Violet, My Violet
She felt his throbbing heartbeat, unsteady and yet so slow. She draped her aged and wrinkled arm over his chest and her palm rested over his scarred and bandaged heart. Her eyes were red yet darkened from the days she had gone without any sleep and from the tears that fell so freely. Her hair was still uncurled and unpinned. She had no time to go home. She was too afraid to go back to that place that held so much silence it screamed at her.
A few days before, she found herself to be in a wonderful and upbeat mood. She had planted her husband’s favorite flower, violets, in a pot and placed it in the window to celebrate. She dressed herself in a solid, red A-line dress that was adorned with silver buttons. Her husband had come home from his last day at the barber shop, nicely dressed in a dress shirt and tie.
“Retirement, Honey. Can you believe it? I finally made it!” He exclaimed, his voice was shaky and his body stance was a bit hunched over. It was evident in his years that he was a barber. He kept himself clean shaven and his hair parted just right with what few hairs still left on his age spotted head.
His wife had barely been able to give him a kiss on the lips before everything turned grey. Everything at that point was now a blur to her. How he had that awful look on his face, seeing him lying on the floor and the ambulance ride to the hospital. She waited for so many hours until their daughter arrived from out of state. Her daughter’s eyes were wet and puffy; she noticed this the very moment Claira walked in.
“Mom!” She cried when she saw how frightened the frail old woman was, just sitting in the waiting room of the surgery department. Claira ran to her and grasped her into a hug. Together, they cried and never let go of each other.
“What was it?” Her daughter questioned as her voice cracked under the pressure.
“A heart attack… he just retired. This was not supposed to happen, Claira. It’s just not fair!” The elderly woman dropped her head and sobbed. Claira took her mother’s hands into her own and began to pray an inaudible prayer.
Moments later, the surgeon walked into the waiting room and the elderly woman looked up, pleading with the surgeon to give her good news. After a few minutes, the young man smiled. “He’s going to be alright, Mrs. Duggan. Your husband gave us quite a scare, but he will recover with some time and patience. You got him here just in time. He’s a very lucky man. Would you like to see him?”
Mrs. Duggan nodded and almost jumped at the chance to see her husband. Claira stood up holding her mother’s arm and steadied her. Together they followed the surgeon to the room in the ICU where her husband lay.
That was two days ago. Today, she no longer cried. Claira was asleep in the chair across the room. Mrs. Duggan sat beside his bed, her hand across his damaged heart. She kept her head low and rested her cheek on his hand. Two days had come and gone without any change in his health. The surgery took so much out of him. He never moved or responded to a voice. He just lay there with an oxygen tube that lay at the opening of his nostrils and IV’s running down his arm. Mrs. Duggan couldn’t stand it anymore. She pushed herself up from the chair and began to climb into the bed with her husband. She curled up next to him, making sure to steer clear of the tubing. Her thin body looked small compared to his as she molded herself against his body and kept her hand across his heart. She could feel the unsteady heartbeat. She closed her eyes.
“I love you, Ronald. Please, don’t leave me.” She whispered into his ear. Almost on cue, he coughed. Mrs. Duggan opened her eyes and rose up slowly to see his eyes flutter open and immediately fixated on her.
“I will never leave you, my dearest Violet.” He took a breath and moved slightly, “I love you too!”
A few days before, she found herself to be in a wonderful and upbeat mood. She had planted her husband’s favorite flower, violets, in a pot and placed it in the window to celebrate. She dressed herself in a solid, red A-line dress that was adorned with silver buttons. Her husband had come home from his last day at the barber shop, nicely dressed in a dress shirt and tie.
“Retirement, Honey. Can you believe it? I finally made it!” He exclaimed, his voice was shaky and his body stance was a bit hunched over. It was evident in his years that he was a barber. He kept himself clean shaven and his hair parted just right with what few hairs still left on his age spotted head.
His wife had barely been able to give him a kiss on the lips before everything turned grey. Everything at that point was now a blur to her. How he had that awful look on his face, seeing him lying on the floor and the ambulance ride to the hospital. She waited for so many hours until their daughter arrived from out of state. Her daughter’s eyes were wet and puffy; she noticed this the very moment Claira walked in.
“Mom!” She cried when she saw how frightened the frail old woman was, just sitting in the waiting room of the surgery department. Claira ran to her and grasped her into a hug. Together, they cried and never let go of each other.
“What was it?” Her daughter questioned as her voice cracked under the pressure.
“A heart attack… he just retired. This was not supposed to happen, Claira. It’s just not fair!” The elderly woman dropped her head and sobbed. Claira took her mother’s hands into her own and began to pray an inaudible prayer.
Moments later, the surgeon walked into the waiting room and the elderly woman looked up, pleading with the surgeon to give her good news. After a few minutes, the young man smiled. “He’s going to be alright, Mrs. Duggan. Your husband gave us quite a scare, but he will recover with some time and patience. You got him here just in time. He’s a very lucky man. Would you like to see him?”
Mrs. Duggan nodded and almost jumped at the chance to see her husband. Claira stood up holding her mother’s arm and steadied her. Together they followed the surgeon to the room in the ICU where her husband lay.
That was two days ago. Today, she no longer cried. Claira was asleep in the chair across the room. Mrs. Duggan sat beside his bed, her hand across his damaged heart. She kept her head low and rested her cheek on his hand. Two days had come and gone without any change in his health. The surgery took so much out of him. He never moved or responded to a voice. He just lay there with an oxygen tube that lay at the opening of his nostrils and IV’s running down his arm. Mrs. Duggan couldn’t stand it anymore. She pushed herself up from the chair and began to climb into the bed with her husband. She curled up next to him, making sure to steer clear of the tubing. Her thin body looked small compared to his as she molded herself against his body and kept her hand across his heart. She could feel the unsteady heartbeat. She closed her eyes.
“I love you, Ronald. Please, don’t leave me.” She whispered into his ear. Almost on cue, he coughed. Mrs. Duggan opened her eyes and rose up slowly to see his eyes flutter open and immediately fixated on her.
“I will never leave you, my dearest Violet.” He took a breath and moved slightly, “I love you too!”