Love in the Time of Corona

1 – Rose, Rose, I love you
 

~ I must leave you now, but I leave my heart ~

~

August 2020

“It’s on me today.” 
Her voice lacked the usual energy and fervour it usually possessed. I glanced up and saw her soft nod. She didn’t have to say anything, but her gesture meant everything. 
“Thank you.” I tried to whisper the words so my voice wouldn’t crack, but I just ended up mouthing it. She tied a white ribbon around the bouquet of white lilies and handed it back to me with reverence. 
I gave her a small smile, not that she could see it. It was all I could muster. 

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3 Months Ago

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I skipped every second step down from the train station to the shops underneath, my breathing fogging up my glasses thanks to the mask. Skidding to a stop outside the florist, I checked my hair in the reflection in the window. It was a bit messy from all my running. Oh well, I was late, no time to fix it. I straightened my blazer and walked into the bright shop. 
“Hey Jordan! I’ve got the usual prepared here for you today,” the florist greeted me cheerfully from behind her mask, holding out a bouquet of pastel purple lavenders, baby pink roses and white baby’s breath. 
“Thanks Lily,” I struggled to catch my breath as I handed her the money. She passed me the flowers and then the change. Picking up my satchel, I nodded to her and continued running.

~

“Good morning Henry,” I sat down on the chair beside the elderly man. He jerked awake, out of his state of somnolence, grumbling under his breath. “I have something for you today.” I passed him a stick of lavender from the bouquet and he held it in his palm. Arthritis. 
“Dr Hall.” The wrinkles around his mouth moved while he spoke. I smiled kindly, handing him his pills and a glass of water. Slowly he swallowed them, one by one, cringing at the bitter aftertaste. 
“How have you been feeling? Any pain? Anything you think I should know?” I asked, taking back the empty plastic cups. He was silent for a few moments, staring vacantly at the white wall across from us. Finally, he found the words.
“I just can’t seem to move my,” he lifted his hand and gestured to his fingers which were stuck in an unnatural position. “My… um…”
“Fingers?” I filled in the word he was looking for. He nodded. 
This was my daily life. Confronting the fears and realities we were all destined to face at some point. Whether it was sooner or later, pretty much everyone was going to reach a point where they lost a part of themselves to this unavoidable disease. Old age. 
After Henry was Walter, and after Walter was Geraldine. Of course, each patient meant something to me. They all had amazing stories and sweet anecdotes about times long gone. But like any other human being, I had my favourite. Her name was Rosemary. 
Perhaps it was her knowing smile, or the wisdom and kindness in her eyes that reminded me of my own grandmother? There was just something about her that was so warm and comforting that I could not help making her a favourite. And that was also why it hurt so much more as her dementia progressed. 
She was sitting on the rocking chair in the corner of the room, knitting needles lying idle on her lap, chin on her chest, in a peaceful sleep. I smiled, replacing the previous day’s flowers from the vase beside her bed with what was left of today’s. The wall behind her was covered with pictures. It told the story of an entire life, filled with more love, happiness and heartbreak than I could possibly imagine. The oldest photo displayed was from her wedding day. Her husband Robert was smiling like he was the luckiest man in the world as he carried her. She had one arm wrapped around his neck and her bouquet in the other. Perhaps someday it could be me in a photo like that? I tried to imagine myself carrying the woman of my dreams in my arms like that, but for some reason it just wasn’t working. I stepped out of the room, closing the door behind me when I heard her speak. 
“Doc? Is that you?” she sounded so tired. I would have even said sad, but Rosemary was not the kind of person who was sad. Well, she must have felt the emotion, but she was great at hiding it. I opened the door. 
“Rosie! Good morning!” I pulled up a visitor’s chair and sat across from her. Today seemed to be a good day. She could remember me. 
“You bought me flowers,” she smiled a little. I picked up the vase and placed it on the small coffee table between us. She watched it in silence for some time, brows creased. 
“Robert used to buy me flowers,” she said quietly, stumbling over a few of her words. They had been married for sixty-four years before he passed away. They used to share the room. She stared down at the needles, eyes vacant. 
“Where is he? Where is Robbie?” she continued, as if suddenly aware of something important. 
“Robert? Rosie, he’s… he’s gone,” I reached out to hold her trembling hand. 
“Gone? Gone where? It’s our anniversary!” she looked around, disoriented, until her gaze fell onto the flowers once again. “He bought me flowers! Always so sweet, my Robbie.”
It was painful to watch. She had lost so much – her love, her memories, her independence. It made my chest hurt to know there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening. All I could do was listen and smile while my heart broke. 
“Jordan, did I ever tell you how Robbie and I got married?” she held me back as I made to leave. She had told me many times, but each time, just seeing her eyes gleam with joy was enough to bring me some happiness too. It was like I was living through her, especially because I had no one in my own life to love so much. 
It was my lunch break anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to listen again. 
“It was late 1951 – December I think, or maybe November – look at me, I can’t even remember,” she sighed and continued with a smile.
“Robbie and I had always known each other. We went to school together all our lives. He was such a cheeky boy, but a handsome young man. So yes, one summer night in 1951, I was coming home from a friend’s house when he drove past me. He stopped the car and ran to catch up with me, asking if he could drop me home. Obviously, I said no. He was heading in the other direction. But Robbie, being Robbie, convinced me to go with him.
“That was a wonderful night, Jordan. He took me for a drive in his brand new car and then we sat on the hood and watched the stars for hours. Of course, I was in a lot of trouble when I went home, but it was worth it.” She stared wistfully at their wedding photo, a smile on her lips. 
“Since then, Robbie was always taking the opportunity to tease me, and at some point, our banter turned into flirting. A few months later, he came up to me with this silly grin on his face and said ‘you know Rosie, I was thinking of going on an adventure, and I wanted you to come with me’. I asked him to tell me where, but he wouldn’t tell me. He just kept on smiling his stupid smile. When I gave up and said I would go, he got down on one knee, in the middle of the street and said ‘will you be mine through this adventure we call life?’. 
“I almost laughed, but he wasn’t joking. He had a ring and he was watching me with his big blue eyes. It was then that I knew that he was the one for me. Always kept me on my toes, knew how to sweep me off my feet – that was my Robbie.” 
All throughout her monologue, she had been pausing, trying to think of words and stuttering. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, dabbing her eyes, a sad smile on her lips. The story almost brought tears to my eyes too. I glanced at the faded photo on the wall. They just looked so happy. 
Maybe one day I would feel that way about someone. I shook my head. That day could not be anytime soon. I wasn’t going anywhere, no one was. I wasn’t seeing anyone, I didn’t have time. Life was far too stressful to balance love on top of everything else. Maybe if things were different?
Squeezing her hand, I said goodbye and left to go to my next patient. 

~/\~