By Andy Betz
Right now:
I asked her again.
This time, she gave my words a thought, maybe even more than a thought.
It was all she gave that day.
I saw her turn and walk away down the corridor.
This time, forever.
Two hours ago:
I told her I was not the man I used to be. I have learned. I have grown. I will make mistakes, but not that one, ever again. My house, my life is big enough for the two of us to share. We can make it work.
She was not amused. She hasn’t been for quite some time.
This morning:
I greeted her with the best of expectations. She adores white roses and I bought a dozen for her. I didn’t have to do this. I wanted to do this.
Her tears dried long ago, but the redness persisted. She wouldn’t understand the truth this early, but she did expect something bad from me; otherwise, why the roses?
Last night:
I signed the final papers. It was all for the best. She required more care than I could offer, more than I could afford. Here was the best compromise a man in my position could offer.
Once she recovers from the sedative, and they remove the restraints, I will have some explaining to do.
Last year:
Dad’s last words to me were to look after Mom in her Golden Years. His cancer ate through the small health insurance benefits they had. He told me Mom’s Alzheimer’s would be expensive. I better make plans soon.
I made a promise to a dying man to care for a dying woman that I knew I could not keep.
About the Author:
Andy Betz has tutored and taught in excess of 40 years. He lives in 1974, and has been married for 29 years. His works are found everywhere a search engine operates.
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