GOOD MORNING BEAUTIFUL
By Kathy Bohannon

He had just had surgery for the first time in years, and it was dark in the hospital room where the morphine began to drip. Finally in a long awaited release, the bed became buoyant and he sailed into oblivion.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, his wife of twenty-five years raised up from the chair she was curled up in. She peeked over the bedrail that separated them, and watched him breathe. Satisfied, she settled back into the cushions, and praying for him once again, she slept.

It seemed just a few moments later that she heard him stirring. A moan escaped his lips, and he reached for her through the rails. They found one another in the darkness of the room, and held hands, both comforted by the small gesture. Content that she was there, his restlessness ceased, and again he gave in to the sailing, the rocking motion of the imaginary ship that carried him out to a dreamy, balmy Caribbean Sea.

It had been only a couple of months since the two of them spent a week together on their anniversary cruise. Standing on the balcony of their cabin with the open sea surrounding them, she told him then how that moment would stay with her forever. She said the blueness of the ocean would be a special memory for the rest of her life. It would always be a place for her to go when she needed a memory to take her away. His conscious mind would later remember how the morphine took him away, far away from the pain, away from the analytical thought he was so reliant on. He would remember going to her place, the blue sea, standing on a balcony watching, reaching for her hand and feeling the waves roll beneath him.

It was a long night as he struggled to rest in the short stretches of oblivion. She kept her vigil, checking every time he moved to see if he needed her. Finally she snuggled into the pillow on the arm of her chair, and she slept.

By morning, he turned his head to see her, and he watched as the sun peeked through the curtains. His mind was clearer now, and he was grateful for the morning light that danced upon her curls. He thought of how many times he had watched her sleep. She was beautiful that way, at peace, dreaming with her whimsical mind. He wondered if she rested during the night. He only remembered reaching for her and finding her. He thought of how she refused to go home and leave his care to the nursing staff. He was glad now that he married such a stubborn woman.

It was their way, his and hers. They had a routine. They didn’t leave one another, no matter what. In all the years past, they never took a separate vacation, never had separate accounts, never separate friends. If one couldn’t be included, then the other simply wasn’t interested. It just happened that way from their beginning.

They were two hippie kids who fell in love and they began their lives without a care in the world. In four years, their house became a home, children’s laughter filled the rooms, and suddenly the two high school sweethearts were all grown up.

He thought of that as he looked at the flecks of gray in her hair. He studied her now while she slept, and he felt as if he was looking at her for the first time. The ring he placed on her finger so many years ago was now part of a hand that showed years of work. He traced her open palm with his finger, lightly, just enough to touch without disturbing her. The line was broken on her left hand, and he remembered her mother once said it meant two careers. He smiled to himself, thinking of all the jobs she had taken to help him feed their children.

She began to stretch, yawned, and her brown eyes met his. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said with a smile. She closed her hand around his, that warm, gentle touch he had known for so long. It was the hand she would hold as long as God allowed, and she knew she was blessed.