Timeless Love

Its 2pm. I know that I can expect to find a single marigold placed gently on the bench outside of the sliding glass doors. A marigold that I will deliver to room 18, Mrs. Hampton. I make my way to the front door, retrieve the golden flower and cheerfully enter Mrs. Hampton’s room. I announce my presence out of consideration for Mrs. Hampton’s failing sight. She knows why I’m there and I can see her face begin to glow as she anticipates her daily visit from Mr. Hampton.

It has been 32 days since the lockdown began and we closed our doors to visitors. Mr. and Mrs. Hampton had never spent a day apart in their 67 years of marriage and they had never planned to do so until Mrs. Hampton had a stroke three months ago that left her affected and unable to use the left side of her body. Every day, Mr. Hampton would come to visit her. He would give her the biggest hug, kiss her on her forehead and say, “I love you more.” He would sit with her from 7am-8pm, participating in her cares, activities and eating meals with her. Michael was their only child and had died suddenly from a heart attack thirty years ago at the age of 28. It was just the two of them and they had built a life of love and companionship like nothing I had seen before.

As the days passed and she went without the touch of his hand, his presence and palpable love that radiated from their time together, I watched Mrs, Hampton deteriorate rapidly. She use to use her dominant, unaffected right side to hold her utensils and feed herself, comb her hair, and could even roll to that side in bed without assistance. Her speech was limited but she could still communicate. Now, she won’t speak, her muscles have atrophied, and she has all but given up. Her hair is falling out, and she doesn’t care to smile anymore. I try to keep a positive attitude. I try to put off energy that will bring happiness but as the days go by and I watch the humans I care for deteriorate rapidly from lack of human contact, my soul is draining without a way to fill it back up.

I open Mrs. Hamptons hand and I place the single marigold in her palm. I raise her hand to her nose so she can smell the musky smell of the freshly picked flower. I release the breaks on her wheelchair, and I push her to the window. This is where the Hampton’s spend their time together now. Anywhere between 5-20 minutes depending on the weather and how long Mr. Hampton can tolerate the elements, this is how long he will spend staring longingly at his beautiful bride. Mr. Hampton does his best to remain optimistic for her but you can see the despair in his eyes. Today the heat brought in thunderstorms and with the rumble of the thunder, Mr. Hampton blew a kiss through the window and left. Today he only made it approximately five minutes. He will call later, just as he does everyday and one of the aides will give him all of the details of Mrs. Hamptons day. Nothing exciting, no big changes but he will listen intently to every detail of the days activities and events.

I had a scheduled three-day-weekend, I didn’t do anything the first day except sleep and binge watch Netflix. The second day, I got caught up on my household chores and by the third day I was anxious to return to work. A lot can happen in three days when you work in healthcare. I rounded out my mini staycation by ordering take out for my husband and I while I sipped a glass of wine and we exchanged laughs over the ridiculous words we chose to fill the scrabble board with. It was a nice reprieve. Tomorrow I would return to the halls that once were hustling with visitors, busy nursing staff and residents coming and going from appointments, therapy and the in-house salon but now are only filled with masked, tired and aching aides and nurses who desperately want to relieve the sadness for everyone they care for.

