His Final Words

***

It was not unexpected, but it still seemed sudden and too soon.

He'd been known to have a degenerative nerve disease for 26 years, which was certain to be fatal eventually - if something else fatal didn't happen first - so his wife and children could not have been surprised, exactly. 

But it sort of felt that way, sitting with him now, back in his own bed after five nights in the hospital as tests confirmed the initial diagnoses and as hospice care was arranged.  He wasn't uncomfortable, and every so often he had a few minutes when he was entirely himself.  Quirky and crotchety, cracking wise: all his usual features.

Then he would nod off or lose track of the conversation, even if he was the one talking.  It wasn't painful for his sitters, except for its reminding them of what was near, but it wasn't during these periods unlike really being with the old guy they had come to know.

*

Late one Saturday afternoon, his wife was the only one in the house.  He was dozing most of the time, and she went about the condo tidying up, cleaning the bathroom or sweeping the back porch, little normal jobs she'd done for years and years when she could.  But she looked in on him often, every ten or fifteen or maybe twenty minutes or so.  He was peaceful, just sleeping.

*

Except one time.  His eyes were open when she looked in from the doorway.  He was looking at her.  His mouth was not smiling, but it wasn't slack as it was as he slept.  He wasn't smiling, but he seemed interested in her and his surroundings.

She walked over to him and took his hand, sitting in the chair she kept handy for this purpose whenever he was awake.

"Barb," she said (referring to their daughter), "Barb said she might drop by later this evening.  Young Leonard has a soccer game today, and then she might come by."

It was her job, she thought, to talk with him cheerily about the daily goings-on, keeping him engaged in their little world, enjoying sharing with her husband of forty-plus years some of the little things happening in the family and in the house.  She was about to tell him how she had mopped up a little mildew in the guest bathroom about a half-hour ago, when a slight hitch in his breathing caught her attention.

She looked him over carefully.  He was pulling on her hand just a bit and seeming to want to lean forward, perhaps to speak. 

He paused and, standing, she plumped his pillows up behind him so they could have a chat.  He pulled on her arm again and seemed to take in a breath.  What would he say, she wondered.  Did he want to say simply "Thanks" for... well, for straightening the pillows?  Or was he going to say he had to go to the bathroom?

She pulled the chair under her and sat, giving him all her attention.  Would he say he loved her, or recall a time they had shared together years ago when they were young?

"Can I get you something?" she asked with a little smile.

*

He took another little breath and pushed his jaw out, as though it was a little hard to speak.

"Yes," he said in just above a whisper.  "Tell me.  How are the Cardinals doing?"

***