Saturday, September 13, 1975
In the morning, Captain Griffith called again to confirm my reservations aboard the flight to Baltimore with the news that Al had arrived at the naval hospital late the night before. Apprehension suddenly tried to take over the happiness I felt. I knew to expect both physical and emotional scars, but how much of the husband I had known would be in the man who was a returned Prisoner of War? The VC's treatment of POWs was far from exemplary--how deeply had they shattered his spirit?
These thoughts mingled with the joy and relief I felt at Al's return. My flight to Maryland was alternately happy and sorrowful. The closer I came to the East Coast, though, the more the happiness began to win the battle for control. I decided his condition did not matter; Al was back and alive, that was the only important thing. I directed a silent prayer of gratitude heavenward as the plane taxied down the runway.
A tall man in naval uniform was waiting for me as I disembarked. Captain William Griffith extended his hand for me to shake. "Lieutenant Calavicci, welcome to Baltimore. I trust your flight was pleasant."
I nodded in thanks. "Yes, Captain Griffith, thank you."
"I have a car ready to get you settled in your hotel."
"I appreciate that, Captain; but, sir, I would really like to see my husband as soon as possible."
His smile widened, "I fully understand, ma'am. I can drive you directly to the hospital. I'll have someone see to your bags." He signaled, and a young ensign hurried over. "Ensign Randolph will take your luggage to the hotel for you."
"Thank you very much," I said as I handed the baggage claim tickets to Ensign Randolph.
"How is Al?" I asked as we walked to the drive in front of the airport. Captain Griffith waited until we were both seated in his car and on our way before he answered.
"He's doing about as well as could be expected," he said. "He's quite weak, naturally, and suffering from malnourishment. He's also got some nasty infections in several of the wounds they'd inflicted on him." He glanced over at me in concern. I struggled to regain my composure, wiping away the tears that had sprung to my eyes at his words.
"Please continue, Captain," I said, "it's important that I know everything you can tell me."
Captain Griffith nodded. "He's going to need corrective surgery for several broken bones that didn't heal properly, particularly some ribs. But we can't perform the surgery until he's regained his strength."
"What about . . . ?" I couldn't seem to finish the sentence. Captain Griffith finished it for me.
"Psychological wounds?" At my nod, he continued. "We won't know about those for a while yet. They tend to take longer to surface. I hope your being there for him will help them heal quickly, though." His face grew wistful. "A lot of the POWs who'd been listed MIA came back to find themselves totally alone. Not only did they have to deal with the scars from the VC, they had to deal with the loss of their wives." He looked over at me again with a renewed grin. "Thank God you're still here for Al after eight years."
"Yes," I agreed as the angel's face flashed across my mind. "Thank God."
The rest of the drive was silent until we pulled up in front of the hospital. I stared up at the sign for several long seconds. Bethesda Naval Hospital. Al was in there, recovering from whatever atrocities the VC had committed. Did he know I was coming? Did he even remember me? Captain Griffith's voice pulled me back from my thoughts.
"Are you ready, Lieut...Mrs. Calavicci?"
I took a deep breath and smiled gratefully at the captain, "Yes. Yes, I am."
The elevator ride to the fourth floor was quiet. My only thoughts were of Al, and I wasn't capable of small talk. Nor did Captain Griffith seem willing to disturb my reverie. He only spoke when the elevator doors slid open.
"Lieutenant Calavicci's room is this way, ma'am." He led me down the still hallway to a private room and gently pushed the door open for me. "I'll give you some time alone with him," he said.
It took me a moment to adjust to the dim lighting in the room. The only sound was the hum of the machinery lining the walls. As I moved closer to the dark form on the bed, I could hear slow, but far from relaxed, breathing. I quietly sat down in the chair next to the bed and got my first good look at Al Calavicci in over eight years.
He hardly looked like the same man. Captain Griffith's explanation of malnutrition had not totally prepared me for Al's condition. I had never seen him so thin before. His face was drawn, his cheekbones far too pronounced, dark circles ringing his closed eyes. His right hand lay on top of the covers, with two IV lines running glucose and antibiotics into his system. The tubes seemed thicker than his fingers. I gasped when I noticed the white gauze bandages wrapped around each wrist. The wounds from the ropes and shackles would take a long time to heal, no doubt. As would the emotional ones, I thought, remembering Captain Griffith's words.
