Healed By Love

The morning sun spied through the curtains that Sharon forgot to let down the night before. The light cast a shadow on her face with an intensity that made her stir on the bed. Her husband moved beside her and she opened her eyes only after a few hours of sleep. She had slept late, waiting to watch her husband go to sleep, wanting to soak in the pleasure of watching his calm face while he dived off to la-la land. Her eyelids flickered multiple times until she was able to keep them open. She raised herself from the waist up into a sitting position on the bed, her legs splayed in front of her.

Her eyes scanned the room for any other object she might have kept out of place like the curtain.

The bed was positioned at the center of the room as always. It wasn’t like she could change its position even if she tried. The bed was made with a heavy wooden frame and a thick mattress. It had taken two handymen to place it in the position it was. There were two windows, one was fixed on the wall behind the bed, and the other was on the right side of the bed - the one with the lifted curtain. On the left side of the bed stood two doors, one had been left wide open while the other was closed. Behind the closed door was the toilet, the opened door led to the closet. Sharon sighed. She had also forgotten to shut the door that led to the closet. She had spent a long time searching through her clothes, trying to decide what was best for her to wear to sleep. Beside the door leading to the closet was an ironing table. The iron was plugged in and the socket was left on. In front of the bed were a large mirror and a dressing table that looked like it had not been used in a long time. Sprawled at the base of the table was Sharon's jewelry box. Clothes littered the room and erased the iconic beauty that the wooden floor and classy decoration was originated to give.

Nothing else was out of place except the few clothes on the floor — hers and Ray's, the misplaced shoes, the scattered jewel box, the closet door dangling, and the plugged-in iron. Thank goodness there had been a blackout through the night. It could have been a different story.

Sharon dragged herself off the bed and trod towards the curtain. She flung down its length and took another glance around the room. The beige walls looked as good as new. It wasn't obvious that the last time it was painted was about ten years before. She traced the wall beside the curtain with her hand as her eyes flitted through the environment. It had been a while since she studied the room, put things in order, and lived like a regular human. She bent and began to pick up the clothes from the carefully crafted wooden floors. She threw them into the laundry basket beside the door leading to the bathroom. She packed the shoes into the closet, put them in order, and shut the door.

She gathered the scattered jewelry, the rings, necklaces, earrings, nose rings, and bracelets. Every item told a story and as Sharon came in contact with each one, a longing jabbed at her soul. She hurriedly put the rest of the room in order and stepped out. The previously welcoming home hit her with a musky scent. She squeezed her nose and opened every window from the entrance of their bedroom down to the sitting room. With every step, she took in the gigantic size of the mansion she had lived in with her family for the past 35 years. She reminisced about the memories hidden within the walls. It sure felt smaller, comfortably accommodating Sharon and Ray.

Only two weeks ago, she had laid off the entire staff that worked in the house — the chef, the gardener, the housekeeper, the maids, and everyone she had to pay to keep working with her. The work was tolling in on her and she couldn't get used to keeping the house in order all by herself. It didn't make a difference that she occupied the visitor's room downstairs with Ray. It was difficult to dust the numerous paintings and pictures on the wall, handle the laundry and plates, and take care of every other place that needed cleaning. She'd had to reduce sweeping to only twice a week and the upper part of the house had completely been abandoned.

The open windows brought in flowery scents from the garden, but Sharon was not satisfied and there was barely enough time for her to do more. If only she were younger, if only Ray could help her, and if only she didn't have to let her workers go. Yet, she had to do what she had to do. She was never one to worry about the pay for the workers they kept in the house.

Even before they had gotten married, Ray had promised to give her a stress-free life. He employed all the workers and processed their salaries. All she did was put them in order, but the last few months had been like walking on fiery coals in flip-flops. It wasn't Ray's fault. It wasn't hers. Neither was it the fault of those who worked for her. Truth be told, Sharon never really knew who to blame. Sometimes she blamed nature, other times she blamed the universe and she would have blamed God if she believed in His existence. She didn't want to believe there was a God who oversaw the atrocities of the earth and didn’t do anything to change it.

Things turned around when Ray could no longer work to earn money and the expenses of the house and its maintenance automatically fell to her. At first, it felt like no big deal. Ray had stashed away a large amount of cash and Sharon greatly believed that all would be well. She processed the salaries of the workers from that account, but when the account hit red the previous month, Sharon realized she had to do something. Her retirement plan wasn't as solid as she had believed it to be years before. The truth was that they were running out of money. Her visit to the bank the last time had done a huge amount in convincing her of that fact.

