Labor's End

A small woman slumped over a walker approached him, "Joe! Joe, why did it take you so long? I have been waiting here with all these crazy people for hours. You know better than to leave me alone like this, sweetie," she said as she saddled up to him and batted her fading blue eyes that were half-hidden behind thick bifocals. He was not sure whether to be flattered or frightened of her misplaced advances.

He shook his head slowly and tried to extricate himself from the death grip that her frail and bruised hands had on his forearm. He was surprised at how strong she was. "Ma'am, I'm truly sorry, but I'm not your Joe. My name is Mike, Mike O'Malley."

The woman let go of his arm then, but only to begin pulling at her short white curly hair that already seemed a tangled mess. "No! No! Joe! You're my Joe. I've been waiting so long for you, honey. I'd know you anywhere." She screamed as she leaned up and tried to kiss Mike right on the lips, only the quick reflexes of a Marine saved him from the embarrassing situation.

Mike was at a complete loss as to what to do next. Then a woman a few years older than he was appeared out of a doorway down the corridor to the right. She shook her head as she quickly assessed the situation and walked towards them, "Mary, Mary," she called in a soothing voice that you might use with a toddler.

The older woman turned and looked at her for a long moment, then as if something clicked in her head, she smiled in greeting, "Maude, come meet my husband, Joe. See, I told you he would come back for me," she beamed as she once more latched on to Mike's forearm.

The newcomer smiled apologetically at him as she tried to pry the woman's hands away, "Mary, Joe is dead. Remember, he died in Vietnam. You have all of his mementos in your room," she cooed as she tried to turn the elderly patient down the other corridor.

This only agitated the situation more as Mary's grip on Mike tightened to the point that her nails began to bite into his flesh. She shook her head and stared up at him with big pleading eyes, "No," she cried. "No, tell her, Joe. Tell her that you came back for me. Just like you said, you would. Tell her, Joe."

Mike looked to Maude, the woman he had come to see for very different reasons, for guidance. She shrugged and shook her head, looking almost as pleading as the woman.

He nodded his head and patted the thin, purplish hand on his arm, "It'll be fine, Mary. I came back," his voice cracked at the words as he thought of the long-dead Joe. And of all the other Joes.

This woman was another reminder of the high price of freedom - those loved ones left behind. Almost fifty years, the man had probably been dead longer than he had been alive, but still, this fragile creature clung to his memory as tightly as she did his arm. He wanted to feel sorry for the man, but could not. How must it have felt to be loved so deeply? It was something Mike had never known, not since he was seven years old.

He watched as the woman's face transformed. It lit from within as the years melted away. Beneath the wrinkled skin and mussed, thin grey hair, he saw her. The beauty that this woman once had been. His throat tightened at the pain she must have felt all those years ago. A pain so deep that even after all these years, she still could not face its finality.

Maude nodded, and her smile turned to one of gratitude as the woman instantly became more pliable, "Mary, let me help you back to your room. We need to get you dressed and ready. Frank will be here soon. You remember him, don't you? Your husband. Frank."

Mary shook her head, "No, not Frank. Joe. Joe is my husband," she protested as she laced her arm through his and pressed her diminutive body against his side.

"Joe," she exclaimed in the same voice that a toddler would use to get its way.

Mike inhaled deeply and wished he had not. The place smelled. Worse than some battlefields. While the smell of fresh gunpowder was missing, the other familiar smell of death and urine and fecal matter mixed with the odors of morning breakfast, the institutional plastic trays of which he noticed stacked on a cart down the hallway that Maude was still trying to pull the woman towards.

"Mary, let's go with the woman. You can freshen up; then we can talk. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he suggested with a smile as he too turned in the direction that Maude led.

Once more, she shone, beamed like a bright summer sun, as she leaned her head against her shoulder, "Yes, Joe. Yes, I'd like that so much. I've been waiting for you for so long."

She lifted her eyes as if something suddenly occurred to her, "Where have you been? What took you so long? You said it would only be a few months. No more than a year and you would come home to me. Why did it take you so long?" she pleaded like that child.

