Perfidious

The lie started to unravel when the dates became too hard to remember. Was it March 16th or was it July 16th? Was it 1919 or 1915? Why did it have to become a lie? It isn't important now. Actually, it never was. He would have loved her no matter what.  But it leaves a question. Makes us wonder. What else was she lying about? Saying one thing, meaning another. About everything. So, when I painfully remember her thanking me at the end, I have to ask what she really meant. Why was she thanking me? Me, who had never gotten her the video she asked for. Who put off resizing her wedding band so that it could fit her arthritic fingers.  Who forgot or postponed one thing after another.  Until it was too late. She could not watch a video. Could not wear her ring.  Was it a kind of thanks, but no thanks? There is no more conversation possible. So, I will never get an answer to any of my questions. I can only ponder what  I meant to her. Part servant, part child. Serving her until the end. Faithfully, but a little mediocre.  In the final months, it was not a matter of what she could watch, but being watched over. The pain. The distance. I would have swallowed her food for her. Offered her my blood. Her pain became mine. But she was never mine. I was sidelined. Ever watchful. Ever hopeful. Always waiting.