During Bette’s last, of three, hospitalization several doctors said over the course of the five weeks,

“Your wife is very sick.”

I said.

“I know. The previous two hospitalizations she was very sick. She rallied. Bette came home.”

About a week before Bette passed away it was said again and for the last time.

[What I am writing now is in brackets because the words weren’t spoken. In my mind I said ‘You don’t have to stare because that would be awkward but even a brief look into my eyes and you can see the child glad to have left behind the home bound despondent middle aged man to go outside with fervor and play with my girl, Bette. We played for eighteen years with no one having to call us in until now. And you think I have the courage to ask why; to ask if it’s because she is dying? I don’t.’]

Three days before Bette passed away ‘palliative care’ was brought up. It was too late. Bette’s mind was compromised and to tell her she was dying would have been cruelty reserved for abject evil. On the second day she lost consciousness and remained that way.

The first anniversary of Bette’s death will be in a couple days and I continue to wonder about death bed conversations and would we have made them ‘work’? I believe so. Of course so many words floating in a well of tears eager to be saved and placed on fertile soil where they will take root, grow and nurture my soul.

It never happened and the words of imagination drown without my Dearest Bette to have spoken them.

The night is young and I am old.

Blissful slumber awaits with forked tongue and to bed I must go I am told.

Enya does not usually sleep at the foot of the bed and tonight she did.

Tammy didn’t stray from her routine of coming up to the pillow, falling asleep in a curl against my arm and scarfing my neck with her furry tail.

The next thing I know is both girls are in carriers and I’m smiling (to not alarm them) and repeatedly saying “good girls, good girls” while the animal rescue volunteer assures me a home will be found for them and not to worry about them being ‘put down’. I made sure they had their favorite dish of food as I took my leave and Tammy chowed down as I knew she would and sure enough Enya being older and wiser did not let go my look and my knee buckled as I backed away.

The next thing I know is I’m in Bette’s apartment and we’re side by side on her sofa. Our relationship is a few months old. My heart and mind are overwhelmed and melt at the thought of what is to come; years of love and happiness and the very rare “you and what army?”.

The next thing I know is I’m at Mom and Dad’s grave site. They loved Bette and one of the last things Mom said to her was “Our son is very lucky to have found you” That meant the world to Bette. I stand there and pray to be forgiven though I’m not sure why.

The next thing I know is the patio furniture that was gone is back and a framed picture of Bette is on the table. Her favorite house dress is draped over the back of the chair opposite me. It’s after midnight and not a cloud to caress the moon. I see the nearly empty bottle of bourbon and my mind stumbles to catch up with that reality. Our beloved stray feral is in the corner munching on dry food that wasn’t there a moment ago. The thought of bringing Bette to life will hurt I know but I will bear it considering it will be the last time. And there she is laughing at something I said and enjoying the pizza.

“What is that?” she asks.

“Don’t ask. A few more laughs, what do you say?”  I plead.

“John honey, please God, no.” she implores.

“You don’t have a say and I told you not to look.” I say with slightly raised voice.

“It will be a year soon and I know it’s hard but you’re managing and the girls are doing well under your love and care.” she says with concern in her voice.

She left. I told her to go. And anyway I’m not sure she gets it, after all I’m the one left behind to Grieve. No one knows what that’s about not even if you’ve been there because your ‘there’ is not my ‘there’. We who grieve share the sadness but not what makes us sad.

Bette and I had wonderful exchanges; free flow of ideas and emotion.

I deplore impediments.

Cut. Release. Flow. A short lived mantra as the light brown table darkened.

The next thing I know is Tammy’s twelve pound body is pressing against my arm and in the alcove of my mind reserved for Bette I hear a faint “There, there. There, there.”

It is dawn and I suspect proof of God’s infinite capacity for love is to be found in the canyons of Grief.

Love To You All