Personal Connection

The steady rhythmic beep, beep, beep of the monitors attached to Ida’s body lull me into a semi-conscious state. I cradle her hand in mine, absentmindedly rubbing her wedding ring with one of my fingers. It’s strange how the mind works. I sometimes have trouble remembering what I had for breakfast, but even after sixty years, my memory of the day we met is as vivid as if it were yesterday. I know it’s the same for her because of a recent conversation.

We met in a record store in January 1964. It was bitterly cold outside, so I ducked in the store more for the warmth than to check out the records. I wandered up and down the aisles, feigning interest in the bins of vinyl albums so I could stay inside a little longer to thaw out. There was a poster of The Beatles’ first album I Want to Hold Your Hand, hanging on the wall, that caught my attention. It was a catchy song, but I preferred Roy Orbison’s Pretty Woman. I kept staring at the poster instead of looking where I was going and walked into Ida, my pretty woman. She was holding The Beatles album. You might say it was that album that brought us together.

I apologized for being so clumsy and we started talking about songs and schools and the usual stuff teenagers talk about. We left the store together and by the end of the afternoon; I was holding her hand. That was sixty years ago and I’m still holding her hand. Our bond has grown stronger every day since then. It’s why we don’t always need to speak our thoughts. Sometimes it’s quite comical when that happens.

Recently I was going to the store for something, I don’t remember what it was now. I got to the car and realized I had forgotten my keys. Muttering to myself about how dumb I was as I walked back to the house, only to see Ida standing in the doorway. She sported a grin from ear to ear. In her outstretched hand were my car keys. We didn’t speak. I gave her one of those you don’t have to say it looks, took the keys, kissed her, and went on my way.

It’s been said that actions speak louder than words and that is especially true for us. There was the time that I had lost my job and didn’t know how to break the news to her. I walked into the house looking like a truck had run me over. Without asking what was wrong, she put her arms around me, making me feel everything would be all right. Not long after, I returned the gesture when she crashed the car. A simple hug and a caring look were all it took for us to get past our troubles.

A gentle squeeze of my hand snapped me back into the here and now. Ida was awake and looking at me with her lovely blue eyes. She was lacking the strength to speak, but words were unnecessary. It was obvious by her ragged breathing and the lack of strength in her fingers that we were out of time. Mustering all my strength to contain my emotions, I lifted her hand in mine and gently kissed it.

“I’m so glad you let me hold your hand all those years ago. You’re still my pretty woman.”

I could see joy in her eyes as she recalled our first meeting. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed for the last time. Through the oxygen mask, I could make out the hint of a smile. In my mind, I heard her say, “I’ll wait for you.”