The Rain - Romslinger
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Warning: Not a death fic, but as a friend told me, maybe it wouldn't have been as sad if it was. You've been warned!
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The Rain - Romslinger
~~~~
Warning: Not a death fic, but as a friend told me, maybe it wouldn't have been as sad if it was. You've been warned!
~~~~
I drive by instinct, following the same route I've taken every day for the past eight months. Raindrops keep a steady rhythm that accompanies the swish of the wipers. Nothing new there. It seems Cascade is either wet or cold, usually both. Maybe we should've moved someplace warmer. Maybe...
Despair washes through me but I quickly banish it. What's done is done. Life isn't like buying a shirt--you can't get a refund if it doesn't fit. You merely do the best you can with what you're given. And I was blessed with so many good years, years filled with companionship--shared jokes, home-cooked meals, Jag games, housework, and everything in between.
I find a fairly close parking slot, but don't get out right away. Instead, I shut off the engine and lean my head back and close my eyes, just remembering. The good memories help me get through each visit. His smile, his laughter... God, I miss him.
Finally, I open my door and move as quickly as I can to the entrance. Steeling myself, I step inside and am assaulted with the characteristic nursing home scents. The receptionist at the front desk smiles at me.
"Hello. Can I help you?" she asks.
She's obviously new or she'd know who I've come to see.
"No, thank you. I know which room he's in."
"Your father?"
I smile, amused by her assumption. "My husband."
Her eyebrows climb upward, but she manages to recover fairly quickly. Even as far as we've come with equal rights in the past forty years, some people are still shocked. "Have a nice visit." She sounds like she means it and I give her a genuine smile.
I turn and walk down the hallway, seeing familiar faces. I greet many of them and it ends up taking nearly fifteen minutes to get to his room. I pause outside his door and paste a smile on my face. I never know if he'll recognize me or not.
Swallowing, I step inside and see him lying on his bed, staring out the window. I stop and merely drink in his appearance. Even though his face is pale and heavily creased, and his remaining hair is dull gray, I only see the man I fell in love with so many years ago. My heart climbs into my throat and it takes everything I have not to cry. This is one of those moments when I'd give my very soul to have him be like he was for only a minute.
He senses me and turns his head toward me. There's no recognition in his eyes and my heart plunges into my belly, but I manage to give him a smile filled with all the love I hold for him.
"Hello," he says in a small, almost child-like voice.
I cross to his bedside and touch his cheek. "Hi."
"Are you here to take me outside?"
The block in my throat nearly chokes me. "Not today. It's raining."
He turns and looks outside. His face scrunches up like he's trying to figure something out. "I don't like rain."
"I'm not too fond of it myself." I continue to caress his cheek, but instead of feeling the papery texture, I remember how smooth it used to be. "How are the pretty nurses treating you?"
"Okay." He gazes up at me and this time there's a trickle of recognition in their dark depths. "Why didn't you come see me yesterday?"
I glance away, praying he doesn't notice the glimmer in my eyes. "I did. We talked about the latest case and our plans for the weekend."
He tries so hard to remember, but Alzheimer's has no pity on its victims.
"I went to a Jags game last night," he finally says.
"You did? Who won?" I ask, injecting enthusiasm into my voice.
"The Jags, of course." The radiance of his smile nearly bowls me over. It's moments like this that I live for now.
My own smile is true. "It looks like they'll make it into the play-offs again."
He talks about players and stats, but the game he's talking about happened years ago. But I don't mind. I listen to the soothing cadence of his mellow voice, allowing it to sink into my heart. Even seeing a shadow of his former animation brings me enough joy to get me through another day.
Finally he winds down and he again turns his attention to the window, where rain is streaming down the glass. "I remember, you know," he whispers.
I lean close. "Remember what?"
"How the rain used to look outside the patio doors at the loft. You and I would cuddle in front of the fire and just watch how the rain would make everything look soft and blurry. Then we'd make love while we listened to the raindrops." A tear slides down the side of his face. "I want to go home, Jim."
For a long moment, I can't talk. Tears trail down my cheeks and drip onto his bed. I take his hand in mine and use my fading sentinel touch to feel the blood pulsing through his veins. "I want you home, too, Chief." I say the words, but I know it won't happen. He needs more care than I can give him. Maybe five years ago, I could've taken care of him myself, but not anymore.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and gather Blair's frail upper body in my arms. He winds his thin arms around my waist and lays his head against my chest. I rock him gently, treasuring this rare moment of lucidity. And just for a little while, my senses are as sharp as they were nearly fifty years ago when my long-haired guide came into my life.
Fifteen minutes later I realize he's fallen asleep. Although I don't want to let him go, my aches and pains won't let me remain in this position any longer. I carefully--as if he's made of spun glass--lower him back down onto his bed. He looks younger when he's sleeping. The lines in his face aren't quite as obvious and I can more easily imagine him swaying to some jungle bop music in his basement office.
I wipe my damp cheeks with my handkerchief, but remain sitting beside him. I hold one of his fragile hands between both of mine, just anchoring myself with his slow but steady heartbeat.
Some time later Blair opens his eyes and I nearly weep. Gone is the former clarity and now I'm nobody but a stranger to him.
"Hello," he says quietly.
"Hi," I say back, forcing the single syllable past the lump in my throat.
He looks outside. "It's raining again."
"It'll stop," I reassure him. Knowing I've lost him again, I lean down and press a gentle kiss to his brow. "I'll be back tomorrow, Chief."
He doesn't reply. His mind has gone someplace where even his sentinel can't follow.
I go to the door and stand there for a minute, listening to the rain against the window.
And wish with all my heart that Blair and I could make love to the sound of raindrops one more time.