The tightness in his throat threatened to cut off his air at the pain in the woman's faded eyes. Thankfully the arrival of a younger woman dressed in bright pink scrubs saved him from answers that he did not have.

"Miss Mary, I've been looking for you. I ran your bath and have everything laid out for you. You want to look your best when Frank and your daughter get here, don't you?"

The woman again shook her head and held more tightly to Mike's arm, "No! Not Frank. My husband is Joe. See, he came back for me."

Mike smiled weakly at the nurse as she continued speaking, "Yes, Mary, I see, but you still want your bath, don't you? So, you can get all dolled up for him, right?"

"Yes, yes, of course. What was I thinking?" smiled the elderly patient as she turned back to him. "You'll wait here for me, won't you, dear? Just like I've waited for you."

She leaned in then and whispered, "I promise it will be worth it. I bought a nice sexy black lace thing just for your homecoming."

Mike wanted to laugh at the thought of this woman in her seventies in a black lace nightie. But in her mind, she was not. She was still that young bride, wife, girlfriend that she had once been, waiting for her lover to return from war.

His chest tightened at the reminder of Rachel and of the woman he had met again this morning after all these years. Was this their fate too? Trapped in some cruel time warp of memories too painful to remember and too sweet to forget.

"I'll wait. I promise," he assured her. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. He watched then as the nurse led her down the corridor. They chatted away like best friends in high school, conspiring on the big Friday night date.

He turned when the other woman exhaled loudly. She held out her hand, "Thank you, Mike. I'm assuming you are Master Sergeant O'Malley," she said.

He took the hand she offered and shook it firmly as he assessed the woman. Her greying hair was cut in a functional pixie style. She was on the short side and carried a few extra pounds under her slightly wrinkled blue polyester business suit. Her makeup was minimal and tastefully done.

Competent and yes, very functional were words he would use to describe her. It was very much in keeping with his few brief encounters with the woman over the phone and her weekly email updates.

"Just Mike is fine Miss Landon," he replied.

She smiled, but it did nothing to soften her austere appearance, "Maude, then, Serg..." She caught herself as she turned back towards the other hallway opposite the direction that the nurse and Mary had disappeared, the one from which she had come.

"Would you care to follow me, Mike? We can talk in my office. Then I'll take you to see Mister Hall."

Mike nodded and fell into step behind the woman. Her office was every bit as functional as the woman. Only a few certifications graced the plain white walls, not a family portrait or personal item in sight. Even the coffee mug on the corner of her desk was embossed with the logo and words Prairie View Assisted Living.

"Have a seat," she said as she walked behind the overly large, dark wooden desk that dwarfed her.

She pulled out a brown leather chair and sat down, nervously shuffling some papers, "Thank you for your help with Mary. I am sorry you had to see that, but I am afraid we are a bit short-staffed with it being the end of summer. Labor Day being next weekend and all."

Mike nodded as if he understood fully though the concept was utterly foreign to him. In the military, you soon lost track of things such as holidays. You had a job to be done, same as any other day.

Of course, some major ones like Thanksgiving and Christmas, you might have some big Hollywood star or country music singer show up for the publicity. Maybe a special dinner even, but that was about it. And since he had never been much of a country music fan, holidays were indeed nothing special to him, give him classic rock any day.

The woman would not meet his eyes as she began to speak again, "Anyway, I know that was not what brought you here. And I do thank you for coming. Family involvement can make all the difference, especially in..."

She paused again and finally lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, "Especially in the final days. While I know that you aren't exactly family, well, frankly you have always been more conscientious in responding to my emails and calls than Mister Hall's daughter."

She blushed and looked down again as if perhaps she had said something that she should not have. She shuffled more of those papers on her desk nervously before clearing her throat and looking up, "What do you know of dementia, Alzheimer's?" she asked.

"Honestly, Miss Landon," he paused at the firm look she gave him. "Maude," he started again, "Not a damned thing. Only the little bit that I learned in the brochure that Mister Clyde gave me when he first told me about the diagnosis."

