While I waited, an 85-year-old woman was saying goodbye to her husband.� Her hunched back was curved even further as she leaned to be closer to the man she had shared her life with.� Her brilliant red hair color was a sharp contrast to the snow-white hair of the man in the bed.� She was wearing what I was sure were her good blouse and slacks, and her lipstick had been carefully applied.
I wondered, did she still resemble the girl he first fell in love with?� He gripped her hand tightly and said with conviction, "I do not have one single regret besides not being able to stay with you.� I have never wasted one minute on you or our children.� You have given me such a good life." Together they both said, "I love you."� Then they broke down in tears and hugged as best they could amid the tubes and I.V.'s.�
It was right then and there when I decided that if I couldn't have that kind of love, then I didn't want to be bothered.� When at last she emerged, I went in.� He smiled weakly at me.� His faded blue eyes shone with that peculiar light that terminal patients seem to take on.� It's as though a small piece of heaven has already begun to shine through.
While I drew his blood he said, "I am so selfish".� All thoughts of keeping my schedule flew rapidly out the window.� I sat down and asked him why he would say that.� He said that he was glad that he was dying and not her.� I told him that wasn't selfish in the least.� He said that it was because he knew that if it were the other way around, he wouldn't want to be the one left behind without her. I just sat and let him cry while I held his hand.� After a brief while, his son arrived from out of town.� I leaned down, gave him a quick hug and whispered, "Safe journey".
He passed away about six hours after I last saw him.� I wound up going to his funeral.� All his family could talk about at the service was his devotion to them and their mother.� He was obviously a wonderful father and husband.� He left an enormous legacy behind. Hopefully his two sons and three grandsons learned from him what is really important in this life.�
Seeing this kind of love made my spirit feel lighter.� It is possible, though rare.� It takes very special people with a deep commitment.� The love changes over the years, but if you're lucky the roots go down deep instead of sideways.
The doctors said that he died from heart failure.� But I don't think that his heart ever failed either him or the people that he loved.
