The song seemed to last forever.

Evelyn put her hands on Henry’s shoulders and kissed him. Her fingers massaged the stiffness that had radiated from his neck earlier. Her touch was light at first but then gradually became more expectant, tighter. She squeezed him with purpose, like she never wanted to let him go. Then Henry heard Eveyln whisper but couldn’t make out the words. He strained, leaning forward, but she only smiled and hovered in front of him, her cotton dress fluttering in the breeze. But her touch grew more forceful and persistent. Eveyln was laughing and then dancing around him and then floating above him, all the while still caressing his shoulders. Then Henry began to make out words as Evelyn stood before him waving. “Mr. Meador, sir, are you okay? What happened?”

Henry opened his eyes to see the attendant holding him tight by the shoulders, rubbing as if to bring back blood flow. They both were standing, and the man in front of Henry had a look of alarm in his eyes.

“Mr. Meador, your walker….it’s on the other side of the patio. How did you get all the way over here?”

Henry looked to where his walker still sat beside the chair he had been sitting in, at least fifty feet away.

“I don’t know….I was dancing with my wife…”

“You must have been dreaming, sir. You were laughing and talking to someone when I came out to check on you. But I don’t understand how you got over here without your walker. Well, anyway, I’m glad you’re okay. Let’s get you back inside since it’ll be dark soon.”

“It wasn’t a dream, though,” Henry stuttered. “She was here. Right beside me. So was my daughter.”

“Ok, Mr. Meador. If you say so.” The attendant retrieved Henry’s walker and the two of them inched their way back inside. Push. Drag. Push.

“Definitely a warm evening,” the attendant said as he guided Henry back to his room. “I think it’s going to be a long, hot summer.”

“I hope so,” said Henry. “I hope this summer sun never stops shining. I think there must be something special about the sun this time of year.”