Rosary

I sat in the hospital hallway waiting for the battalion of nurses to leave Jonah’s room. The shiny white linoleum floor was cold. I dropped my head into my hands. My brain hurt.

“Excuse me,” the nurse said, tapping my shoulder.

I looked up. My eyes were so blurred with tears I could no longer see her beautiful crucifix I’d noticed when she’d drawn Jonah’s blood.

“He’s asking for you.”

“Thank you.”

I stood, wiped my face with a shirt sleeve, and did my best to smile as I entered Jonah’s room.

“Hey you,” I said.

“Hey baby,” he replied.

Jonah looked so small. He had shed over 50 pounds and the telltale lesions of his disease were visible on his chest and arms. He looked like a survivor of a concentration camp.

“How you feeling?”

“Just another day in paradise.”

With that, I cried. I’d brought him to the emergency room and now this was the last place I wanted him to be.

We’d returned that afternoon from a weekend trip to Wisconsin. Jonah was tired from the drive and laid down for a nap. After unloading the car, I joined him in bed. His chest rumbled like my great grandfather’s old John Deere. His face was flush with fever. It was time to go.

“I’m going to be fine. A round of steroids and some antibiotics, and I’ll be ready to go.”

“You think?”

“I know. Now come here.” Jonah patted the bed beside him.

I crawled in beside him. He adjusted his IV and draped his arm around me.

“You’re tired. Go home. Go to bed.”

“Don’t know if I can sleep alone.” I snuggled in closer.

“You’ll manage.” He kissed my nose.

“Alright, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“No, you need to go to school.”

“I want to be here.”

“You have a chem. test tomorrow and there are several lovely ladies ‘round here getting paid to take care of me.” He smiled with twinkling eyes. I knew he was looking forward to harassing the nurses.

“Okay, but I’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”

“Go. Go to bed.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” He kissed my forehead and shooed me out of bed.

I stood and turned to leave.

“Wait,” he called.

I turned back to face him.

“Will you say a rosary with me before you go?”

I smiled. “I don’t have one with me.”

“Look in my jacket pocket.”

I went to the corner where his jacket hung, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his mother’s rosary. It was a simple silver crucifix with amethyst glass beads. Although his parents turned away from the Catholic Church, his mother still supported his faith.

Jonah took the rosary in one hand and my hand in the other. Together we said the prayers that had given us hope in the past.

“Our Father who art in heaven.”