True love

“I am going to give each of you one piece of chocolate,” she said, handing a bite-sized bar to my sister and me, “but you mustn’t eat it. When I go into his room, I will say, ‘Look, Tom, the girls brought you some candy!’ Then you will offer it to him, and he’ll say, ‘Are you sure you don’t want it?’ And you say, ‘No—we brought it for you…’ Got it?”

We rode the elevator up to the sixth floor and walked along the corridor to my uncle’s room. We were surprised to find him sitting up and alert. My aunt reached his bed first, smiling broadly. I smiled too, hoping no one could see how nervous I was. It was not difficult to discern how frail he had become, even though his bed sheets covered most of his body. His skin was waxen and taunt. My father had looked the same just before he died. Which was the broken hip, I wondered? Was he still in pain? Can he eat?

“Look who’s here to see you, Tom,” my aunt said quietly. “Hi, Uncle Tom!” Emma and I chimed together. “Do you remember us? Liz and Emma, Bette’s daughters.”

“Never saw you before in my life,” he said, smiling. Aunt Olive smiled and looked at us as if to say, “OK—it’s a good day today,” and we all laughed.

“Mom was not well enough to make the trip, but she’s with us here in spirit!” we assured him.

Olive moved closer to the bed, touched his hand and said, “Pucker up doll!” Uncle Tom did his best as she bent down to place a tender kiss on his lips. Her fingers snuggled deeper into his grasp as her eyes caressed him. In the brief moment of their gaze, they were alone.

He moved in slow motion, gazing at each of us. As his familiar brown eyes reached mine, I felt an intensity that contradicted everything else about his physical state. I saw humor, skepticism, love. I imagined what he must have looked like in his youth.

A nurse entered the room to check on his status. Did she have any idea who he was—is? Your patient survived the deaths of both parents during the Depression, I wanted to tell her. He was an Army Air Corps sergeant during World War II. This man fought in the Pacific. He came home from that bloody battle and dedicated his life to children, of all things, as an elementary school principal. Tom Tasker has been in love—true love—with the same woman for 60 years.

“It’s time to get going now,” Uncle Tom said as he tried feebly to get out of bed. “We’ve gotta get that job done. Got 800 people on the payroll, can’t just…got to get going.” Olive’s expression sank. She reached out to him and guided his legs back onto the bed. He relaxed into the pillows and closed his eyes, still trying to communicate something.

“OK, doll, you rest now,” she said. “I’m right here.”

“I want you with me, Ol,” he said.

“You rest now,” she repeated.

As we left the room, I noticed the candy bar in her hand. “Now you understand. He comes and goes. Here—give this candy to your mother. Tell her she doesn’t have to worry. Let her know I’m here with him, and I won’t leave him.” We promised to deliver her message.

Mrs. James Elia
Newtown, Conn.