June

On my way home from the hospital, I couldn't help but think about the brief moment I felt Rose's hand squeeze mine. It was so delicate, like a flutter. If I hadn't been paying attention, there was a good chance that I wouldn't have felt it. I told the doctor but after verifications, he explained that nothing had changed and that it was probably, due to the fact that I was exhausted, a pigment of my imagination or a simple spasm. I nodded absentmindedly, convinced that she really did squeeze my hand, voluntarily or not.

When I walked through the door, Ginger greeted me happily, as usual. I fed her then grabbed the leash for a walk in the park. We were out for an hour, playing fetch on the empty baseball field. I could tell Ginger missed Rose, more than anyone could imagine. She was really attached to her mistress since day one and I knew that she was clueless about where Rose was. Naively, I asked the hospital staff if I could bring Ginger in but was told that dogs weren't allowed in the building unless they were a service animal.

Three hours later, around midnight, as I was putting away my laptop and getting ready to go upstairs to bed, Ginger ran around the kitchen and barked non-stop. She was at my feet, asleep, just a second ago. I looked through the glass door to see if someone was in the backyard, but I saw nothing and the dog kept barking.

"Ginger!" I snapped, hoping she wouldn't wake the whole neighborhood. "Stop it!"

She finally stopped and my phone started ringing. I frowned when I saw the blocked caller I.D. but answered nonetheless.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Hockley?" the man asked and I knew I heard that voice before.

"Yes, this is he."

"This is Dr. Matthews," he said as my heart pounded in my chest. "I'm calling about your wife."

"Is everything alright?" I asked, panic rushing through me. "Did something happen?"

"She woke up about an hour ago. She's confused, but also not really herself yet. I suggest you come over and we can talk some more about it."

"Yes, yes of course. It isn't even a question," I said, already out the door and running to my car. "I'll be right there."

My hands were shaking profusely as I backed out of the driveway. The roads were mostly empty at this hour so it didn't take long to get to the hospital. I hurried to Rose's room. I could do it with my eyes closed by now, probably. It has been ten weeks and I had walked these hallways every day. Most of the staff on the floor Rose was on could recognize me and knew my name even if they never had to care for my wife.

Dr. Matthews was at the nurse station when I stepped out of the elevator. He asked me to follow him into his office and despite the fact that the only thing I wanted to do right now was to see Rose, I somehow relented and walked behind him.

"How are you?" he asked, and I knew he knew the truth no matter what lie I was about to tell him.

"Exhausted," I answered truthfully and he nodded. "But nervous too. Relieved, mostly."

"It won't be easy," he declared. "Waking up from comas isn't like the movies where everything comes back to normal like nothing happened."

If only he knew how many nights I spent reading on the subject and how many people I've met to try to understand the after, if there ever was one.

"I… I'm aware that she may never be the same. I know that," I told him, my voice shaky and terrified.

"After a few days we should have a better idea of what her recovery will be like. I just wanted to inform you that she is still in a minimally conscious state for now. She's drowsy."

I nodded and followed him to Rose's room, my heart beating faster and faster. She was there, lying in the bed, but her eyes were open. I almost couldn't believe it. After all this time, waiting and hoping, here she was. Awake and alive.

"Hey," I said softly when my eyes met hers.

I approached carefully, unsure if she would even remember me. Her eyes weren't like I remembered them, they were foggy and sad, terrified even. But I saw that she knew who I was. She lifted her hand slowly, a mere inch from the mattress, signaling me that it was okay to come closer. In fact, she wanted me to.

I kissed her forehead, my lips lingering on her soft skin, and I felt the teardrop leaving my eye as she leaned into me.

"I missed you so much," I whispered, my voice breaking.

I looked at her and she opened her mouth to tell me something but only an awkward groan came out. At that moment, I saw the frustration in her eyes. She tried again, without success.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay," I reassured, stroking her hair. "You don't have to say anything. I know… I love you, too."

