The wind was blowing from the west, seeming to develop in the red and orange hues of the brilliant sunset. The glow cast itself out over a land of tall trees, swaying grass, and the lonely fence that separated the property and the old dirt road. A flock of birds took flight suddenly, winging themselves across the blood red sun.
The wind blew.
It blew gently, caressing my aged face and running playing through my whiten hair. A wrinkled hand clasped the arm of the chair, thinned and bony nothing like the young smooth hand of my youth. It lacked the strength it previously had, joints stiffened and swollen from arthritis. The other, just as old, smooth invisible wrinkles from the worn jeans.
The wind blew.
It called with a soft whispering voice, never forming intelligent words but causing a feeling of longing nonetheless. It whispered of days gone by, days that had faded from an old memory but strands of images still lingered bitter sweetly. A smile creased my old face, old eyes softening and more wrinkles appearing. The memories, brought on by the wind and the warm glow of sunset, broke free from the dam that had blocked all entry before and flowed freely across my vision.
I saw the day my husband, Philip, and I were married, on the beach of Little Cayman by a local minister with witnesses we did not know. I was dressed in a thin, cotton dress carrying a bouquet of small white flowers, and my husband wore tan khakis and a white blouse. Our vows were said at a makeshift altar with the blue Caribbean Sea for a backdrop and the sand dunes as the foreground. Two plain gold bands were exchanged, no markings on either a simple band for a love stronger than any material goods.
The scene blurred and changed to a hospital room white and clean. Labor was over, everything was finished, and Philip sat near me with my hand in his. The nurse, dressed in the white smock of hospital employees, entered the room carrying a blue bundle in her arms. Smiling and talking softly, she gently laid a small infant still pink and fresh into my arms. Philip leaned over, the infant instinctively grabbing his index finger in her tiny hand. It was Samantha, our first born.
Samantha faded away into other memories, replaced by another child. Lauren gave a tiny coughed, a tuff of blond hair plastered to her forehead. Philip looked older this time, his hair was a lighter brown than before. A young girl about five was seated on his lap, brown hair pulled back in pigtails and blue eyes staring wide at her new little sister. Lauren was our last child.
Memories floated by my eyes, too quick to be studied and savored. Pictures of Samantha and Lauren as they grew from children into teenagers into adults. There came images of son-in-laws, grandchildren, and celebrations birthday parties, graduation, marriages. Too many to count, too many to remember fully. Then one finally settled over my eyes.
Philip lay still on the hospital bed, equipment beeping in the background. I held his aged hand in my own, feeling his weak pulse. His eyelids fluttered open and he stared disorient around until he gazed at me. His eyes regained focus and a faint smile formed on his lips. I love you always… I love you always… I love you always… I love you always… Those four little words, forced out from behind willingly lips and spoken on small gasps of breath—those words etched into my memory with flames of pain and love—those words were the last. They came at the end. His eyes closed, chest fell and did not raise, and hand went limp in my grasp. And he smiled.
How long has it been since Philip passed on? Too many, I decided. It was his time to go, not mine. But now… Oh, how the memories came back!
The visions began to fade from bright to dim. With a deep sigh, I closed my eyes. I was in darkness. Peace came over me, a peace like none other that I had ever felt before. I began to feel sleepy. Sleepy.
The wind blew.
An old, wrinkled body, seated in a chair on the lonely porch facing a white picket fence and empty dirt road, slumped lifelessly against the arm. The long white locks fell around an old face with a smile upon its lips.
The wind blew.
The wind was blowing from the west, seeming to develop in the red and orange hues of the brilliant sunset. The glow cast itself out over a land of tall trees, swaying grass, and the lonely fence that separated the property and the old dirt road. A flock of birds took flight suddenly, winging themselves across the blood red sun.
