As he opened the door, he saw his father sitting next to the bed in an armchair. He rarely left his wife’s side since she had taken ill but it had taken a toll on him. He appeared exhausted, a weariness that encompassed far more than just his body; it seemed to stretch into his very soul. But Roswell had never before witnessed such an intense love as that between his parents. It was clear in his father's face how much he cared for his wife.
His father glanced up when he came into the room. “Roswell, you came.”
“I did,” he replied before turning his attention towards his mother. She lay in the bed, her skin a ghostly hue and slight frame looking tiny against the expanse of the feather mattress. “How is she?”
“The doctor is optimistic, but I do fear that she is giving up,” his father admitted.
“Let’s hope not. I am not ready to say goodbye.”
His father’s eyes grew moist. “Neither am I.”
His mother’s eyes flew open and she gasped. “Fredrick, you have returned at last!” she exclaimed as she moved to sit up in bed.
Roswell’s heart sank and he fought to contain the emotion in his voice. “No, Mother, it is me, Roswell,” he attempted.
“You look just like my Fredrick,” she said.
“Yes, that is right, but he is my older brother,” Roswell explained.
“Fredrick is fighting in the war, you know,” she continued.
Roswell nodded. “I am aware.”
“Do you think he will come visit me soon?”
With a glance at his father, Roswell replied, “We have sent letters to Fredrick and his command, but we have received no word.”
“That is disappointing,” his mother responded. “The doctors told me that I don’t have much time, but I am determined to see my Fredrick again.”
His father spoke up. “Roswell is our son, Fanny. Do you remember him at all?”
As she looked into his eyes, he silently begged her to remember him. “I don’t, but you say he is my son?”
“He is,” his father confirmed.
“Then why can’t I remember him?” she asked in a dejected voice.
Roswell was told to be patient with his mother, and he was, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on like this.
A knock came at the door.
“Enter,” his father ordered.
The door opened and Dr. Wallis stepped in the room. “How is my favorite patient today?”
A smile came to his mother’s face. “Dr. Wallis,” she greeted. “Do come in.”
Roswell felt an intense wave of anguish wash over him. His mother could recall her doctor, yet she couldn't recognize him? The distress was too severe for him to stay in the room. He had to leave quickly; he felt as though the walls were pressing down on him.
His father rose and walked over to him. “It is all right, Roswell. She might remember you tomorrow,” he said in a hushed voice.
“That is what I hoped for yesterday.”
“Don’t give up hope.”
“It is hard not to,” Roswell said.
His father placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Your mother doesn’t mean anything by it.”
