Even lying in the bed, tucked in by crisp, stark-white sheets and your dry, wispy grey hair sprawled across the pillow; you’re still my beautiful bonnie lass. I yearn to reach out and take your wrinkled, withered and age-spotted hands into my own. But I refrain. The doctor said to let you rest; to not disturb you. Instead I hum you the tune of Elvis Presley’s “Love Me Tender”, which when we were younger I would softly sing to you as we waltzed around the kitchen to relieve any tension.
When you open your grey, once vibrant stormy blue, eyes they are glazed with confusion. Until you meet mine own eyes.
“Where am I Bernie?” You whisper, “I don’t know where I am?”
And like that, with such a simple question, everything changes. My heart beats faster, spreading a warm tingling sensation throughout my body. I rush to your side and take your hand.
“It’s okay Ethel I’m here. We’re here together and that’s all that matters.”
A single tear runs down my cheek. It has been a while since you recognized me.