The Very Thought of You

Sally arrived and we were discussing options. It seemed a shame to transfer Charlie; the trip would likely kill him. Was there some quiet place here where he could pass his final moments? We were sitting there, speaking quietly, looking for an answer. Something in Charlie came back, he sat up a bit and started to talk.

"Lillian likes to cook. When the kids came home, she would make hot dogs and sszzz... sauerkraut. And we had a cake. And I would sing happy birthday." Charlie's hands came up, waving as if he was conducting an orchestra.

"The nurse said... she said my wife was tired. They said they were going to take her to the doctor. I like the doctor. He listens to people... His name is Dr. Jacobs. He is at the... the place. He knows all about me. I sing songs for him.

Charlie looked about helplessly, his eyes vacant. "When is my wife coming back?"

Sally moved to sit next to Charlie and took one of his cold frail hands in hers. Charlie appeared not to notice the blue gloves. He turned a bit and looked over to Sally, who flashed him a big smile.

"I was singing to her. She felt hot and coughed so I sang because she likes it when I sing. I sang her favorite song. "The Thoughts of You." She likes that song 'cause it's her favorite.

"We were singers... during the war. We sang for the soldiers. We went to the place... and islands and jungles... I was on planes and big boats. And a show... Lillian and I... we would sing..." Charlie put his hands together, the way the big band singers did in the old 40's movies. His voice was thin but very pure.

"The thought... the thing of you... the very thing to do... very smile, the way..." A memory in Charlie's head swept him away for a moment, maybe an island paradise or a war, somewhere he could find Lillian, but it was flickering. The life force was fading.

"Will my wife be here soon?"

By now, I had figured out that the woman I had just seen was Charlie's wife and she was end-stage comatose so there was no coming back. That knowledge made me feel guilty. It made me feel like I owed Charlie something, so I sat there with him.

A new crowd came into the break room for a moment's R&R and I ducked across the hall. Online, I found a list of WWII big band singers. Halfway down, I found Charlie. A little bit later, I found Lillian. Charlie's entry had a link to a short biography.

In 1942, Charlie had sung in USO halls in California. In 1943, he had moved out with a Marine deployment, appeared in shows on the transport, and later as the Marines island-hopped across the Pacific. Along the way, Charlie met Lillian and they had been married. He had been wounded in action because, at some point, he had joined the fight. He had received a commendation I did not recognize, was sent stateside with Lillian at his side, and together they lived out the rest of their lives.

Now he was sitting in our break room and waiting for his dying wife to come back to him. This sucked; I hated it, hated that I was here. I hated that this good man was leaving this world after living such a life with no one to send him off.

I sat down again only to see Sally leave; an emergency, she said. She'd be back. I looked at Charlie and he seemed aware. This time, he knew that I was there, and I sensed he badly wanted to say something.

"I know where my wife is, Mr. Doctor. Lillian... I know... I know... where she is. It was the angels... I always told Lillian the angels would take care of her. I told her that in the place where we sang... They took my wife home to the Baby Jesus, so she's okay. She went ahead." Charlie was looking right at me but, somehow, at the same time, he was looking through me.

"I know this... I know this." Charlie nodded his head. He said that over and over, his mantra because he was sure. "She was coughing, and she couldn't breathe. She was hot... The angels took her."

"Charlie, it's okay. Can you hear me? It's okay." I thought he was becoming distressed and hallucinating.

Charlie glanced at me and smiled. "No, Doc, it's okay, I'm not afraid anymore... Lillian is coming back for me." He sat up a bit, put his hands neatly in his lap, and looked at me. "Can I sit here and wait? So, she'll find me?" His dishwater blue eyes lit up faintly. His entire spirit, the sum total of his life shining in his face, was at peace. That's when I broke.

Lillian and Charlie had been in love and together for 77 years. My marriage had died at eight. I had fucked everything up. I was barely 35 and I had shit for a life. Lillian and Charlie had stood in the dark and sang to men about to die. They had given them something to hang on to. No one cared now. I cared, but so what? No one cared what I thought. I wanted to fix things. I had asked Gwen to help fix our marriage. She said I had let her go, but I never did.