She nodded and sighed, "Most people don't. In a society with an aging population, it is this nation's dirty little secret. It seems that we, as a nation and often even the families themselves, want to simply lock them away and forget as surely as those afflicted with the illness."

"I know it was an unpleasant experience, but Mary is an excellent example of the illness. Though her second husband, Frank, and their daughter are almost daily visitors, she rarely remembers them. Instead, she pines for the man she lost almost half a century ago."

She sighed heavily and shook her head, "I admire Frank. To come every day to visit a wife that not only does not remember you but talks incessantly about another man she loves must be a very painful experience."

Mike nodded, trying even to fathom how that must be for this other, unknown man. But it was a mind-boggling endeavor. He shook his head slowly as the woman continued.

"Of course, as the disease progresses, things become even worse. The illness makes even the most basic bodily functions like eating, drinking, or relieving oneself impossible. Basically, these once vibrant people become children and eventually babies once more. Unable to see to even their most basic needs on their own."

She met his eyes, "That I am afraid is where Mister Hall has gotten to at this point."

"I am saying all this now so that when you do see him, you are prepared. The man that you knew is gone already. Although he might have a few more good moments that is unlikely."

"Mister Hall will not recognize you. He may not even respond when you call his name. He often sits staring out the window all day silently. His mind is locked someplace that we can never understand...and his body too is failing now," she explained.

"Just as the mind slowly wastes away into nothing, so too do their bodies over time. Feeding becomes increasingly problematic. As a result, they lose weight, muscle mass, vitality. Until their bodies simply give out."

Mike nodded as he tried to prepare himself for the reality that this woman spoke of. He asked the one question that plagued him most, "How long? How long does he have?"

She shook her head, "That I cannot tell you. These things are so variable; I simply don't know, not even the doctors do. But Mister Hall is clearly in the final stages of the disease's progression. Days or maybe a few weeks."

"I called you when I did because I know how much you wanted to be here...if you could, that is. Of course, I understand with your job and all that you may only be able to stay a short time, so I wanted to call you early."

"Thank you for that, Maude. The truth is that I am here for the duration. I retired from the Marines last week," his throat squeezed out the words of truth, but just barely, "No place else I have to go or be anymore."

The woman nodded as if she could understand that completely, "Yes, yes, now I remember you mentioning that on the phone. Well, normally visiting hours here are ten in the morning until three in the afternoon."

"That allows my staff to get the patients up and ready in the morning and also to settle them each evening. Routine is crucial to maintain their emotional and physical wellbeing. And often the patients themselves tire very easily."

"But, especially as the disease progresses, we bend those rules a bit. Allow extra time for families to say their goodbyes." She sighed heavily once more.

"And honestly, Mike, my staff is stretched thin. We run this place on a shoestring budget. My nurses often have ten sometimes even fifteen patients to care for each day. So, any help they get from families is greatly appreciated. Because as I said, too many of those families bring their loved ones here and leave them."

Mike could hear the anger and bitterness in the woman's voice. Although he did not know her job, her burdens, it was a frustration he could understand all too easily.

He always struggled with orders that made no logical sense, with a command that was so out of touch that they made decisions which could easily cost men their lives, good men. He had often found it challenging to obey such orders, commands that he knew placed his men in more peril than was sometimes necessary. So, on some visceral level, he could empathize with this woman's righteous indignation at those who should have cared but did not.

"I'll do whatever I can for Mister Clyde," he promised for the man that had been more a father to him over the years than the sperm donor, who had impregnated his mother, beat her and him every chance he got, and ultimately... Mike did not want to go down that road at the moment.

Those other demons would wait. Wait until his final few missions were accomplished.

And right now, this mission was to care for his best friend's dying father as his own. "Can you take me to him, please?" he asked.

The woman nodded her head as she stood up, "Of course, Ser..., of course, Mike," she stuttered. She led him to the door and stood back, motioning for him to go first. They turned down the hall, following deeper into the maze of corridors and rooms.

