Marriage

He told me last year he lost his wife of 64 years. He said if he had a heart attack right now it would be okay with him. We shouldn't try to bring him back. It makes sense; can't see why he would want it any other way. He's talking about his daughter. he is so proud of her; this is the third time this week he's told about her professional career. Another question is asked; doesn't matter, he can't hear a thing.

To Know and Be Known

She sits holding his hand, knowing he escaped death. He is different since the stroke; yet, he's the same. He can understand us perfectly, but the words to express are not quite there. His personality, independence, fast-paced ways are still present; there is no hiding it.
'Will we make it to the golden anniversary?' she thinks.
To know him so well...she gets frustrated at all the ways things will be different, unsafe. He's the same; he won't listen.
Their hands are apart.
He's guarded; he leans back as they talk about how unsafe he is, like he's not right there.
She knows him, the tension is back, the tone in his limited words tell of his immense frustration, unsettled feelings. She remembers their first date, first time they held hands, first born, first time he left in anger...he came back. He's distant now, wrapped up in his basement den. When did it change? 'It was gradual,' she muses. That's what they say. How time flies. The silver anniversary was a good one. Something about his strong hands has always brought her comfort. he will get better; he's too stubborn not to.
We will hold hands again; our next anniversary is 43 years. Forty-three years is a long time. It's no 64, but then again neither are we.

They know, it's visible to the rest of the room.

She flashes a tight half smile to her husband and quickly diverts her eyes. The tears start flowing when her granddaughter gives her a tight hug from behind. She is a hard worker they say. She does all her homework in between sessions. She has made great gains; this makes the tears come harder. Not a dry heart in the room. Plans are discussed, decisions made...not really. More time, keep working. She gets that tight half smile again; no one can say for sure, but the whole smile should emerge again one day. Time. He will take her home only when she can go to stay, no day pass, no visit. His words are short, firm, heavy. Next week. Their eyes meet, they know.