Lillian and Charlie would be dead soon. All their years of love would fade away as my marriage had faded away. All those sick, dying, and dead people. Dying alone. Who had held their hands? Me? I couldn't hold on to my own wife's hands. People trying to convey entire lives of love over a telephone screen, knowing this was all they would get, all there would be, the only way to say everything. Hopeless, but... No final touch, no kiss. No last smile. So many dead. The living, loving the dying, in tears; the dead, clinging to the last second. I couldn't help them. My wife had said I let her go but I hadn't. I didn't even know until she was gone.

Charlie was waiting for his wife to come for him, sure beyond all doubt that death has no sting. I had waited for my wife to come for me, but she never did. How many times did I hear a song or get a flash of memory? I would be driving somewhere and find myself daydreaming of how it used to be. My wife would be back. I'd put my arms around her, and we'd never be apart. I would tear up. Sometimes, it was so much I had to pull off the road and cry. Sometimes, I would cry for no reason at all. Gwen had never come back, and I was so alone. Why couldn't I go get her? What was missing in me? Marriage didn't have to be like this. Here, even in this abattoir, Lillian was coming back. Charlie and Lillian would be together forever. Together, they'd pull death's teeth.

I looked around myself and all was death. Everything was death. I hated what I had become and how I felt. I wanted it all to be over. I wanted me to be over. I realize now that I was hysterical. I was screaming. Somebody was yelling for help. It was hard to breathe. Someone yelled, "Call her! Call her!" but Lillian was gone. What was the point? I remember kicking at someone. I kicked them because they had tried to touch me. Never let them touch you, infect you, kill you.

There was a commotion behind me, and someone threw their arms around me. I was wrestled to the ground. I fought wildly to get away, but they held on. I had to get away from this place or I would die. Gwen was next to me, looking at me, crying and telling me that everything would be all right. She was there. She had me. Gwen told me she had me and I could take a rest. Gwen had her arms around me, and she told me she would not let go. Forever, she said. I was so tired.

My eyes were closing, and I was about to collapse into darkness. Gwen was in our valley of death in her little white clinical coat and her useless blue paper mask. "Get off me," I roared. "Let me go!!"

I roared as much as screamed and pulled away. There was a bottle of alcohol-based hand sanitizer on the counter and I poured half of it over a clutch of paper towels. I slammed the whole gooey mess across Gwen's mouth and nose until a real mask arrived. Maybe it worked.

It has been five days since then. Charlie and Lillian, each in their own time, have moved on. Gwen can't go back to the safe side. She has been exposed to a massive viral load. Considering the hot viral soup that floods our ward, there is never going to be a 14-day quarantine period. Besides, she's a top-flight pulmonologist and we need her.

I found a small storage room at the very edge of our section and there we share a cot. There's room because our supplies are running out. We're hoping for re-supply to arrive soon. Every day, Gwen and I spend time in each other's arms, a blanket on a line for privacy. There is no time for modesty. We try to be discreet, but we don't worry about it. Maybe all we have is the 14 days before symptoms show and a few weeks sick before it's our time.

But maybe, just maybe, the Baby Jesus will forgive us our sins and grant us 77 years together. It's all a day at a time anyway. I stroke my darling's hair and sing -

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you

I see your face in every flower

Your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you

The very thought of you, my love.

CREDITS

"The Very Thought of You," music and lyrics by Ray Noble

Performance by Tony Bennett and Ana Carolina (YT)

To Blackfandl1958, GeorgeAnderson and Piper Hamlin, thank you for your support for this story. Its shortcomings are mine.

Postscript: I wrote this story in the late summer and finished on September 8, 2020. That day, there were 6,460,250 COVID-19 US cases. 193,250 people were dead, including 1,077 US healthcare workers and 7,000 healthcare workers dead worldwide. As I submit this on October 23^rd, there are 8,477,061 cases in the USA with 229,274 Americans dead (including 1,718 healthcare workers). Worldwide, 1,141,223 people are gone. Half of all people say they will not take a vaccine, even when there is a safe one and so, the disease will go on. The third wave has arrived. There is no end in sight and the doctors say the next six months will break our hearts. So, cling to your loved ones. Be there for people you can help. Leave no one behind. Trust science. Pray. Love. Wear your mask.