Elsa

One day, Elsa said that she was feeling poorly, and thought that going back to the hospital was best. I visited her as much as they would let me in the intensive care ward. She had advanced cancer of the stomach. And, she was receiving aggressive treatment to try to arrest it.

This always made her very tired and weak, but she always had a smile on her face, even though I knew that she was in a lot of pain. She was a very tough and very brave little woman. My heart was breaking, watching my beloved wife go through this.

Claire would visit her mother most nights, and the three of us would converse solely by signing to each other, which drove the staff crazy. They knew that we were talking about them and laughing, but didn't know what fun we were making at their expense. My lovely bride was the instigator of the trouble more times than not. She loved the fun, and treated me often to that devilish little smile I loved so much on her still pretty face.

I was happy to see that Elsa had some good days, I would walk her out to the hospital garden, and she would enjoy sitting in the sun. We would talk and sign quietly; private husband and wife stuff. One night, Elsa became very serious. I could tell that she was weakening. She grabbed my shirt in her frail little hand and pulled me toward her.

Looking directly in to my eyes, she said,

"Michael! Michael, I want to thank you for loving me, and for giving me joy. You are the most wonderful person I could have ever ... spent my life with. And ... and ... I want to thank you ... for giving me ... Claire. She is so ... lovely ... so smart ... and I know that she is worried about me. Take care of her Michael, and,

She was getting tired ... she was very weak, but continued as I held her hand tight, "and ... it is okay to tell her about her mother. I hid many things from you Michael, and I deeply regret that. I want you to tell Claire everything." Breathing with difficulty she said, "don't let her forget me, Michael. I love you darling, you have made my life complete. Don't forget your bratty little wife Michael."

She smiled up at me and let go as she turned, and fell asleep, taking what she might have thought of as her last opportunity to tell me these things. I cried more bitter tears than I have ever cried before. I had to run down the hall and out into the garden for a while. She must have known that the end was near.

On her next visit, Claire pulled on my arm before we went into the room, and out of sight of her mother, she signed,

"Is Mommy alright, Daddy?" I almost lost it, but held it together for my little girl and signed to her,

"Yes darling, Mommy is very strong, and I will make you a bet that I can get her to smile before you do, pumpkin!" She giggled and signed back with her quick little fingers,

"You're on, old man!"

She won. She came in first, signed something to her mother that I couldn't see, and Elsa brightened into a smile and laughed. I never knew what she said to her mother, and Claire would never tell me,

"It's a secret between Mommy and me Daddy."

Claire was eight, and quite a precocious child. She seemed be get prettier every year, and had all of the eight-year old boys starting to notice her. Claire sat on my lap that evening, and read a story to me as her mother slept. Sometime during the night, Elsa slipped into a comma. I woke and found her unresponsive, and had one of the attendants take Claire down to the cafeteria for a treat, and I pushed the buzzer for the floor nurse, but they were already on their way.

Out of sight of my precious daughter, the doctor and specialized nurses pushed a crash cart into the room to keep my lovely Elsa alive. She never came out of the coma, and I stopped bringing Claire to the hospital with me. I leveled with her just as her mother wished, telling her that what was going on with her mother, and my once happy little daughter cried, and thereafter was often tearful, and spent a lot on time in her room.

Two months later Elsa, still lay in a persistent vegetative state, and was unhooked from her live support. I stood next to her bed holding her hand as I watched the life drain away from my sweet darling.

Sometime earlier, I asked Mark and Angela (who were married and had a child of their own) to take Claire when needed and they took her now. I had found a good therapist for Claire to help her over the grief of losing her mother, and Mark took her while I stayed home for a full week, grieving for my little lost brat.

I had a small private funeral for Elsa, and buried a small mahogany box with her ashes in a gravesite I bought for my small family. Claire and I visited her every week for years, then every other week after that. I had lost my beloved darling and playmate, and I never married again.

Claire became a quite stunningly beautiful young girl with a lot of friends. We took trips together, and we bicycled, skied, and played tennis together until late in her teens. I loved having her little friends in the house for sleepovers—their fun and giggles brought a little joy back into the house. It seemed that a succession of tall handsome young boys, proms, and dates took my place with her.

In the years after Elsa's passing, I threw myself into my work as a project engineer and spend as much time as I possibly could with my sweet daughter. We were best friends until a tall handsome young man came along and took over that job from me too.

Claire and I would sit together often in those years—particularly the early ones—and I would tell her about her mother. I would tell her how sweet she was, and what a little devil she could be sometimes. I had pictures of Elsa everywhere to keep her in our minds and hearts.

Claire entered law school, after being voted the valedictorian of her class at the small Midwestern College she selected from the two dozen other offers she received. Unlike her petite mother, Claire grew into a tall slender woman, with grace and poise.

I kept telling her that she was going to be the first woman president, but she would just roll her lovely clear blue eyes at me, and just sign,

"Oh Daddy!"

END.