Sharon didn't make a lot of money. She never did. Schoolteachers made barely enough to survive, except they had an extra source of income. For all the years that Sharon spent as a schoolteacher, her husband was her extra source of income. He had told her many times to resign and relax and allow herself to be taken care of, but her passion wouldn't let her. She learned not to spend her salary and got used to adding the entire amount of money to her retirement funds. She never planned to use the money, she had hoped to give it to Will and Susan, her children, after her death. She never thought she would make use of the money. But the balance in her account was telling her otherwise.

She couldn't make an account of the money, couldn't tell where it went or what she had been using it for, but she couldn't blame herself or her husband. Living seven years with absolutely no source of income but only a string of expenses was bound to throw them into a haze of debts if care wasn't taken. The debts had indeed started to pile up. It could be seen in the amount of taxes Sharon had yet to pay in the last few months. The money she had left couldn't cover it. No one was making money and neither she nor her husband wanted to burden the children.

The only option that rang in her head as a permanent solution to the current situation was the advice Hilda had given the last time they saw. Hilda and Sharon worked at the same community school for years. The two were close friends, and so was Louis. The propelling factor was the fact that they were in the same age bracket, and they loved all children like theirs.

Sharon met Hilda at the grocery store about two weeks before. Hilda was surprised to see her and the reason was pretty obvious. Sharon never ran her grocery errands by herself. Hilda couldn't help but detect that something was wrong although the two had lost touch since Sharon retired. Sharon on the other hand was happy to have a diversion and someone to share her burdens with. The two women decided to have a quick lunch. Sharon spent the entire time talking about Ray and how taking care of him was taking a toll on her. Hilda was remorseful and sympathetic. Sharon didn't want any pity, but she couldn't complain either. It was at this time that Hilda advised Sharon to move to a senior community.

Hilda stretched forth her hand and held on to Sharon's across the table in the restaurant where they sat.

"You are going through a lot, Sharon."

Sharon's eyes were misty with tears and she sniffed.

"You should leave the big house, move to a senior community and you'll be able to concentrate on Ray alone. I know it wouldn't be easy, but I think you should sell the mansion and use the money from it to take care of yourself. Move to a senior community."

Sharon couldn’t respond to Hilda. She didn't pull back her hands or cry louder but her heart bled. Sharon couldn't imagine herself leaving the house that bore so many memories. A house that told the story of her children and many firsts. A house that contained all she ever committed her life to. She could remember Ray saying he didn't ever want to leave the place too. Hilda couldn't understand and Sharon wasn't ready to explain it to her. Hilda patted her hands. They finished their food and left the restaurant.

She didn't think of the advice, not until now. Not until after she had received the call from the tax office informing her of the law she was defaulting by avoiding taxes for so long. Not until the bank informed her that they couldn't give her loans since there wasn't any collateral. Not until she woke up that morning with the world spinning in her head reminding her of how unfair life had been. She willed herself to stop thinking and turned back towards the room where her sleeping husband lay. Thinking about the house could come later.

Ray lay gently on the bed. He slept facing the ceiling, his arms by his side, breathing with due diligence. Her heart went out to him. She walked with steady steps towards him and he must have heard her because he moved a little. Sharon entered the closet, retrieved Ray's wheelchair, and slowly drove it toward his side of the bed. She abandoned the chair at the position she wanted and laid calm hands on Ray. His eyes flickered open. Sharon smiled. She hated the distance in his eyes, but nothing of her expression or behavior gave that away.

"Good morning!" She said with so much glee, that her energy shocked her. Ray tried to raise his head and she rushed forward to help him to the wheelchair.

"Goooood mor...n...ningg," His words were slurry and irritating to the ears. His head shook and his hands held fast to the hands of the chair. His legs were completely still. Sharon didn't stop smiling although she hated that she may never hear the rich baritone voice of her husband. She pushed the chair into the bathroom and set him in front of the mirror. She took his toothbrush, set it in his left hand, and guided him to brush his teeth. His right hand remained useless. When he was done, she helped him undress, set him under the shower, and washed him. When she was sure he couldn't see her, tears slipped from her eyes. She dried him and took him back into the room, and the closet.

She skimmed through his shirts and settled for a crimson cotton shirt and plain shorts. She combed his hair, styled it, and made him look as dashing as possible. It didn't matter that he couldn't do it himself, she would do it. She would make him as young as he ought to be. She wheeled him out of the room and down to the kitchen where she made a quick breakfast of omelets and coffee. Once again, his left hand set to work as he struggled to feed himself. He didn't say a word. For Sharon, his eating time was almost like his sleeping time. A long time ago, Ray made a rule for everyone to stop talking when eating at the dining table in the house. Hence, the silence her husband showed when eating almost made Sharon believe that he was normal and all, was well, would be well.

The sight she saw at the silent moment carried her mind off to the day she first set her eyes on Ray. On the significant journey on that train, the day after she decided to run away from home and live a life for herself.