I entered the building like I do every workday, I stopped to get my temperature taken, sanitize my hands and grab an N95 mask. I donned my mask and my protective eye wear which had become part of my uniform now and I made my way to the time clock. It felt invasive sometimes, almost like I was entering a “restricted area.” I guess I was if you think about it. Next to the time clock was a “friendly reminder” that “masks and eyewear are mandatory, no exceptions.” As I rounded the corner one of my coworkers passed me and asked had I heard the news? Three residents and two staff had tested positive for COVID. I had expected this, prepared for it really. It was only a matter of time. I really thought it would happen sooner but I was proud of our team for keeping it at bay this long. I proceeded to the unit for report and as I cleared the hallway, I briefly looked in each room. I always do this, its like I’m taking roll-call in my head. I was curious to know who would be quarantined with COVID, hopeful that they would make a full recovery but anxious for the residents. As I breezed by room 18, I saw a perfectly made bed. It took a minute for it to register, I circled back and sure enough I saw what I thought I saw. I walked intently to the nurses station and asked what happened to Mrs. Hampton in room 18. “Oh, you didn’t hear? She had a heart attack in her sleep last night. She died around 1am they think.” Instantly my mind went to Mr. Hampton. I wondered how he was doing? Was he alone dealing with all of this? My heart hurt for him. I took a minute to let my mind reel and then I “turned it off” just like us healthcare workers do. We learn quickly to be resilient. There are other human beings to care for and you need to be on top of your game. You can really mess up if you’re stuck in your head and not thinking clearly. I was scheduled for a twelve hour shift that day, my feet were sore and my back was tight from all of the horrible body mechanics it takes to care for people. I popped two ibuprofen like I do most days and I drove home.

I made my coffee, let the dogs out and sat down to eat a piece of peanut butter toast. I burnt it while letting the dogs out but I didn’t have the energy or will to make another. I had a few minutes to spare so I pulled up Mrs. Hamptons obituary on my phone. I didn’t typically attend funerals of residents. I always felt weird at funerals even of my loved ones but I felt like I didn’t have any closure with the Hamptons. With COVID there wouldn’t be a funeral I could attend but it looked like from the details the funeral would be held at a later date anyway. I ate my toast and carried on with my day.

A few days went by, then weeks and months. We lost ten residents to COVID before the vaccine made it to the public. We had a total of four staff contract COVID and one is still in rehabilitation as a “long hauler.” I would do this thing were I would randomly look at obituaries and see if I knew anyone. I know a lot of healthcare workers that do the same, its almost as if we are looking to find out what the outcome was. We watched so much suffering and we just wanted answers. I don’t know what made me check that day but there it was, William Hampton, Mr. Hampton had passed away too. Although I didn’t know his cause of death, I had a suspicion that a broken heart contributed. I had decided to go to the visitation since the restrictions had been lifted to just specific masking requirements and social distancing.

The parking lot was sparse. I didn’t expect a large crowd given the limited number of family members the Hamptons had. I had reached out to a good friend who owned a floral shop and asked if she could prepare two bouquets of marigolds. Something very simple. She crafted two beautiful bouquets with just a simple orange ribbon tied around the stems. I approached a middle-aged woman greeting guests and introduced myself. I told her the story of Mr. Hampton and how he never missed a single day of visiting Mrs. Hampton and always brought a single marigold for us to give to her. The woman began to tear up. She introduced herself as a niece of the Hamptons and thanked me for the kind gesture as she placed the bouquets in front of the urns. She asked if I had ever heard the story behind the marigolds? It occurred to me in that moment that I had never asked but that I was curious about the significance. She told me that Mr. and Mrs. Hampton were high school sweethearts. They married right out of high school, came from very poor families and didn’t have much to spend on a wedding. The day they married, they were unable to afford flower arrangements but Mr. Hampton showed up to the chapel with a bouquet of marigolds that he picked from his grandmothers flower garden. Mrs. Hampton was so happy and she cherished the sentiment so much that she hung the bouquet to dry and kept it displayed at their home until it finally fell apart. It was the only gift Mr. Hampton could afford to give her on their wedding day and it meant the world to Mrs. Hampton.

Its so easy to lose sight of the little important things in a world that is moving so fast, filled with so much grief and chaos. I find myself slipping away sometimes, almost as if I have been lifted off the ground and carried away from reality. Its during that time that I feel the most helpless and hopeless. When spring rolled around I found myself thinking of the marigolds and the simplicity of the gesture but the significance that it held. I decided I wanted to never forget the love that Mr. and Mrs. Hampton shared and so here I sit among the marigolds growing wildly in my flower garden, sharing their story. It’s the little things that keep us going.