Last Rose

Katie and Harry Wilson relaxed in their deckchairs, sipping coffee and enjoying quality time together.

“All your hard work really shows this spring, Katie. The flowers are beautiful... Almost as beautiful as you.”

“Get out of here,” Katie said, smiling.

“No... I mean it.”

“Thank you, Dear... You do tend to lay it on pretty thick sometimes, but I must say that was a lovely anniversary card.”

“Hard to find good ones for the sixtieth.” Harry shook his head. “The market’s just not that big anymore for double-digit anniversaries.”

Katie nodded in agreement. “Most couples we know are on their second or third spouse.”

Harry took a sip from his mug and looked skyward, not focusing on anything.

“Penny for your thoughts, Harry.”

“They don’t make pennies anymore, make it a dime,” Harry said with a chuckle. “I was seeing visions of our wedding night so real they could’ve been last night.”

“Really? What did you see?”

“You. Wearing nothing but a nightie so short... It barely covered your behind. A sexy, red colored thing so thin, I could see—”

“Black,” Katie interrupted.

“Say what?”

“Was black, and it wasn’t all that sheer or short.”

Harry frowned. “Okay, it was black and see-through and short. Boy, was it!”

“Don’t exaggerate, Harry.”

“Anyhow,” he continued, “the prettiest woman I’d ever seen. Then, you hopped in bed, and—”

“My hopping days are over,” Katie said with a giggle.

“Don’t interrupt... And I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”

“You’re so sweet, Harry,” Katie said, leaning over and kissing him.

“What were your first thoughts when you saw me?”

“Well... Maybe I could’ve done better,” Katie said with a silly smirk.

“What?” Harry’s bushy eyebrows leaped an inch. Then he frowned.

Katie couldn’t hold back and burst out in uproarious laughter. Then she became serious. “Guess I’ll tell you about tonight’s surprise.”

“Oh, no, you don’t, Katie Anne Wilson.” Harry sat stiffly in his chair. “You know how I despise surprises, especially ones around anniversaries. They usually involve darkened rooms with people in silly hats hiding behind sofas and chairs and jumping up like highwaymen about to rob you.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. You’ll like this one...” Katie said, grinning from ear to ear. “Trust me.”

Harry crossed his arms, unconvinced.

“I found a nightie like the one I wore on our first night.”

Harry’s face lit up.

“We’ll celebrate our sixtieth by recreating our first night.”

“I don’t know if I can... Once for sure, but not four times.”

“It was five, Dear,” Katie said with a smile. “Got your prescription refilled?”

“Yeah. Picked them up yesterday. So, can I see it?”

“No... Not until tonight.”

“My heart’s already a-thumpin’’, and my—”

“Down, boy! You’ll just have to wait.”

“At least hold it up after your bath... A sneak peek,” Harry said, batting his eyes and grinning from ear to ear. “Pretty please.”

“Alright, already... Don’t pester me like a three-year-old.”

Harry leaned over and kissed her cheek. “That’s my Goddess.”

###

Harry shaved, brushed his teeth, and undressed for his shower. Looking at his image in the mirror, he wondered what had happened to the trim and fit twenty-year-old of sixty years ago. His reflection was of an old man with gray hair, a growing paunch, and sagging jowls. When he glanced at his shriveled-up “boys,” he sighed and hoped the pills wouldn’t fail him tonight. Shrugging, he stepped into the shower.

In the other bathroom, Katie undressed for her bath. She brushed her teeth and performed her daily facial ritual.

Katie unboxed the nightie and held it against her. Unsatisfied, she slipped it on and slowly turned while watching her reflection in the mirror.

Might as well be naked, she thought, and shorter than I remembered. Maybe Harry was right.

She admired her profile. “Not bad for an old lady.” She squeezed her muffin-top’s love handles and shook her head. “‘A goddess,’ he says. Harry needs his eyes checked.” She carefully removed the garment and hung it on a nearby hook.

But when she bent down to draw her bath, the room began to spin. She grabbed the shower curtain for support and became so dizzy she couldn’t hold on. Then she fainted. Falling to the floor, she hit her forehead on the edge of the bathtub, knocking herself out cold.

Harry heard the thud and crash and grabbed his robe. He rushed to the bathroom and found her sprawled on the floor, bleeding and unresponsive. Frantically, he called 911.

An emergency MRI scan revealed a tumor deep within Katie’s brain. By summer, her severe headaches had confined her to the bedroom, and she struggled to move around without help. Throughout this difficult time, Harry was there, attending to her every need.

