~Last Waltz~

I lay awake tonight, waiting for you to fall asleep.

Every night your shadow runs over my covers,and I hear you walk towards my bed. I think that you arrive at ten o’clock after the children and your mother are asleep. It is only logical that you would wait for our children to sleep before leaving and I hope you are home before they awaken. When you arrive I sent my internal clock at ten and I know that in eight more hours someone else will come into the room. This other person will touch me, roll me, and clean me, but this person will not speak to me. Nor will the next three people that come into the room. If they come in pairs they talk to one another. But they never talk to me.

And so all day I wait for your arrival.

You come into my room and I can smell you. You always shower before you come in and I appreciate that. You always did come to bed smelling fresh.

You walk directly towards my bed; there is no hesitation in your steps. You walk with the same bounce as you did before, and I am so glad I didn’t take that away from you also. You pull a chair towards the bed and I know that it is heavy by the sound of it dragging. I remember birthing our children at the hospital and that you slept in a reclining chair close to my bed. I imagine that the chair you pull forward now is of the same variety, and I always wish that we could have a bigger room so that you could have your own bed.

When you get the chair by the bed you take my hand and start talking to me. I always knew that response on my part was not necessary for you constant flow of words, and now I am grateful for that fact. You take my hands into your own and you stretch my fingers and rub them between your palms. I do not know if you are aware, but my hands get cramped from the lassitude of inactivity and your caresses of my hands every night revive and awaken them. When I was whole I tuned out most of the words you spoke about your day but now I listen to every syllable. I anticipate each inflection and I revel in every chuckle.

Before you fall asleep and before you are done speaking to me, I hear you kneel by my bed and pray. You whisper your prayers so softly I can not make out all of the words but I know that they are being heard because I am bathed in the sanctity of the moment. I feel you clutching my hand and I hear the emotion tangling your breath, and I pray with you. I do not know what it is you are praying for each night and so my prayer is simply that yours be heard.

When you finish praying I hear you settle back in the chair. Most nights you pull my hand close to your face and I can feel the gradual gentling of your breath. It reminds me of holding our infant children on my shoulder and feeling the slow gentle pausing in their breath that let me know they were asleep.

This was the moment I was waiting for tonight, as I am most nights. When you fall asleep, when your breath is coming in long snorts and yawns, and my hand is close to your face…then I can be with you.

While your breath caresses my still fingers, I envision us as we were.

You would be surprised to know which memories I cherish the most. You and I, we had some wonderful times together. But when I am creating our nightly scene, it is the most average of days. I recall cooking dinner, and filling your plate and serving it to you. I imagine myself folding socks while you watch the television. I see myself driving the kids to school, and I hold your hand while we watch our children at the park. I create scenes in which I am outside mowing the lawn, and you are watching me from the window. I turn and smile at you, and you come outside with an ice cold beer.

On these nights, with my hand close to your face, we go on long road trips. We float the river and catch steelhead and sturgeon. Because this is my world- my creation- I always make sure your fish is huge.

And of course we dance.

There were so many nights that you and I danced in the living room while our babies slept. You mentioned the other night that you missed dancing with me. Don’t you realize my darling? We are dancing every night while you sleep.

I was waiting for you to fall asleep tonight because we have some things to discuss. I needed for you to hold my hand close to your face, and I needed to feel you baptize me with your warm breath.

Tonight we waltzed. I made you lasagna… and we drank a bottle of wine. Then we lay by the fire and I caressed your head.

My love tonight is the night that I am leaving. I have laid here for 73 days, and I have heard your footsteps, and your prayers, and your breathing, and I do not want this for you any longer. I know that you cry when you are here, I have tasted your tears when you kissed me. I hear the breaks and starts in your voice when you bring the children and answer their questions about me. I know that you must be aching every moment of every day because of your nights in the recliner next to me.

When this accident first happened, you came near me and sobbed. You begged me to get better and come home, and so I tried. I concentrated my energy on just moving one finger, just fluttering my lids, just to do anything so that you would know I was still here. As time went by I realized that I was no longer in charge of what happens to my physical body. I can not control the movement of my bowels or bladder, and each time I feel the release of my waste, I inwardly cringe in shame and revulsion.

In the beginning you came to me with hope and promise, but I can tell that you no longer feel the same. I know this is so because you no longer say your prayers loud enough for me to hear. I can hear the difference in your muffled crying. In the beginning your cries were desperate, now they are resigned.

Tonight I waited for you to sleep so that you could walk me to the door, and I could tell you how much I have loved you.

I feel supreme guilt knowing that I can not control my body any longer. I can’t open my eyes, or even stall my breathing. I tried to get better for you, but I am not able. And I am so sorry that I have failed you.

Tonight I will do the last thing I can do for you and that is allowing this to end. You are a man of sunshine and springtime, and you were never meant to be sitting deathbed vigil in the middle of winter.

Lying here for 73 days, I have discovered the spirit/body disconnect. And I have learned the combination to your dreams. I am sure that I can still visit you there when this is over.

However, I will not do so.

You have set here for 73 days and mourned for me, and I can not bear for you to mourn another day. Tonight I am going to allow myself to escape the prison that my body has become, and my prayer is that you will escape it also.