I picked up Al's left hand, tears stinging my eyes at how frail his once strong hand had become. He twitched, and his face contorted with whatever pain the dream he was having had resurrected. I reached over to caress his forehead with my other hand.
"Shhh," I soothed, "it's all right. Everything's going to be all right now." My voice must have penetrated the dream, for some of the tension left Al's face. "You're home, Al. You're home with me," I murmured, lifting stray curls from his forehead. I drew my hand back as he stirred.
"Al?" I whispered as his dark eyes slowly opened.
Al looked at me and smiled to himself, as if I was merely a part of his dream. The lids began to slide downward again when he tightened his grip on my hand.
His eyes snapped open and he stared incredulously at our intertwined fingers. Al lifted his eyes, gazing deeply, searchingly into mine.
"Beth?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Yes, Al," I said, lightly rubbing my thumb across the back of his hand, "I'm here."
"I'm not dreaming, am I? You're really here with me?"
"I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere, Al." Tears were beginning to fall from my eyes. "I'm right here," I repeated.
Al slowly lifted his right hand from the bed, wincing with the pain of movement. He touched my cheek, as if he were afraid I would vanish along with the last vestiges of the dream. "You're really here," he said over and over again. "Oh, God, you're really here." I tilted my head and kissed the palm of his hand.
"God, Beth, I've missed you so much," his voice broke and tears ran down his cheeks.
"I've missed you, too, Al. But we're together now. You're home." I leaned forward to kiss his forehead. "Nothing is ever going to separate us. Ever." I gingerly wiped the tears from his cheeks. He leaned his face into my touch, keeping a tight grip on my other hand.
"Beth, don't leave," he said in a small, almost childlike voice when I removed my fingers from his cheek. He seemed to be drinking me in with his eyes, matching my face to his memory.
I bent down, lightly outlining his mouth with my fingertips. "I don't plan on ever leaving your side." Almost hesitantly, though I'd longed to kiss him from the moment I'd entered the room, I met his lips with mine. The fervency with which he returned the kiss quickly put to rest any worries of hurting him or aggravating wounds. His left hand moved palm to palm with mine so that our fingers were laced together. Despite the pain it obviously caused him, Al brought his right hand up to touch my cheek and hair. When the kiss ended, the deep brown eyes still intently watching me glistened with emotion.
Sleep was beginning to overtake him again, but he fought it. "Al, love, you need your rest," I gently chided.
"No," he insisted. "I want to look at you. It's been so long...so damned long." He paused as a new flood of tears unashamedly broke free. "For eight years I've dreamed of seeing you again, hearing you say my name."
My own face was soaked with joyful tears. I lifted his hand and kissed his fingers. "I love you, Albert Calavicci."
Al was losing his battle to stay awake. Before sleep claimed its victory, he whispered the words I'd longed to hear for eight years, "I love you, Beth. God, I love you so much. My Beth..."
I sat and watched him sleep for several minutes. Only the sensation of his hand in mine kept me from doubting that this moment had actually come. I had my husband back, and I was not going to let him go. I gently stroked his cheek, wishing I could stroke away the harsh memories I knew lay beneath his troubled face.
"Lt. Calavicci?"
I turned to see Captain Griffith peering into the room. His voice was pitched low so as not to disturb Al.
"Come in, Captain," I smiled, speaking in the same low tone.
Captain Griffith paused at the foot of Al's bed. "I can already see what a positive effect you've had on him. This is the first time he's rested so easily."
"Seeing him has helped me a lot, too."
Captain Griffith gestured at our joined hands with a smile. "Obviously."
I laughed quietly and then soberly turned to Captain Griffith. "Captain, I appreciate the hotel accommodations you set up for me, but would it be possible for me to stay here, with Al?" I glanced at Al's peaceful face. "I don't want to leave him alone."
He looked thoughtful for a long moment. "I'll have the nursing staff set up a cot for you. I think it would be good for Al, and you. I'll have your luggage sent over immediately." He smiled and patted my shoulder before he left. "God bless you, Beth."