By Benjamin Cameron Davis Jr.

“Let’s go see some nature, Ron,” Nurse Betty said as she pushed my wheelchair along the walkway outside the home. I loved when she took me on these daytime strolls. The fresh air always reminded me of the good times Margaret and I shared in our younger years.

Today was perfect. The sun shimmered across the stream, and the Ruby and Golden-crowned kinglets chirped in soft harmony. The branches swayed along with their song—slow, gentle, peaceful. Margaret loved to dance at the park. We would pack food, spread a blanket, and stay for hours. Sometimes we’d bring a bottle of wine and drink until the owls joined the chorus.

Those were the days.

“I wonder where she is,” I murmured. “She usually comes to see me at three o’clock.”

“Nurse, what time is it?” I asked.

“Two-fifteen,” she said. “Why? You have someplace else to be?” she teased.

“I’m not sure if you noticed, but I can’t quite get around like I used to,” I joked.

A tall gentleman walked toward us. Nurse Betty stood. “Great, Michael is here.”

He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You can take a break, Betty. I’ll sit with him.”

She told me to behave and headed back toward the home.

“So… how have you been?” he asked, settling beside me.

“I’ve been fine,” I said, though meeting a new nurse always felt awkward. “How’ve you been?”

“Great,” he said. “I didn’t want to come empty-handed.” He pulled two folders from his backpack. “My boys wanted you to have these.”

He handed me a drawing of an airplane soaring through clouds. Beneath it stood a pilot holding his hat. It warmed my heart.

“I love this,” I said. “Very thoughtful.”

He swiped to a picture of a smiling twelve-year-old boy. “He’s getting big, isn’t he?”

I stared—but my mind drifted. The phone corner displayed the time: 3:05 PM.

Where is she? She is never late.

“Who’s getting big?” I asked suddenly.

“Little Mike,” he repeated softly. “Did you see the second drawing?”

The second picture was of an elderly couple—happy, smiling. The man had a scar over his eyebrow like mine. The woman had red hair and warm green eyes.

It looked like… us.

“Where is she?” I shouted. “She is never late! Take me home! I need to make sure she isn’t waiting there!”

“Ron—” he started.

“You don’t understand,” I cried. “If something happened to her… I don’t know if I could make it.”

His eyes filled with tears.

“I know,” he whispered.

He held the drawing gently.

“Let’s look at this picture my oldest son, Ron, drew for you.”

“Your son’s name is Ron too?” I asked.

His face broke, and he nodded, tears finally spilling.

He turned the drawing toward me.

I hope you are getting better, Grandpa.
I miss you so much, and I will always love you.
I drew this picture because I know how much you loved Grandma.
She will forever be missed.
RON & MARGARET JOHNSON FOREVER
—Ronald M. Johnson II

The world fell silent.

My son squeezed my hand.
“I love you, Dad,” he whispered. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”