Open Writing

It was one am and almost time for the New Year celebrations to end. Two more dances and we could go home. I had decided to play a prank on one of my friends right at the end of the festivities, and I had been sitting alone planning my strategies. I was determined that the evening would finish on a very happy note, so that we could all return to our homes feeling thankful for the privilege of living in a town where people cared for each other.

Unexpectedly, two hands covered my eyes, and I heard the words: "Promise that you will have the last dance with me?"

The voice was very deep, and filled with emotion. Now who could this possibly be? The voice seemed familiar, but no way could I put a name to this man.

"Who are you?" I questioned.

He replied, "I cannot tell you because I am someone from your past, and if I reveal who I am, the surprise will be spoilt."

As I listened to his voice, I recalled an experience that happened three years ago when my mother was gravely ill in hospital. Her family spent as much time with her as was possible, to encourage her and assure her of our love and care, and how much value she was to us. The doctor's prognosis was not good. Her condition, as a result of the pneumonia which had developed after she contracted adult measles, was extremely grave, the doctor stated this very clearly so we would be prepared for the worst.

A resident at the hospital at this time, he was very dedicated to all his patients and their families. Sometimes when he came into the ward where my mother lay, he would invite my father and me to his office and would explain her progress to us, as he knew that we needed to understand and needed reassurance. We were very grateful to this young man, and were confident that all that was within his power would be done for her. At that time I only thought about him as the doctor who was caring for my mother. During the time of waiting, all other influences were eclipsed by the anxiety I felt for her, a beautiful lady who loved people very much, and was always available when someone was in need.

The trauma had begun a month earlier, when a young boy named Billy came to our home. Upon opening the door, my mother saw a thin, sad little boy in tears running down his cheeks. She invited him into the kitchen and gave him a hot drink and a cookie, and listened to him relate the story about his mother who had recently given birth to a baby girl, who, when 6 weeks of age, contracted measles and was gravely ill. His mother had also succumbed to the infection and was unable to care for the little one. Could my mother please come and help?

Disregarding her own personal responsibilities and health, and, knowing that the epidemic was rampant in the village, she insisted on staying until the illness had subsided and Billy's mum was able to cope once more. She spent two weeks at their home, caring for and encouraging this family, ignoring her own need for rest. These folk needed help, that was what mattered to her. She knew that we understood and would support her at home. Billy was always there to help her. He had no time for school, his mother and little sister being the priority in his life at that time.

During the night, after my mother returned from their home, she became ill, and it was obvious that she needed to go to the hospital, so, in the early hours of the morning, Dad arranged for the ambulance to take her there. By then, she was unable to walk unaided. Her condition worsened during the night. We were summoned to her bedside, apprehensive of what lay ahead for us as a family. With the dedication of the doctor and the staff at the hospital, and our family at her bedside most of the time, our mother's condition improved. Within a few days she was ready to be discharged. The doctor escorted my mum, sitting in the wheelchair, to the car, and that was the last time I saw him.

But now there was something familiar about this young man, whose hands covered my eyes. When I asked him to let me see him, he said, "It's not time yet!"

The lights were turned off and for a moment darkness overshadowed us all. Then the hall was lit with many coloured lights, and voices sang "Happy Birthday." After being with my friends all evening and enjoying their company, and planning to have the last laugh with one of my close friends, I had forgotten that it was my birthday!

Then I looked into the face of this man. It was the doctor who had looked after my mother when she was in hospital. As I danced the last dance with him, he confessed that he had watched me from afar since my mother's illness, and could not erase me from his mind. When he knew that most of the young people from the town would be at this event, he thought he would come along too, to catch a glimpse of the young lady who had captured his heart.

And here I was dancing the last waltz with him, while he sang to me "Can I have his last dance for the rest of my life?"