Last week Sharon Michaels received a call from their family doctor telling her to hurry back to the hospital. She hurried to her car, wondered if she had enough gas, worried who would shovel snow off the driveway since she still had to heal from the recent hip replacement and when she reached the third floor, she raced down the hall toward his room where Doctor Bloom waited for her.
“Sharon, Barry had a heart attack and there was nothing we could do to save him.” She grabbed his white coat and said, “You’re saying Barry’s gone? He’s dead?” She rushed past the doctor, pushed open the door where her husband lay still, his hazel eyes closed, gone forever from her life. His checkered robe hung in the open closet, slippers tucked below, forlorn and shabby. Sharon used the stepstool to climb up on the bed; she needed to be close to him and caress his face; already he felt cool to her lips. She whispered Barry come back to me, you just left but there’s still time to return.; you’re the leader, and I follow. Her fists clenched knowing it’s too late, too late.