Guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Saviour, and my hope is in you all day long.
Psalm 25:5.
I read the biblical verse in the Prayer Hall of the hospital, every day and pray for deliverance.
It has been almost six months since Linda, my lovely wife, lay there in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU). I waited as usual in the Visitor’s area where I watched people and introspected. I saw the dead come alive. I overheard requests for the removal of life support systems.
I prayed and believed that soon I would be going home with Linda.
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My mind drifted off to the graduation day party for the class of 89. Music echoed around the University auditorium as life sprang into action. We whizzed and waltzed in gay abandon.
It was difficult not to notice the girl in the red skirt dress, chattering away with a bunch of girls over in the corner, occasionally slicking back her glossy hair. I guessed she was from the fine arts section.
“The Time of My Life,” the original soundtrack from Dirty Dancing was a mandatory song at farewell parties of our days. She hit the dance floor as soon as the song’s musical introduction belted out. Her moves were graceful yet peppy. Her laugh infected the hall, a sound of bliss and delight.
I secretly thanked Mom for forcing me to learn dancing. An opportunity was unfolding.
I put on my imaginary Patrick Swayze’s shoes and gyrated closer to her in the ring. It was now or never. The butterflies in my stomach flew away, as she prepared for the iconic “Dirty Dancing lift.” She seemed quite lighter than she appeared, and I caught her at the hips, her legs extended as she balanced effortlessly, climaxing into a perfectly suspended lift pose.
A few songs later, I kissed Linda in the forgotten corner of the library.
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I walked across the hospital corridor and reached the far-end glass window, that offered a clear sea view. I watched the sunset unfold. The sky gradually transitioned from bright blue to warm hues of orange, as the majestic sun retired into the ocean’s bosom.
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I felt the sunlight across my face and arms, covering me with a refreshing warmth. The air smelt of sea salt and the waves whispered as they kissed the expanse of sand on the beach. I walked over to Linda and sat beside her on the pale white sand. She was admiring our beautiful grown-up children, Laura and Stu, living the time of their lives. The day was not too far away when they would leave home to explore the world and their own lives.
I insisted that we join the kids. But the usually exuberant Linda was not too keen. I suspected something was amiss with Linda’s behaviour on this vacation; this was unlike her.
It was by then, far too late when I got to know the reasons for the trauma that was growing inside her. The shock that came to light ripped the family into splinters of despair. The Cancer had spread to the metastasis stage. Three months. That was all the doctors hinted, that was left with the most beautiful mother and wife.
The next few weeks were engulfed in haze. Pains shot through her body with no set pattern. We were losing her rapidly. I wished I could take her position in a heartbeat.
But she beat the three-month expiry date. Was it her resilience or a medical miracle unfolding, I wondered! Or the healing power of love and prayers, as one of the nurses attributed to.
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I never went back home even for a day. I managed to survive with what was available on the hospital premises. I felt odd that Stu and Laura did not visit as often as they could and did not once ask to be taken inside the ICU. Maybe they were not strong enough to bear the sight of seeing Linda in a vegetative state.
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I remember waking up one morning in the hospital bed. Stu informed me that I had passed out. I promised myself not to let that happen again and to stay physically strong, though I felt breaking up mentally.
There was a commotion outside the ICU. A terminally ill patient had overdue bills, and the family vanished. The administrative staff were arguing with the Head of the ICU. I called Stu over and gave him certain instructions. He started to protest, but eventually, he relented.
I returned to my seat in the Visitors’ area.
I read today’s Bible verse in the Prayer Hall.
“…but when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. And your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”
Matthew 6:3-4.
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Stu’s Story
Mom barely lived three months since the detection of the malignancy. Dad collapsed with the news of her passing and had to be hospitalized. He woke up five days later in a delirious state of partial amnesia. I could never get to tell him that Mom’s ashes were contained in an old, antique vase of our fireplace. Dad still believes it is Mom in the ICU. The psychiatrist advised to wait for him to come out of his subconscious state.
I tried to reach out to the abandoned patient’s family. They had conveniently vanished into oblivion. It was more than six months now.
The doctors hinted at noticing a significant improvement in her condition.
But if his love, care, and prayers, help that woman recover, then maybe, that will open a window of opportunity to walk Dad into a state of realism.
Maybe, he would reconcile with reality. The chances looked bleak now, yet this was the only hope of getting back Dad.
We will not tell him, yet.
Laura nodded.
We walked over to him to the prayer hall.
We held each other’s hands and kneeled in prayer.
We prayed together for the same person.
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picture credit: Unsplash.com/R.Long
