POWER AND PATIENCE
Emma married late, at twenty-five. Her groom wasnt exactly a nobody, but he was far from the sort to make her friends jealous. Did she love him? She couldnt say. Shed grown used to him. They had a son, Tommy, a bright, serious boywhat more could she ask for? Not that she dreamed of much. Shed accepted that her Henry was dull, unremarkable. Stingy, too, about everything. Emma hardly noticed it anymore. She worked at the local school, ran after-school clubs, cared for her sonthat was her life. And yet shed been a beauty once, turning heads wherever she went! Golden hair, curled just so, framing her delicate face. A figure to make anyone look twice. Clever and lovely, she couldve had her pick of suitors.
Henry never fit in with her family. They laughed at him behind his back, and rightly sohe never joined in conversations, never got the jokes, always hurried her home.
“Late again, Emma! Early start tomorrow!”
Soon, they stopped being invited altogether. They lived on the fringes, unnoticed.
Old age crept up on them, grey and joyless. What had Emma seen of life? Nothing. Their only holidays were at the dreary company retreat where Henry worked as an engineer. Meals at set times, evening dancesnot that the Harringtons ever attended.
“Why bother?” Henry would say. “Thats for singles hunting partners. Not us, eh, Em?”
Emma would nod.
He never let her shop for nice clothes, either.
“Too dear! The market stalls have decent Turkish imports for half the price.”
Shed sigh but never argue.
Then disaster struck. Henrys memory began failing. He wasnt old, looked better than he had in his youthyet there it was. The doctors verdict: early dementia after multiple brain infarctions. Soon, he barely recognised their son and grandchildren.
“Who are these children?”
“Hen,” shed murmur, as if soothing a toddler, “thats Danny and Alfie, our grandsons. The taller ones Tommy, our boy.”
“Why didnt you tell me theyd come?” hed say, baffled.
Five minutes later, hed ask again.
But he always knew *her*. How could he not, when she cared for him like a child? Without her, hed wander out in his underclothes. Now that she controlled the money, she *could* have splurged on herselfbut the desire had faded. Not from thrift. Shed just forgotten how. She walked past boutiques without a glance, buying Henry expensive treats instead. Let him have some joy. He trailed after her like a calf, begging her not to leave him alone too long. Terrified shed abandon him.
Once, he said, “I love you. Youre everything. Id be lost without you.”
Words shed never heard from him before. *A blessing in disguise*, some might say. But what use was that now? Shed lock herself in the bedroom and weep, then dry her tears before he noticed. Duty called.
…This story came from a neighbour, a trim, pretty woman despite her years. No trace of self-pity on her face. Shyly, she added, “I wrote Henry a poem. Want to hear?”
*”My faithful friend, youre by my side,*
*I steer our ship, youre my guide.*
*Your memory fades? I understand.*
*Youve mixed up winter with summers hand…*
*I pray to God, with all my will,*
*That you remember me still.”*
I hugged Emma tight and silently wished her strengthand patience.
