Beverlie’s eyes were blue

Beverlie’s eyes were blue. That’s really all we knew.

She could hear and understand, but could not participate. The constant thought I had was how true it is that the eyes are windows to the soul. I could see through her eyes of baby blue.

Full of emotion with no hope of expression. One day melts into another. Days turn into weeks and months and then years, she remains stuck in her living shell, unable to move.

“God please take me home, why did you leave me this way”. She cannot say it, her heart cries out but her lips don’t speak. She’s stuck inside a body that betrays her.

She can hear life all around her and she lays in bed motionless except for a beating heart, breathing lungs and seeing eyes.

She can’t even tell you what she likes to eat. She can’t tell you if she’s too hot or too cold or that she has to go to the bathroom.

The hands on the clock continue ticking as they always do and life goes by for others as usual.

She is all alone inside this body that refuses to listen to her will and her hands freeze, nails digging into her skin and cannot cry out. It hurts and no one knows.

Her children visit and bring flowers that she can’t touch, longing to hug them and can’t.

Looking at the flowers, thinking about what a good mother she was to receive such a beautiful gift and again blue eyes well up, full of tears now sliding down her cheeks. Two daughters and a son, loving them, but unable to express it.

Simple things amused her, I loved her giggles, still able to smile her face would light up.

I knew her so briefly and I could see her reality. I spoke to her often and I could feel her through her blue eyes. She could both hear and understand, this was clear looking into her eyes. That was the sadness of it all.

I thought of her today. She had blue eyes. Beverly had blue eyes. ❤️

02 May 2019

Musings of a post menopausal insomniac mind