Babes

photo by author

Sitting for hours in a Parisian hospital, I didn’t know how to react. It happened so fast. I was numb. In shock. His chart was on the table next to the bed. Even though the doctors told me what to expect, I took a look at it anyway. It was in French. I struggled with the words. His vital signs were not good, and his brain was flooded with blood, just as the doctors had said. Reading it made it more real. His breaths were shallow; his beautiful hazel eyes closed. I leaned over and kissed him. He spoke! The words weren’t clear, except for one. Babes. He always called me Babes. He knew I was there. Then he left.