few nurses came. The chaplain stood with us. Someone played music from a phone because the speaker system wasn’t working.
Eleanor had a rare burst of energy that day.
She stood beside me.
Actually stood.
No wheelchair.
She lifted her hand toward the nurse taking pictures.
Just Eleanor in white, smiling so hard I thought her face might hurt.
When I slid the ring onto her finger, she whispered, “Look at me.”
“I’m looking.”
“No. Really look.”
So I did.
Afterward, she ate half a slice of cake and complained that the frosting was too sweet.
She lifted her hand toward the nurse taking pictures.
“I’m a bride.”
“You are.”
Afterward, she ate half a slice of cake and complained that the frosting was too sweet.
Then she fell asleep in a chair with the ring still on.
For that afternoon, nobody treated her like a patient.
She died three
