Tuesday, February 7, 2023


 The Two Beds

The Two Beds

Tuesday, February 7, 2023


It’s early, 5:31 a.m. to be exact and still very dark. Shadows of light streaming in from night-lights streak the walls. 

Lying in the middle of the Big Bed, I’m tired but wide awake. 

Ross is peacefully sleeping in the bed next to me. It's a narrow bed with cold chrome metal rails. I can hear his quiet breathing, in and out, in and out. 

I am thinking of the last time we were together in the Big Bed.  It too was early morning, a few weeks ago. twenty-six days to be exact.   

I was snuggled up to him, my arms across his thin bony chest.  

I painfully recall that I was softly crying, murmuring  a lot of “I’m sorries”. 

“I’m sorry I got angry,” I whispered.  

“It’s just that I’m tired, so tired.”  

"I'm so sorry." 

All that week Ross had been particularly restless during the day but even more so at night. 

That night I woke in the middle of the night to find him wandering around the bedroom, pointing and gesturing, lecturing to his long-ago students.

“Ross,” I grumpily and harshly said, “come back to bed!" 

After several more futile attempts to urge him back into the bed, raising my voice louder each time, I impatiently got out of bed, took his arm and and tried to lead him towards the bed. 

He shook my hand away, mumbling something about his students. 

Frustrated, I sat on the edge of the bed, not knowing what to do. 

An hour later, now 5:30 a.m., I could see he was slowing down. 

I stood up and once again took his arm. This time he let me lead him towards the bed. I helped him in and he immediately fell asleep. 

Little did I know, as I held onto him, whispering my apologies, that it would be the last time we would be together in the Big Bed. 

Later that morning, as I tried to get Ross dressed, he was unable to stand and could not lift himself out of the wheelchair. 

I had to call 911. 

He spent 4 days in the hospital with no improvement. 

During those 4 days I made arrangements to have a hospital bed brought into the house and put next to the Big Bed.   

He is now bedridden, confined to the narrow bed with the cold chrome metal rails. 

Each evening, 9:15 to be exact, I stand by the narrow bed. I lean over and stroke his silver hair.

“I’m going to get my PJ’s on now,” I say." 

"Then I’m going to go to sleep right next to you, okay?”

I lean over the chrome barriers to kiss his forehead. 

“I love you. You are my favorite.  You’re my sweetheart.” 

Although he doesn’t respond, I know he understands. 

As I hold tightly onto those icy barriers, with not even the heat from the palms of my hands warming them, I yearn to crawl in next to him one more time. 












  1. Hari OM
    ((((((((((((((((🩷 Lynda 🩷)))))))))))))) you know I know... and that's all you need from me just now. Will keep you in thought and prayer as you traverse these closing times. YAM xx

  2. My heart goes out to you as I know how difficult these times are for you. I am a caregiver for my mother who has dementia. It is hard to experience the ups and downs, emotions, and confusion they suffer through every day without keeping your emotions and reactions in a calm stage. Praying for you and Ross.

  3. My heart is breaking for you both. I know the pain and anguish all too well.

  4. So sorry dear, Praying for you both.

  5. I'm so sorry. You never really know when that last time will be for some things. Take care of yourself.

  6. I’m so sorry for all the losses you’ve had to endure already. Sleeping in the same bed with your love is a big one.