Installment # 42 Hospice

     Cynthia and Tucker sat on the blue love seat, not touching.  Marge sat on a folding chair in front of the closed up fireplace.  She had her notebook and a pen.  The rest of the room was filled with strangers who also had notebooks and proceeded to write in them furiously.  Cynthia glanced at Tucker and shrugged.  They needed no words.  These people were writing words that shaped his future, or lack of it.

     The head social worker would speak and everyone would write.  “The nurse will come 3 times a week.”  Scribble, scribble.  “The CNA will come every day except Saturday and Sunday.”  Scribble, scribble.  “She will help you with your shower and personal hygiene.  She will do your laundry and fix your breakfast and tidy the kitchen.”  Scribble, scribble.  “Now if you have any pain, call hospice.  Do not call 911.  Do you understand, Tucker?  Cynthia?”  They nodded.  Scribble, scribble.

     Finally the interview was over, the scribbling all done, the notebook on the desk for everyone to write in when they came so everyone else would know what was going on with Tucker.  As they each left they stopped and hugged Tucker and offered him words of encouragement.  They also hugged Cynthia and smiled.  With a heavy heart Cynthia realized that this was the death watch patrol.  They were the ones who would be with him until the end.  They would send the people that would care for him.  She suddenly felt like she was smothering.  Muttering something about poor Cleo, she grabbed the leash and walked to the back door.  Cleo was always ready for a walk and as they walked through the house and out the front door to the river Marge and Tucker watched them quizzically.  Cynthia just knew she had to be some where else or she would explode.

     “What is her problem?”  He asked Marge.  She laughed.

     “Her problem is she is a woman and she is dealing with losing someone she really cares about, again.  She just needs some time.  I think I will fix a sandwich.  Want one?”

     “No, thanks.  I think I will wait for Cyndi.  Think I will set on the porch awhile.  Bring your sandwich out and set with me.”  And she did.  And when she had finished they walked to the path that led up from the river walk.  They sat on the bench facing the river and Tucker saw her first.

     She and the dog were walking very slowly.  She once again emitted the ethereal quality that Tucker did not understand.  Marge watched him very closely and then she smiled.  “What are you thinking, Tucker Fuhrman?  I have never seen that look in your eyes before.  Quick!  Tell me before you decide to lie to me!”  She laughed at his look of surprise and suddenly realized that he was going to tell her the truth because she already knew.  He was not the only person on this earth to see Cynthia in this light.

     “She is special, Marge.  I don’t know what it is, but I do know that she is different.  It is like she can see into my very soul.  She communicates with the dog, you know.  Never talks, just looks and the dog does it.  I don’t think she knows it.  Do you?”

     “Oh, I agree she is special as far as special goes, but she is only human.  I think she is here because you need her and I think you need her because she is here.  Makes sense?  It is like someone in the great cosmos knew what was needed and here she is.  What if you had met her 30 years ago, Tucker?  What if you had met her before your prostate went sour?”

     Tucker watched Cynthia coming up the bank of the levee.  He knew the answer to this one.  “If I had met her 30 years ago, or 20 years ago or 5 years ago, I would have married her.  I would not have thought about it twice.  I would have swept her off her feet and carried her to Shangri-La.  We would have lived happily ever after.  I love that woman, Marge.  I know that clear down in whatever spot in my soul love comes from. We would have had babies and I would have played with them.  A boy and a girl.  The boy first.  The boy would look like me and the girl would look like her.”

     “What about the motorcycle club?  What about all your collections?  What about your photography?”

     “I would have still have had all that.  She would have been the perfect wife.  The guys in the club seem to like her.  She is fun.”

     “Are you going to tell her you love her?”

     “Oh, hell no!  Early on when we were dating, she said, ‘Tucker, I think I love you.’  Want to know what I told her?  ‘Why thank you, Cyndi, that is a real honor.’  Shortly after that we had our falling out and I never spoke to her for five months.  I hope she forgot that, but I don’t think she did.”

     Marge sighed.  “Tucker, you do not have much time.  Are you just going to let this die with you?”  And with that Cynthia stepped onto the pavement and the two fell silent.