text: I lay there. Still. Staring at the bland white ceiling of the hospital room, where I lay. The stillness of the room is plucked by the gasps of air, the rush of oxygen filling my lungs, the beeps of the machines monitoring every beat and tick of my withered and frail shell. I close my eyes for but a moment, only to be awoken by the click of the door. My neck creaks, the joints popping to catch a glimpse of my visitor. Our eyes meet; Eyes like the ocean before a storm; dark, deep, blue; but full of life, they sparkle like precious gemstones. Her smile is like a full moon, able to dispel even the darkest of nights. Her lips are thin and deep red, seductive yet sweet. My heart swells and skips a beat as if I were a love struck teen again, memories of staring into those eyes hypnotized while the world passed around us. Memories of yearning for her lips, like a man on the cusp of death longs for a drop of water. Memories of the joy I felt, how my heart raced and rushed every time she smiled. Tears sting my eyes at the sight of her, and for the first time in a long while I feel my mouth arch into a grin. “hello, love” she smiles, my heart skips; her voice is angelic, her every word like a bell, the way she pronounces her L’s as if they were w’s, her S’s like f’s; It used to drive her insane, her little speech imperfection, but to me it was pure ecstasy, it’s what her unique, it’s the sound that’s haunted my dreams since she left. “Hey, Beautiful.” I manage to say, my words squeezed out like an old toy, now deflated. She comes closer, and takes my hand, her long fingers enveloped in mine. She holds firmly yet softly, like when we rode the Ferris wheel for the first time, and stopped at the top looking over the fairgrounds as the sun set; hope, fear, and love all mixed into one grasp. I can see her better now; her once brown curls are now thin and grey. Her skin is still pale as ivory, but was now showing her age. Her skin showed the story of a mother, a lover, a wife, a woman whom deserved silver and gold. But instead she settled for a fool who gave her messy diapers and mortgage payments. Would she have been happier had she never met me? Would her life have been better? Her words shatter my self-doubt and depression. “It’s time to go now”. A tone of chastisement lines her voice, like a mother talking to their child. I heard it many time, my mind darts back to our children. Peter; A tall strong man now, he did what I could never do, he went into business, he made a name for himself, a family, a home. Jessica; as beautiful as her mother, yet with my sense of humor, She’s a teacher now, just like her old man was. And John; my heart sinks, I haven’t thought of John since the pain numbed, since I lost him. I struggle to remind myself that he died a hero, that he knew the cost of fighting for his country. But the sense of failure still lingers the pain of losing a son still stabs like a hot knife. “I’m sorry” I say, my voice like it used to be, clear, loud, no longer weakened by the various tubes and gases. She simply smiles, knowing what I’m going to say, knowing my very thoughts, knowing the pain I’ve gone through, and fighting with me like she always has. She puts her finger to my lips, beckoning me to be quiet. She takes my other hand and lifts me up, as if we were dancing like we used to when we were kids. My body feels light now, as I stand up. My lungs fill with air without the need of any mask or tubes. My bones no longer creak or pain, my back straightens. I feel as if I were a young man again. I look at my hands, where there were once weak arthritis ridden hands that shook at every movement, too weak to even feed myself there now lies the hands of a young man, large, strong. The bland, grey skin that once covered my bones is now replaced by smooth tanned flesh. I touch my face, it is smooth. A top my head now lies a new crop of hair, wavy, soft, like the golden mane I cherished for many years. “How?” I say in astonishment, my voice shaking. My body shakes with a concoction of emotions; happiness, astonishment, joy, fear, sadness, amazement. I look up to see her. Time slows. There she stands her hair its dark chestnut, her face smooth, free of her wrinkles and blemish, her face full and full of life. Young and beautiful; just like I see her every night in my dreams, Tears fill up my eyes. “My god...” I manage to choke out. She smiles, her face lights up, her smile glowing like it did when we were kids. She smiles, and beckons me to come with her, a shimmering light glowing behind her. “Hey, Gorgeous! How about one last dance?” I say the old cockiness that I once held returning to my voice. She rolls her eyes, and looks at me with a look of faux-disappointment, a large smile plastered to her face. Frank Sinatra begins to play, and we dance. The light begins to grow, and I can see dancing around us every one I ever loved. Ma, Dad, Lil’ Sarah, John, Grandma, even my dog Skip. But she and I keep dancing, smiling laughing. This must be heaven; my wife and I dancing, laughing, and smiling, forever and ever. Amen.