Trysts.

Thinking apropos of something (there almost always is), A and B came to mind.

A was one of our patients whom I met... was it a week or a year ago? It doesn't matter. A very strong-willed individual who overcame hurdles nobody thought she would; pleasant in manner and sure of what she wanted every step of the way, she was one of those that makes me feel proud of belonging to my species.

B was her husband of forty-odd years, seemingly a very attentive person. He sought her to return, even though it meant his having to care for her in the most intimate of ways. Something I do not often see, I must add.

A frequently expressed her longing for B, and did seem to look forward to visiting times (which he would attend unstintingly). She expressed her determination to go back and be with him, a special shine in her eye at any mention of his name.

B phoned her in daily, he always arrived early, left late and the nurses looked the other way.

A would always insist on being on a wheelchair one hour before visiting times, and to wait for his arrival outside the ward area, in the TV room. The wheelchair was to ensure they could move freely together. They had two hours before her supper.

I could not help but be reminded of how the situation was redolent of that of courting youth, when the beau seeks the lady, and she is waiting by the window (go on, and call me corny, soppy and soft if you like)...

One day, she was not able to be on the wheelchair in advance, let's call it the random avatars of her recovery.  She requested being put on a wheelchair, and asked for permission to sit with him in an area not used by patients.

The look in their eyes told me he was going to steal a kiss...

We often read of the unloved, the abused, the separated, and what a loud bunch we are.

All forms of love (polyamorous, LGBTIA) are affirmed on a daily basis. I know, because I am one of those affirming and supporting the free right of those in love (or plain lust, each to his or her own)

I see and read arguments about, against monogamic heterosexual love. I see and read the false dichotomy that, in order to combat intrafamilial violence or homo and transfobia, one must adopt a position against the more traditionally accepted forms of love.

All I can see is still in their eyes, after a lifetime, still accomplices in that delicious crime of mutual surrender.

I confess I'm envious that they still sought their trysts.