Fallen

Through the tears streaming down my face, I glance down at his face—my husband Jack's face. The face I know better than my own, the face that after today I will no longer see. Jack is dying—he will most likely be gone by the end of the day, if not before. His spirit and soul are already lost, but his body is still here, and, for this, I'm thankful. It gives me one, final, peaceful moment to lie with him, to memorize the feeling of his warmth and the closeness of his body, to rejoice in his presence on earth before the reality of his death and absence hits me. Somewhere inside I'm in unbearable pain, wondering how I will live without him, but another part of me, the part that's trying to cope, the part that's still in denial, wants to remember him—us—and how we started on the path to where we are now. As I lie in the crook of his limp arm, with my head resting on his chest, I think back to when we met five years ago. Despite the current circumstance, I can't help but smile.

I was 35 years old and living alone. Sort of dating, sort of settled into my single life, I wasn't waiting anymore for my one true love. I no longer believed in it—that fantasy had been dispelled after a series of heartbreaks. Dreams of home and husband and children had been replaced with dreams of professional success, happiness in myself, and love for friends and family.

I first saw Jack on a cold Pittsburgh winter morning. I was waiting for the bus to take me to my downtown office. I was cranky as ever, and it was freezing—I had visions of crawling back into bed and forgetting about the world for a day.

Jack walked up to the bus stop, absorbed in a book, and for some reason I don't understand, I noticed him on that day. He could have stood next to me every day before that one, but on that day, I took note. He looked about 40—thin, tall, and handsome in an untraditional way. His teeth were a bit too crooked and his hair was thinning, but there was something about his face that drew me to him—he looked and felt familiar, even though I'd never seen him before.

When the bus came a few minutes later, I forgot about him. I rushed on with the throng of people waiting, hoping I would find a seat or at least a hand strap to hold onto, but I didn't. I had to stand on the bus balancing my weight with my hips and my legs.

As I stared out the window at the neighborhoods passing by, planning for my day, I didn't notice the accident on the road ahead. So when the bus driver slammed on the brakes, I went flying. I stopped myself from smashing into the person in front of me but when I reeled back, I lost control. I fell into the person behind me and felt something hard fall on my head.

Besides the physical pain I felt from falling and having some unidentified object fall on my head, I was sick with embarrassment. I told myself I was too old to be worried about what other people thought, but I knew that everyone was staring at me and I felt stupid.

A few seconds after I fell, I felt a strong set of hands on my shoulders as they helped me up. I couldn't see who it was—the person was behind me—but I felt instantly relaxed when I felt this person's touch.

When I had my balance back, I turned and saw the man from the bus stop—Jack. He was even more familiar up close—I had the feeling that I knew him from somewhere.

"Are you okay?" he said.

"Yeah…I'm fine…sorry about bumping into you," I said.

"No, no…my book fell on your head…I feel terrible. Are you sure you're not hurt?"

While he talked to me, Jack kept his arms on my shoulders. If any other stranger did this to me, I would have been nervous and broken away from their grasp, but I just let him continue holding me. The bus was moving, people around us had stopped paying attention, and it felt like he and I were the only ones on the bus.

When the bus got to my stop, I thanked him for helping me and got off. He followed me and insisted on walking me to my office—the first of many signs that he was wonderfully different. I felt pampered and special in a way I never had before. When I left work that night, he was waiting for me again, and when I saw him every day for the next week, that was it—we've been together ever since.

In the five precious years since that perfect, fateful fall, Jack has caught me time and time again—when my mother got sick, when our son was born, when I lost my job—he was always there, steadfast in his love and commitment, always there with his arms around me, holding me steady, not letting me fall.

Even now, in his slow, steady decline toward death, he still holds me and gives me strength, even as the power and life in his body are disappearing. And as I lie in his arms one last time, I hear him telling me that he'll always be there to catch me, anytime I need it.

© 2006 by Meagan Manning