I'm sitting on the edge of her bed. Her eyes are closed, she's peacefully sleeping, her facial expressions tell me so. Every once in a while, her lips will curl up in a smile. She's getting older, 79 years and 40 of those years she has spent with me.
I remember well when we first met. She was 39, I was 25. I saw her across the street and I instantly knew we would spend the rest of our lives together. Maybe I was ignorant, but as it turned out, I was correct on this one. I walked up to her, asked her if she wanted to go for a drink and she accepted. We sat at our little table for hours and hours and with each hour passing my heart was beating faster for her. I fell in love, head over heels.
We never had children. We had each other and that was enough. There never were any other women for me. There never were any other men for her. Our love was perfect.
It still is perfect. As long as she keeps breathing. Three months ago, my whole world turned upside down. The day started like any other day, I woke up, got out of bed and made coffee for us both. When I brought it upstairs and whispered softly in her ear that she needed to wake up, she replied with, "Just one more minute, pop."
I laughed and shook her little, thinking she was way of in dreamland. Her dad was long gone, but it made me happy to see she still dreamt of him. She rubbed her eyes, sat up straigher in bed, looked me straight in the eye and whispered, "Pops, you know I don't drink coffee!"
To say I was flabbergasted, would be an understatement. She was definitely wide awake. I was confused and didn't know what to think of it, especially when she reached for the coffee and muttered a, "Thank you, my boy." I didn't think much else of it, perhaps she was just in a deep sleep and needed a little more time to wake up.
My thoughts on that changed over the week as she refered to me John at times. John was her brother and he passed away the year before. I took her to see a doctor. I was slightly embarassed, she acted childlike, wouldn't concentrate and eventually got all quiet and just sat there, suspicously looking around as if someone would sneak up to her and try to scare her.
The doctor did some tests on her. She was reluctant to work with him, kept asking me where we were, how we got here and kept repeating that we needed to go home because it was time for dinner. He gave her a simple reading text and she struggled over the simplest of words.
The doctor nodded his head towards the door and closed it softly, as not to disturb her. "It seems to be, your wife is suffering from Alzheimer. To be sure, I am sending her to a neurologist." I was unable to speak and just nodded my head. He offered his sympathies and we went back home.
The next weeks were filled with doctor appointments, seeing specialists, going from psychiatrists to neurologists and psychologists. Eventually they told me the first doctor was correct. She was suffering from alzheimer and they carefully prepared me for all that was about to come.
The thing is, no matter what someone might say to you. There is no one to prepare you for the loss of your lover. She didn't realize, there were hardly moments she was fully concious and the moments she was, I didn't want to ruin with awful conversations. She at times made a comment about feeling lost, how she couldn't remember things but blamed it on her age and laughed it off.
In a three month period her health went completely down the drain. She would sit in her chair motionless, her once so happy personality was completely gone and all there was left was the shadow of the woman she once used to be.
Her eyes slowly open and I smile. I wonder who I will be today. John, her dad, a stranger I never heard of, or perhaps just me. I know it won't be long until her eyes won't open anymore. She sleeps 20 hours a day and refuses to eat or drink the other four. She is utterly weak and I still love her so very much.
Her hands reaches out for me and with a voice that scares me she whispers, "I'm so proud of you, my boy. Promise me, you'll be good. You may be old, but you're still my brat." I try not to cry as she says her goodbye's. I lay down next to her and just hold her, tell her memories of our journey together as I listen to her breathing, the gaps between each breath lasting longer and longer, until finally there is no more next breath.
I feel calm and peacefully. I reach for the bottle on the nightstand and swallow every pill with the water that's left in the bottle. As my head touches the pillow again and my arms wrap around her slowly getting cold skin, I whispers, "Goodnight my Mistress. Don't you worry about a thing. I'll be good, because I will be with you. Wherever you go, I follow. I love you."
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