###

After putting Katie to bed, Harry stared vacantly through the soiled bedroom window and gritted his teeth. Recalling Katie’s oncologist visit was a depressing affair. The doctor presented a grim view of her illness  — a glioblastoma on the brain stem, and more advanced than originally thought. Pain medication had stupefied Katie so much that she didn’t understand the report, but Harry did.

He understood every word, especially the keywords: inoperable, untreatable. And the timeframe: a matter of months, maybe weeks — every patient was different. The pain levels would be eight to ten, with temporary relief on medication.

That was six months ago, and the words kept running through Harry’s mind.

Katie is dying, and nothing can prevent it.

They had been together for sixty years, and the thought of going on without her was terrifying.

Katie awakened in the bed nearby. “Ha... Harry.”

“Yes, Katie,” he said, turning toward her. “What can I get you?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said, rubbing her temples. “My head. It hurts, that’s all. Sometimes, it feels like it’s gonna burst. Other times, it feels like it’s in a vise.”

The doctor said her pain would increase toward the end. He wondered, Is this it? Is this the end?

Harry had never felt so helpless as he watched Katie’s vitality slip away, unstoppable like the receding tide. He cleared his throat and tried to come up with something to say, but he had never been good at expressing his feelings and struggled to find the right words in that moment.

He glanced outside again, eyeing the contours of the enormous tree. “Katie, Dear. Remember when we planted that maple tree? Jimmy was born that year.”

Katie twisted toward Harry’s voice. Her body curled into a fetal position. “Uh-hm.”

“Jimmy fell off the rope swing and broke his arm. He was just five, as I recall. You were pregnant with Mary then. We planted that rose bush to celebrate her birth. Do you remember? You always loved the smell of fresh-cut roses.”

Dried rose petals were piled on the dresser near the bed, dust-covered. The vase’s water evaporated; the rose’s stem and hip shriveled.

A fresh rosebud from the bush—Katie would like its fragrance, he thought. But Harry had procrastinated.

Katie whimpered and uncurled. “Jim... Jimmy. Where’s Jimmy?”

“Remember, Dear? Jimmy perished in the war.”

“Ma... Mary.”

“Mary’s arriving Tuesday.”

“Ooooh, the pain...” Katie complained. “Now my head’s in a vise. Oh, my God, it hurts.”

Harry retrieved the new prescription from the medicine cabinet. “The doctor ordered some stronger pills. They should help you feel better,” he called to her.

“Please hurry!”

Harry fumbled with the medication container.

“Damn! Who can open these?” He cursed and threw the container against the bathroom wall. It ricocheted and struck the floor, but remained intact.

Harry stomped on it hard — too hard — and the plastic shattered, scattering tablets everywhere.

“Crap!” Harry located two pills, washed a dirty glass, and hurried to Katie’s side. “Take these, Katie. You’ll feel better.”

“Can’t. Mouth’s too dry.”

Harry pressed the glass to her lips. “A little sip of water first.”

Afterward, he positioned two tablets on her tongue and tilted the glass to her lips. Katie swallowed the pills with water. Then, Harry lowered her head to the perspiration-stained pillow.

He ran his fingers through Katie’s hair: once turbulent, corkscrew red, now tangled and matted gray. Age and disease had robbed Katie’s beauty, but to Harry, her beauty had never left.

Harry returned to the bathroom to scoop up all the pills he could find. Then, after flicking off the dust, he put them in a clean glass and set the glass in the medicine cabinet.

The doctor had said, ‘There’s nothing stronger.’

Harry searched the floor for the label. He found a crushed plastic section and crumpled label: Take 1-2 tablets orally every 4-6 hours for pain relief. Caution: No more than 8 pills per day.

His trembling hand held the label.

Harry wondered how much longer Katie had to suffer—and how much more he could endure watching her agony. He looked at the glass of pills.

Could I do it? Harry thought. Would Katie want me to do it?

Harry poured several pills into his hand and held them to the light. They had always joked about ending it all if either faced an incurable disease. ‘Just strap me to a motorcycle and point me toward a tree,’ Harry would say and break out in thunderous laughter. ‘Strap me behind you,’ Katie would say.

Neither Harry nor Katie was laughing today.

“Harry?”

Harry put the pills back in the glass and rushed to Katie’s side. “Yes, Dear. How’s the pain?”

“Better, but I feel groggy.”

Harry pulled his chair closer to the bed and held Katie’s hand. “It’s the medication’s side effect. It takes away the pain but leaves you woozy.”

“The rose is dead,” said Katie.

“What?”

“The rose in the vase is dead. I always liked fresh roses, thorns and all.”

