Rocco And Blossom A Love Story

“Dr. Carnavale? We have him all comfortable now if you’d like to come with me.” She looked up, the dazed and bruised expression still there after an hour of fear and confusion, hands clenched tightly on her lap. Linda, the head ICU nurse, had seen her over the years; but she looked smaller now, dignified even in her flounced denim skirt and peasant blouse, her gray shoulder-length hair pinned back with barrettes centered with turquoise stones. She stood carefully. Linda lightly held her arm and guided her down the hall. They turned into the room, and even though she knew what she would see, despair settled on her at the sight of the tubes and monitors. There he lay, his beautiful white hair still thick with waves, his eyelashes surprisingly black. “As the doctor told you, he’s comfortable, and nothing will happen until you say so. If you’d like, you could go home until your children arrive,” pushing a chair closer for her even as she said it and moving a table closer so she could reach the tissues and ice water. “There’s a blanket here, and feel free to lay on the other bed if you like. We’ll be right down the hall if you need us.” She found his left hand with both of hers and laid her forehead against them. “I’m so sorry, my darling. I know I promised. It’s just until the children get here. I didn’t want you all stiff and cold when they came. Don’t be mad. I love you.” Oh how she wished it was a dream, that she’d wake up and hear him, “Baby girl, I’m here. Where are you?” Fifty-five years—how could it be, how could it possibly be—since the day she first saw him.