I took her hand and she squeezed it, her only way of telling me that she loved me. I sat on the chair next to her bed, not letting go of her hand. I spent the rest of the night with her, stroking her hair, whispering to her. I wanted her to understand that I wasn't going anywhere. No matter what, I would be there to take care of her. In sickness or in health. Always.

In the early hours of the morning, I went downstairs to get some food into my pleading stomach. Rose was asleep. Walking back to her room, I saw Dr. Matthews and asked him if we could talk.

"Do you have any idea when it will be okay and safe for me to bring her home?" I asked.

"Not for a few weeks, I believe. You know, Mr. Hockley, she will have to learn everything all over again. Talking, eating, walking. Her leg had time to heal but we can't be sure if it still works yet. She will likely be in a wheelchair for a few months. You might consider a recovery home because I know your house isn't adapted."

"I'll take care of that. Listen, I'll sell this house and buy another one that will do if I have to. I won't put her in a home when she has me to take care of her."

"I understand that you want her home, believe me I do. But we're talking around the clock care. And it may last longer, the rest of her life even."

"I vowed to do that almost three years ago when I married her," I said.

"Okay…" he surrendered when he saw how tenacious I was. "I can still refer you to some places if you need any help, would that be okay?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

Two weeks later, I was allowed to take Rose outside for a walk. It had been three months since she took a fresh breath of air or that she felt the wind on her face. I sat her in her wheelchair and we made our way downstairs. As soon as the sun hit her face, she leaned her head backwards and closed her eyes. I smiled softly.

"Feels good, huh?" I asked and she moved her head.

I crouched to help her upright because she was slouching in her chair, her body somehow too tired to hold her up correctly. She rested her hand on my head and stroke my hair. It was the first time in months that I felt her touch and I had to hold back a sob as I looked up into her eyes. I kissed her lips softly as she stayed motionless. I knew she wanted to kiss me back but couldn't and I saw the tears rimming her eyes.

"It's okay…" I muttered and she managed a small nod. "It's going to take a while, to get you better. But I'll be there every step of the way. You know that I love you more than anything in the world, right?"

She closed her eyes as my hand caressed her cheek and a tear escaped the corner of her eye. I wrapped my arms around her and held her as tightly as I could without hurting her. I buried my face into her neck, looking for that smell of peaches and flowers but I could only find the hospital on her skin. She needed a bath this morning but I was skeptical that the nurses actually gave her one.

The next morning, I arrived early at the hospital, finding Rose trying to eat a single spoon of what looked like oatmeal. She couldn't bring the spoon to her mouth and I could feel she was beginning to lose her patience and self-control, furious that she couldn't do something as insignificant as eating by herself.

"Do you need any help with that?" I asked her.

"No," she managed to reply with a groan, barely sounding like herself.

She finally succeeded but half the food trailed down the corner of her mouth. I cleaned her face once she was finished and got her ready for a bath. I looked into her chart last night before leaving and got the confirmation that no bath had been given like planned. I was furious. So today, I brought her shampoo and soap and would give her the needed bath myself.

I shampooed her hair, massaging her scalp. And it was when I took a step back to get the shower head that I realized how wrong this whole thing looked.

Rose was 32 years old. I wasn't supposed to do all of this for her, not when she was still this young. Not when she was striving only a couple of months earlier. It was surreal.

"Can you bend your head back for me, my love?" I asked softly and she leaned her head backwards while I began to rinse the shampoo out of her hair. "Awesome. You're doing great," I told her, leaving a small kiss on her temple.

The sight of soap and water on her skin brought me back to all these showers we took together. Before. Why did I take any of this for granted? Why did it have to happen to us?

Not that I would wish this situation to happen to anybody else either.

I wrapped a towel around Rose and carried her out of the bath. I dressed her then wheeled her chair in front of the window so she could look outside while I brushed her damp hair. She muttered incomprehensible words but they sounded like she was thanking me. We spent about an hour sitting there, mostly in silence. Only each other's presence seemed to matter.

Later that day, a young man came to get Rose and bring her on the third floor where she would meet with a speech therapist. With the MRI results, Dr. Matthews was confident that Rose would do a full recovery but that it would take a while. It could take months, years even.