In one of the many double rooms along the long hospital corridor, she finds him lying in the faded blue gown, his body disappearing into generic sheets, his face the same as always. He doesn’t speak. She holds his hand. He reaches toward her, a hug, not something they are used to giving each other, and all the more awkward because now she can tell his legs don’t move, that they are dead weight from the thighs down. That his legs aren’t working, when it’s lung cancer he’s got, makes no sense.
She comes back each day of the long holiday weekend, with her husband, with her children. They spend time on this side of the curtain, crowded around his bed, not knowing what to say. The children bring artwork,…
