The clock on the bedside table read 2:17 a.m. when I got out of bed and padded down the hallway to the kitchen for a glass of water. There in the moonlight was my dear friend and confidante. She was standing alone in the dark gazing out the window into nothingness. Her hearing and vision had diminished over the years. She contracted a gum disease and lost fifteen teeth in her late thirties. After two surgeries in her early forties her spirit began to wane. I whispered her name and she turned in my direction for only a moment then turned back around and faced the window. I slowly approached her and gave her a hug. There was no response, but she always liked big hugs. I returned to bed and spooned my snoring sweetie until I fell asleep.
We could hear her roaming around the house at all hours of the night. Her doctor told us that she was exhibiting signs of dementia. She had just turned forty-nine and was young and active. Her thick dark hair was highlighted with chestnut brown hues and a slight sprinkling of gray which enhanced her natural beauty. It was difficult for my husband and I to accept her diagnosis and maladies. The quality of her life had changed dramatically, but we wouldn’t ever be ready to see her go.
She and I strolled through the maze of streets within our idyllic neighborhood each day. We smelled fragrant roses, gardenias, jasmine and plumeria. We checked out the muscle cars and marveled at the colorful delicacy of butterflies. When I started leading, we slowed down to a more relaxing pace. She always walked so briskly that I had to jog alongside or behind her. Our walks were mostly in silence, she had never been much of a talker. She did not show any signs of pain, but it wasn’t much of a comfort. What went on in her mind? Was she lost inside and trying to communicate?
Six months passed, she was now fading and in pain. My husband and I sat with her in the exam room at the doctor’s office. The doctor examined her and looked at us with concern and left the room. At once we knew that her pain and confusion would dissipate. Our dear friend would be at peace soon. The doctor returned to find the three of us huddled together on the couch. She was leaning heavily on my arm and seemed almost limp. The doctor approached us and placed the stethoscope on her chest, Within a minute he announced that her heart had stopped. She passed right before our eyes. We cradled her in our arms and cried. We would remember her as vital, happy and active as she was before the challenges.
Now when I walk into the moonlit kitchen at some ungodly hour of the night, I thank God that she is no longer there staring off into the abyss and suffering. Her identification tags sit on the shelf above the sink in a little heart-shaped crystal dish. When I see them I smile. Shadow, my dear friend and confidant, is no longer in the dark. She is now enjoying the moonlight.
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