Room 808

It might be said the final chapter of a love story was written Thursday, August 13, 2009.

It is a memoir of mutual devotion which began during childhood and endured for more than 75 years ~ 61 of those years in marriage.

For the past few months, Joseph had maintained an arduous and continuous vigil at the bedside of his wife, Josephine, as she struggled bravely in a losing battle for her life. Family members often begged him to take rest or to eat, but very little ~ short of force ~ would have cleaved him from her side.

Despite all of this, he was always quick with a smile, a pat on the back, and never once failed to ask, "How is your Mother doing?"

The entire family ~ their legacy ~ was at Joseph's side as his Josephine's ordeal came to an end; he would not have had it any other way.

"A wife is the joy of a man's heart." ~ from the Talmud

This could have been written with Joseph in mind; she not only seemed to be his "joy," but clearly held his heart in her hands.

While it seems their story's end was written Thursday, Josephine and Joseph understood the promise of much more to come.

I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white
sails to the morning breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength
and I stand and watch her until at length
she stands like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come
down to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says,

"There! She's gone."

Gone where?

Gone from my sight, that is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
as she was when she left my side,
and just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the place of destination.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at that moment
when someone at my side says,
"There! She's gone."
There are other eyes watching her coming
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout,

"There! There she comes!"

Parable of Immortality ~ Henry Van Dyke

Sailing from this world into the life-eternal.

"Dr. Scott"

I was not old enough to understand, but I did.

I couldn't yet spell the word “cat” but instinctively knew what “divorce” meant. I was told it was for the best. I do remember the moment I first heard the word from my father; beyond that, I have no memories – good or bad. I was simply too young.

Mother met and later was remarried to a man named, “Dr. Scott.” That is how we were introduced.

He was very different from our own father in many respects. That was a fact; it wasn’t a good thing or a bad thing. They were simply two very different people.

The name stuck – an unfortunate thing for him. I can now imagine the pregnant pauses after friends were introduced to them as, “Mom and Dr. Scott.” Many years later he truly sat us down and asked that we quit the moniker, “Dr. Scott,” for something -- any other name of our choosing. For me, this was simply his name – no less so than Dorothy is Dorothy, Jeff is Jeff, or Max is Max. But for him, it was a title for work -- not to be used by family. Finally speaking to me about this “name problem” fifteen years after they married, I came to understand the embarrassment it may have caused them over time. But, I will have to admit that it wasn’t easy for me to change; I have often wondered what he would have done had I ultimately decided to call him, "Ralph?"

Bob, as most of us call him now, has been very good for Mom – and vice-versa. It had been said of the two of them that they don’t take a breath without first consulting each other. It had been a true partnership.

He has an abiding respect for Mother. They have given each other everything they ever needed or wanted. And, while their extended family has seemed important to them, it may very well be said that if a dire situation was foisted on them, they could easily be completely content alone – together -- in a world of their own.

They recently celebrated their wedding anniversary. It was bittersweet.

They are now both very different people than when they married, and Mother seems to be fading from him with every waking day. Being a private, quiet, and introspective man, I once decided to brave asking him how it must feel for him to watch Mom – his partner for all these years -- suffer as she does. Quietly, he replied that he is slowly losing the one person in the world who means the most to him – the very person with whom he has now spent a veritable lifetime making decisions. He is now, figuratively, on his own.

Tomorrow, July 7, marks the one year anniversary of what was easily the most difficult decision ever made during their life together. A decision that certainly pertained to Mom – but one he had to make on his own.