Spoon in Spoon

A Story by Mike

A story about kindness, growing old and a tenderness that is unique to a lifelong of love.

Martha

11.000 ticks. One tick every 3 seconds. The radiator pipes echoing through the house with every tick. 5 hours of tapping the radiator. Every tap a cry for help. Help. Tap. Ticking Echo. Help. Tap Ticking Echo.

A pain so paralysing that she couldn’t do anything but tap the radiator with her wedding ring. Resting her hand on the cold metal, slowly raising her finger and dropping it down. Metal on metal, her call for help.

Helpless she lay. She knew he was upstairs. Asleep with his hearing aid off. Although she doubted if the little device made much difference.

70 years they’d been married. Travelled the world. Had two children. 11 grandchildren and 4 great-grandchildren.

Love was their shared memories. Until recently they had still made love. Tender. They were as one. Like any other two parts, there were conflicts and irritations but they never fought, although he could be brazen, she was pure kindness.

Now her body was in constant pain. No longer able to make love. No longer able to just be kind. A grey hue on her face. Her eyes had turned dark. She was ready to die. Wanted to die. Her body in so much pain that she was unable to get out of bed at night when she needed the loo. Her pride scattered. It started with retiring her running club. For 45 years, she had been running every Wednesday. Women half her age left breathless in the trail of this old lady. When the Parkinson started she quickly had to stop her running. The medication reducing her control of her failing body. Soon she could no longer join the annual skiing trips. Their daily walks in the forest became weekly, then monthly. Now, while she was tapping the radiator, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d walked through the forest.

It was cold downstairs. Last night the pain had been too bad for her to manage the stairs. He had already gone to sleep earlier in the evening and they had wished each other goodnight. She stayed on the couch. The radiators automatically turned-off at midnight. Her bones were cold. The March nights could be frosty. She realised they had left the kitchen window open and a chilly breeze punished her frail body.

She couldn’t get up from the couch. Her medication was upstairs. Usually she would take a few painkillers to help her get up. Without them her body would not move. Lifting her finger was all she could do. Tick. Tick.

The coldest part was just before the sunrise. Soon he would be awake now. He would come downstairs wearing his suit, ready for Easter brunch with the family. They thought about cancelling the event, but it could be the last family brunch before she died and she decided they should go ahead. She would take an extra dose of morphine and smile for the photos. She wanted people to remember her as the warm, energetic and loving woman she had always been. Not the incontinent helpless shadow she’d become.

Robert

He wondered if she’d come upstairs at all last night or if the pain had been too much for her. He had missed her spoon this morning. Usually she would cuddle up against him in the morning, warming her thin body against his.

The disease had gnawed away at her already slender body, she barely weighted 90pounds and she was losing weight by the day. Unable to retain body heat, they had retained a level of intimacy through his body warmth.

Her pillow looked unused, she probably slept on the couch again. He decided to take a shower, shave and get dressed before going downstairs. She didn’t like it when he came downstairs unwashed, especially on special occasions. Soon their great-grandchildren would arrive. He had hidden Easter Eggs the day before and they would explore their garden until every stone was turned and each egg found. The grandchildren had offered to take care of brunch, so all he had to do was dress in his suit make sure he was clean-shaven.

As walked down the stairs he called out her name. He knew he couldn’t hear her reply, but at least she would know he was on his way. It felt cold downstairs and he remembered they had left the kitchen window open last night. Martha mush have been cold, hopefully she had managed to grab the blanket from the chair before settling on the couch.

He stepped in the living room, his hearing aid still turned-off to save himself a scolding for not closing the window before going to bed. He could see that the blanket was still on the armchair. Martha lay on the couch, she looked pale and blue.

Before he could worry if she was still alive he spotted a small cloud of air coming from her mouth as she exhaled. Her motionless body unstirred by his presence. He kneeled by her side, held her against his warm body and kissed her forehead. He lay down next to her on the couch, spooning her tiny cold body against his.

Bob, is that you? I’ve been trying to wake you… I needed the toilet.. Will you help me please?

Carefully he helped her get up and walked her to the bathroom. Gently bending down, he helped her sit down and undid her pyjama bottoms and slid down her pants. She leaned her head against his shoulder whilst she unburdened herself from the tiny wee that had been bothering her since 4am.

© 2017 Mike

Author's Note

I often wonder what will happen to us when we grow old and how we deal with our body aging quicker than the mind. Let me know what you think of this story please.

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Featured Review

Stan Lee

I sort of cried when I read this. It was so dear. Absolutely thrilled to find a storyteller here with such refined expertise. I'm in love with your characters. I'm in love with your story. This never happens! Ohmygoodness I want to rave about your story but honestly, it's left me breathless. Amazing. Thank you for sharing.