The Two Beds
Tuesday, February 7, 2023
It’s early, 5:31 a.m. to be exact and still very dark. Shadows of light streaming in from night-lights streak the walls.
Lying in the middle of the Big Bed, I’m tired but wide awake.
Ross is peacefully sleeping in the bed next to me. It's a narrow bed with cold chrome metal rails. I can hear his quiet breathing, in and out, in and out.
I am thinking of the last time we were together in the Big Bed. It too was early morning, a few weeks ago. twenty-six days to be exact.
I was snuggled up to him, my arms across his thin bony chest.
I painfully recall that I was softly crying, murmuring a lot of “I’m sorries”.
“I’m sorry I got angry,” I whispered.
“It’s just that I’m tired, so tired.”
"I'm so sorry."
All that week Ross had been particularly restless during the day but even more so at night.
That night I woke in the middle of the night to find him wandering around the bedroom, pointing and gesturing, lecturing to his long-ago students.
“Ross,” I grumpily and harshly said, “come back to bed!"
After several more futile attempts to urge him back into the bed, raising my voice louder each time, I impatiently got out of bed, took his arm and and tried to lead him towards the bed.
He shook my hand away, mumbling something about his students.
Frustrated, I sat on the edge of the bed, not knowing what to do.
An hour later, now 5:30 a.m., I could see he was slowing down.
I stood up and once again took his arm. This time he let me lead him towards the bed. I helped him in and he immediately fell asleep.
Little did I know, as I held onto him, whispering my apologies, that it would be the last time we would be together in the Big Bed.
Later that morning, as I tried to get Ross dressed, he was unable to stand and could not lift himself out of the wheelchair.
I had to call 911.
He spent 4 days in the hospital with no improvement.
During those 4 days I made arrangements to have a hospital bed brought into the house and put next to the Big Bed.
He is now bedridden, confined to the narrow bed with the cold chrome metal rails.
Each evening, 9:15 to be exact, I stand by the narrow bed. I lean over and stroke his silver hair.
“I’m going to get my PJ’s on now,” I say."
"Then I’m going to go to sleep right next to you, okay?”
I lean over the chrome barriers to kiss his forehead.
“I love you. You are my favorite. You’re my sweetheart.”
Although he doesn’t respond, I know he understands.
As I hold tightly onto those icy barriers, with not even the heat from the palms of my hands warming them, I yearn to crawl in next to him one more time.
