An old man sits by his wife’s bed holding her hand. He knows that she can hear him telling her how much he loves her. She opened her eyes and looked right at him with a trace of a smile. But that was a while ago. Before that she even squeezed his hand. They have been married for over 60-years. He told me that just the other day.
I move quietly about the room, picking up half-filled coffee cups and day-old containers of juice and water. His wife’s white hair and translucent skin seem to blend right into the white sheets and blankets. Before I leave, I ask him if he needs anything? He looks up at me, squinting behind thick glasses. His eyebrows are so thick and overgrown. He reminds me of a grey shaggy dog wearing glasses. He tells me he is fine. He smiles slightly and nods. He goes back to his wife. I think that his wife will be gone by morning.
The other day, I took a walk through a favorite greenhouse and nursery of mine. A haven of color, warmth and hope. I came across shelves of potted daffodils and I took a photograph of the bright yellow blooms. I walked out to my car hopeful that in a few weeks spring will really be here. A long dark winter is slowing coming to an end, spring is near and the cycle of life continues.
