(no subject)
"I miss good food." He pushes aside the tray of admittedly dreadful Hospice fare and pulls a face. "When will Harry just kill the bastard? I want to go home!"
"Soon." It had barely registered with Ron when Harry died in his sleep last spring. Sorrow and loss were fleeting, and his mind was soon occupied by excitement over Scabber's new trick.
At first, it had been just lost thoughts, snacks and quills. But, the day we found him on Platform 9 3/4, trying to board the Express, we knew something was very wrong. Now, over ninety years of memories are shuffled like cards in a deck, and every day I must watch my husband deal and play another random hand.
He's pouting now. "OWLs aren't for months, Hermione. Just one game?"
"Of course."
~~~~~
So many of the other visitors here aren't even recognised. Husbands are called "Granddad," and daughters called "Sweetheart," their loved ones' minds unable to comprehend time and aging. No matter what story is unfolding in Ron's head, he always calls me by name. He knows me. He always did.
~~~~~
Why am I trying to tell him about this? Certainly, I want to be sure he understands, so he won't be hurt or frightened when my visits suddenly stop, but, mostly I want him to hold me and cry with me, as I did with him.
Today isn't a good day, at least not for me. For him, it's apparently delightful, as he's just played an outstanding game of Quidditch.
"'Failing, failing'...a little failure won't kill you, Hermione," he interrupts me crossly, eager to regale me with the details of his heroics on the pitch.
"Ron, you don't...."
"Forget it, Hermione. I'll go find Lavender. She understands. That's probably why she's my girlfriend."
I can't do this, not today. I silently leave the room. The tears come as I lean against the closed door.
"Heart failure, Ron." I whisper in the empty corridor. "My heart is failing." It feels like it already has.
~~~~~~~~~~
Ironically, failure will kill us both. My heart, his kidneys...we're racing together towards a grim finish line. I'm cold tonight, shivering as we hold hands in a rare companionable silence.
"Stay." He smiles shyly. "I promise to be a gentleman, and I'll wake you before my mum comes up."
He has asked before, but tonight, I am so tired...too tired to say no. He is warm next to me beneath the thin quilt, and his soft breathing is a familiar lullaby.
"Hermione." His voice is unusually clear, as though he is waking up from a long nap. "We made a good run of it, didn't we?"
"Yes, a very good run."
"My whole life, everything...you're the best bit."
"I love you, Ron."
"I love you, too." Outside, the snow has started to gather at the sill. He sighs contentedly. "Once we're married, I'll hold you like this every night."
"I can't wait."
~~~~~~~~~~
Tomorrow, we'll awaken together, soft and warm.
I'm sure of it.
"Soon." It had barely registered with Ron when Harry died in his sleep last spring. Sorrow and loss were fleeting, and his mind was soon occupied by excitement over Scabber's new trick.
At first, it had been just lost thoughts, snacks and quills. But, the day we found him on Platform 9 3/4, trying to board the Express, we knew something was very wrong. Now, over ninety years of memories are shuffled like cards in a deck, and every day I must watch my husband deal and play another random hand.
He's pouting now. "OWLs aren't for months, Hermione. Just one game?"
"Of course."
~~~~~
So many of the other visitors here aren't even recognised. Husbands are called "Granddad," and daughters called "Sweetheart," their loved ones' minds unable to comprehend time and aging. No matter what story is unfolding in Ron's head, he always calls me by name. He knows me. He always did.
~~~~~
Why am I trying to tell him about this? Certainly, I want to be sure he understands, so he won't be hurt or frightened when my visits suddenly stop, but, mostly I want him to hold me and cry with me, as I did with him.
Today isn't a good day, at least not for me. For him, it's apparently delightful, as he's just played an outstanding game of Quidditch.
"'Failing, failing'...a little failure won't kill you, Hermione," he interrupts me crossly, eager to regale me with the details of his heroics on the pitch.
"Ron, you don't...."
"Forget it, Hermione. I'll go find Lavender. She understands. That's probably why she's my girlfriend."
I can't do this, not today. I silently leave the room. The tears come as I lean against the closed door.
"Heart failure, Ron." I whisper in the empty corridor. "My heart is failing." It feels like it already has.
~~~~~~~~~~
Ironically, failure will kill us both. My heart, his kidneys...we're racing together towards a grim finish line. I'm cold tonight, shivering as we hold hands in a rare companionable silence.
"Stay." He smiles shyly. "I promise to be a gentleman, and I'll wake you before my mum comes up."
He has asked before, but tonight, I am so tired...too tired to say no. He is warm next to me beneath the thin quilt, and his soft breathing is a familiar lullaby.
"Hermione." His voice is unusually clear, as though he is waking up from a long nap. "We made a good run of it, didn't we?"
"Yes, a very good run."
"My whole life, everything...you're the best bit."
"I love you, Ron."
"I love you, too." Outside, the snow has started to gather at the sill. He sighs contentedly. "Once we're married, I'll hold you like this every night."
"I can't wait."
~~~~~~~~~~
Tomorrow, we'll awaken together, soft and warm.
I'm sure of it.