At the end of the hall, she stopped. "As I said, Mike, Mister Hall is not the man whom you remember," she smiled tightly as she opened the door and stepped back.

But nothing she could say might have prepared Mike for the skeleton that sat motionless in an over-sized chair facing the open window. Nothing.

***CHAPTER FOUR***

Mike's stomach growled just as he was putting the final nail in the new board on the front porch. He realized that he had been so busy throwing himself into hard work around the farm in a vain attempt to block out most of this day that he had forgotten to eat anything since breakfast that morning.

Looking up, he noticed that the sun was already setting, which this time of year meant it would be close to eight or nine o'clock. Josh and Brenda's café would probably be closed by now. Besides, he was not sure that he was ready to face all the complexities of that situation...not just yet.

He sighed as he sat back on his heels and wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He had spent most of the day just sitting with Mister Clyde. At first, he had tried talking with the old man, reminding him of Billy and sharing stories of Parris Island with him.

But by the time his lunch tray arrived, Mike had learned that he was talking more to himself than the shell of the man he had once seen as a surrogate father. Instead, he had focused upon getting even a few bites of the decidedly bland and unappealing food into the man, but that too had proven futile.

Maude had stopped by to pick up the lunch tray herself. She explained that loss of motor function that accompanied the disease and also accounted for the incontinence made it impossible for most of their patients to chew 'real' food. By necessity, the diet consisted of thin soups that were more water than soup, jello, and soft foods like mashed potatoes.

She had sighed heavily and shaken her head as she lifted the lid and saw that most of Mister Hall's food remained untouched. She alleviated some of Mike's guilt when she informed him that towards the end, even those proved virtually impossible to get into their patients. He had smiled at her in gratitude, fearing that he had somehow failed in this simple mission too.

He spent the rest of the afternoon on his phone checking emails and social media. He had even gotten so damned desperate that he had played a war game he had downloaded onto his phone. He had though insisted on helping the nurse to shower and shave Mister Clyde before he left.

That at least made him feel useful, like he had contributed something to the man's care by his presence. He knew enough about death and dying to know that sometimes just being there was all that you could do though.

On the way out, he had run into a short and balding older man in the parking lot. He was only a bit surprised when the man approached him as he got onto his motorcycle. Mike had long ago learned that social rules were decidedly different in small-town America than they had been growing up in Boston. Around here, people still smiled and said 'hello,' even to strangers.

This man went further though, holding out his hand and introducing himself as Frank Majors. At the mention of his name, Mike quickly put the pieces together. He was more than a bit embarrassed at first, considering the 'advances' this man's wife had made on him. That was until the man thanked him for the compassion he had shown his wife.

Frank explained that Mary had lost her first husband, a Marine during the Vietnam War. With his 'high and tight' haircut, Mike had reminded her of Joe. Mike was not sure how to take that or especially how it must feel to be this man, who was obviously so devoted to a woman that no longer remembered him and pined for another man. A man, who she had mistaken Mike for.

But his partings words spoke deeply to Mike, "Our fortieth anniversary is next week. All the kids and grandkids are coming in to celebrate with us."

The man's voice choked over the next words, "I'm hoping for one of her good days then. It ain't easy living in a dead man's shadow, but how can I begrudge her whatever comfort her memories offer?"

That thought, living in a dead man's shadows, had repeatedly arisen as he painted the old swing and replaced the rotting boards on the front porch.

When he had first run into Billy's old girlfriend that morning, he had to admit that like Missus Lula he had been more than a bit resentful of her for marrying another man and seemingly living happily ever after when Billy had died in his arms. Especially knowing that the man, who had become her husband and shared her bed for almost a quarter of a century had been Billy's best friend and cousin.

But meeting her son had changed that.

Mike was still reeling from the shock of learning that his friend had fathered a child, probably while they were home on Christmas leave. Just before the Gulf War, as civilians called it, broke out. He knew that Billy had bought the girl a special present, a ring, an engagement ring, not that they were telling her strict Southern Baptist parents that. Not until she graduated in June anyway.