I should have taken the time to get a fresh rose, he thought.

Harry never knew when Katie’s lucidity would surface. He damned himself for not being prepared.

“What did the doctor say?” asked Katie.

“Huh?” asked Harry, avoiding eye contact.

“Harry, don’t avoid me. What did the doctor say? Am I going to die?”

“We’re all going to die,” he said nonchalantly.

“Damn it, Harry. I love you dearly, but you can infuriate me when you try to candy-coat everything to spare my feelings. You’ve been doing it for seventy years, and sometimes it pisses me off. So tell me what the doctor said.”

“Brain cancer. Inoperable. No hope for recovery,” said Harry as if he were reading to her from the newspaper headlines.

“You could’ve put a little candy coating on it.”

“That’s what she said. It’s the plain and simple truth.”

“Well, that explains the headaches. How long do I have? How long do we have?”

“She didn’t know, but not long, I guess.”

“No treatment?”

“None.”

“Oooooh,” cried Katie, tightly squeezing Harry’s hand.

“What’s the matter?”

“Feels like my head’s being crushed,” she said, rocking her head from side to side on the pillow.

“It’s only been two hours since the last dose. So we’ll have to wait for more.”

“Why?” asked Katie. Her eyes focused on Harry’s.

“The instructions said, ‘1-2 tablets every 4-6 hours,’” said Harry, looking away from her intense gaze.

“Why?” she asked, squeezing his hand once more.

“It’s strong medication and could harm you if you took too many,” he said, looking at her with concern.

“Harm me? More than my cancer?” asked Katie with a slight chuckle. “I doubt it.”

“That’s what it says.”

“Listen to me, Harry. I’m the one in pain. I’m the one with no hope of recovery. Give me the pills.”

Harry was feeling uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going. It had crossed his mind that he could quickly end Katie’s suffering, but he couldn’t do it. Now, Katie was going where Harry couldn’t go—wasn’t ready to go.

“Let’s not talk about it,” he said.

“Harry, you always buried your head in the sand when it came to the big decisions, and you left them up to me. Well, I’d like to talk about it, but my headache is pounding. Please give me another pill.”

Harry went to the bathroom, took the glass of pills from the medicine cabinet, and filled another glass of water. Harry placed the medication on the nightstand and removed one.

“Here’s one more, but that’s all.”

“Harry, you’re so sweet,” said Katie, smiling.

Harry lifted Katie to a sitting position, put the pill on her tongue, pressed the glass of water to her lips, and tilted it back so she could swallow. Then, he lowered her to the bed, fluffed the pillow around her head, and kissed her on her forehead.

Once she’s asleep, he thought, I’ll slip out and cut a couple of roses for the vase. Katie will like that.

Katie’s breathing became rhythmic, and Harry was sure she was asleep. He took the bud vase to the bathroom and soaked it in the sink. Then, with a damp washcloth in hand, he returned to the dresser, scooped the dried petals into the trash can, and wiped the dust away. Harry glanced at Katie and headed to the kitchen for a paring knife, satisfied that she was still sleeping.

Harry chose a rose in full bloom and a bud that would bloom in a few days. Then, careful to cut the stems long enough for the vase, he hurried back inside. Katie was still sleeping.

Harry took the vase to the bathroom. “How did Katie say to arrange them? Open bloom lower with bud above, or was it the other way around?” He dried the vase, filled it with water, and then proudly put his floral arrangement on the dresser.

Wish I’d done this every day, he thought. So little effort, but it says so much.

Then Harry slumped into the chair next to the bed. Before long, he fell asleep.

He was awakened by Katie’s choking and gasping for air. Harry sat straight in the chair. “Katie!” In horror, he watched as Katie retched. Harry scooped up her thrashing body and held her. “Katie, what’s wrong?”

But Katie couldn’t answer. Soon, the vomiting passed, and her body relaxed. Her arms hung limp, breathing shallow.

“Katie, speak to me!” Harry clutched Katie tighter. “Oh, my God, what’s happening?” In the tangled sheets, Harry spotted the empty glass. He glanced at the nightstand; the pills were gone.

Harry rocked Katie back and forth, weeping. “Katie, Katie. Why’d you do it? Why?”  In his confusion, self-loathing, and anguish, he fought the urge to keep her alive for one minute more.

But his spirit cried out, Let her go!

A final heave racked her frail body, and she gasped. Her arms fell limp, and Katie’s agony ended. She lay still, silent and peaceful. Harry released her, laid her on the pillow, kissed her bile-tainted lips, and whispered, “I love you, Katie. Sleep now.”