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The End (standard:drama, 1106 words)
Author: RevelationPriceAdded: Feb 16 2002Views/Reads: 1978/1Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This story is about the mind of a woman when she loses her husband.
 



"The End" 

I woke up this morning at the same time I have been waking up for the
past 47 years-- just when the light begins to peak in through the 
small, modest window straight across from our king sized bed. The 
stitched edge of the white sheets scratched against my chin as I felt 
the sun slowly pull my eyelids open to face the new day. I awakened to 
an empty home. 

I could smell you, though. Oh John, did I ever tell you how wonderful
you smelled on those early mornings? I would lie there, frightened that 
the fluttering of my eyes would awaken you, and I would slowly inhale. 
The innocence of the day glistened on your skin like the morning dew on 
the windowsill. I would watch you, your face limp, your tired body 
soaking in the rest it so desperately needed but never received enough 
of. I don't think I loved you more during the day than I did those 
precious moments. 

The imprint is still there, John. Your heavy head never moved all night,
so in the morning, when you would climb out of bed, there would be a 
thick impression in the pillow. Yesterday, I didn't have the strength 
to fluff it like I always do. I probably won't do it today, either. I 
put my face right into the imprint on the pillow, as though to kiss you 
like I always wanted to those mornings but never did. I didn't want to 
steal sleep from you. Kisses could be taken later. The smell of your 
hair filled me. I closed my eyes and imagined you lying there. So many 
nights I would press my cheek against yours and draw in the smell of 
your damp shampooed hair as I confessed my love to you, as a wife 
should to her husband. I felt a tear start to form in my still sleepy 
eyes and I jerked away from you, from my memory of you. I could not 
wash out your smell with my tears. 

There were other things to do. The day was quickly passing. I went to
the kitchen; tip toeing so as not to wake you. I tried so hard to be 
quiet while opening the refrigerator door, but it squeaked despite my 
silent urgencies. You are such a light sleeper, John, and I so often 
worry I will wake you. I pulled out a carton of eggs for your 
breakfast, but my hands are no longer as steady as they used to be and 
the eggs dropped. I tried to catch them, John, I truly did. My knees 
simply would not bend fast enough. I cringed from the pain and from the 
fear of hearing you start to shuffle about as I picked the carton up. I 
eased my way to the cupboard to find you some oatmeal instead, and it 
occurred to me that you would not want oatmeal on this spring morning. 
You would not want eggs, or coffee, or your clean work shirt either. 
You would not ask for a kiss good-bye, or an extra napkin in your lunch 
pail. It occurred to me that you would never again come in after a hard 
days work and smile at me. You would never again say you loved me, or 
tell me my cooking was wonderful. You would never touch me like only 
you know how to do. 

I donít understand. Why did you leave me John? Was I not a good enough
wife? I tried so hard. I truly did. I'm so sorry for the time I burned 
your shirt while I was ironing. I'm sorry I let you sleep in late on 
the morning of an inspection. I'm sorry I put too much icing on your 
birthday cake. I'm sorry I wasn't pretty every day and that I nagged 
you to fix the front gate. Is that why you left me John? Was I not good 
enough? Is it my fault you became so sick? I should have taken better 
care of you John. 

I'm so angry with you. How could you do this to me? You promised me you
would always take care of me. I need you now, John. More than ever 
before, I need you now. I need you to tell me everything will be okay. 
I need you to hug me and hold my hand. After all the years of my life 
that I have given to you, this is how I am rewarded? Was it all for 
nothing? What happens now? 

You never did teach me how to drive. And I don't know how to balance a
checkbook. You have to teach me, John. You can't leave yet. I'm not 
ready! Come home, please. I will make your favorite meal for you and I 
promise I will put extra salt on the green beans just like you always 
ask me to do. 

I am so lost here without you. I have no purpose. I suppose I could make
your breakfast, but you will not come out in your robe and tousled hair 
to enjoy it. I could make your lunch, iron your shirt, and tell you 
your shoes are where you always put them- under your bed. But the bread 
from the lunch will go stale, the crisp shirt will go unworn, and the 
shoes will forever remain under the bed. I could keep myself busy all 
day. I could clean your dirty clothes, organize your mail, set up times 
for you to have lunch with your friends from the club, and cook a nice 
big dinner. But I know that none of those need to be done now, John. So 
what am I to do? I suppose I could lie here. I am awfully tired. I will 
go in our bedroom and I will take a little nap. That's what I'll do 
John. I'll go rest some. 

I smell you again. I smell something else, though, too John. I worry I
may have left the oven on from the oatmeal I never made. I am so tired 
though, John. Would you do me a favor darling? Will you just run and 
turn it off for me? Thank you. I'm just going to lie here and rest. I 
will dream of days gone and I will imagine what it will be like to be 
joined with you once again in heaven. I feel very warm now, John. Will 
you turn the air conditioner down for me, darling? Thank you. I 
appreciate that. I am just so tired. Goodnight John. I will see you 
when I awaken. 


   


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