In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Twenty-Five.”
There are times when feeling human again helps deal with being separated by illness. Simple gestures aimed at a patient laying in bed, sans guests. Helping them can at times help me. I learned why the lady a few feet away is absent guests, she is the last in her family. Her husband died fighting half a planet away, they never had a chance at children. A friend, maybe an individual she shared a cubicle with, leaves cards.
My female parent asked what I needed and I replied “A small bear”. She stared quizzically, but purchased it anyway. The belief being its intended recipient a small child having issues. [My therapist requested I speak with a parent dealing with their child’s imminent death. Her plan making me deal with my daughter’s death and my current illness.]
Getting near her place in this setting, requiring that walk measuring seventy-five steps, takes me ten minutes. Bear tucked under my arm, hands gripping the rail, keeping me upright. Entering her space, I see a picture capturing a beautiful woman in a wedding dress. Her intended in his Dress Blues, a pair of stripes at the end of his sleeve. Her wedding band resides tied with a flare at the edge. They are happy, smiling; a limitless lifetime ahead. The nurse said it was alright placing my five dollar bear near her hand.
Her name is Karen and she will never leave this place. Never partake in the life she had, never feel the sun warm her face. But she was a daughter, a wife, a friend and I’m sure infinitely additional things!
I learned after my vitals were taken, she believes her husband delivered the bear. That he finally made it back. It made me cry. My sunrise staff asking why I did it. The answer is simple, I just wish I knew what it was.