February 1st, 2080.
"So she died that long ago?" you asked with a sad smile.
I only nodded, grabbing my walker and shuffling over to sit my notebook, the one I am writing in and have been writing in now, onto the small desk in the corner of our room. You looked over at me smiling, running a shaky hand through his thin, grey hair.
I sat next to you on your bed, my back aching as you squeezed my hand twice.
"Today is a special day, Harry." I whispered. You only groaned in reply, a common reply ever since your arthritis has gotten worse. I kissed your cheek and looked up at the wall, all of the pictures hung along all four sides. Harry, who is 65, and his wife, Elizabeth. The next few showed Harry and their 3 children, and my grandchildren with their children.
The row of pictures underneath was of Emilie, she is 61, and her husband Henry, whom she had met in seventh grade. The next couple showed Emilie and our sole grandson, and his family.
The final row was my favourite. You and I in my flat when we had first met, which has long gone and is now a shopping mall. You and I atop the Eiffel Tower in the winter night, that is still there. You and I after Harry was born and You and I after Emilie was born. Let's skip those I looked horrible. Some of you and the boys, some of myself with the boys, and a few of all of us. To the right is myself with a sick Danielle, and myself with Mackinzie, seven months before Niall died.
We are aging, it is inevitable. My hair falls out with each brush, my scalp is weak. My hair is thin and white, yours grey. My back is slouched and I barely pass five feet anymore. My body shakes and my fingers are fatter. You have gotten shorter too, not even close to the six feet you were, and we joke that once Harry Jr. had reached that height, he took it from you. My eyesight is weaker, and we both wear thick glasses. Sometimes you can't make it to the bathroom fast enough, and sometimes your years of asthma keeps you breathless and in the hospital. I walk with a walker and you have a tank in which oxygen is held and fed through tubes to your nose.
There aren't many of us left. Danielle was the first to go, ten years later we lost Louis. Then Perrie, Eleanor, and Liam. A few months ago we lost Niall. Mackinzie, Zayn, Harry, and I are the only ones left. I am fearing the day I lose my brother or my husband. As much as I will miss Mackinzie, she wants to go, her heart is too broken and she is sad.
We all live in Shady Grove, a residential home. Every day is a pattern. Get up, breakfast, card game at ten and lunch at noon, trip to the store from one to four, dinner at five, social hour at six. We have a small walk at seven and then it's time to stay in our room.
It is just after dinner, and you and I decided to spend the beginning of social hour in our room. I look up as someone knocks on the door, separating myself from your tube to open the door.
There stands our two children holding a small cake. They smile and walk in.
"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Daaaaad! Happy Birthday to you!"
You grinned, your dimples hidden by the wrinkles your face holds. And you blow out the single candle, coughing and holding your oxygen tightly.
I rubbed your back as our children removed the candles, slicing the cake into two small pieces.
We ate slowly, watching our children telling animated stories about their children to us, with waves of hands and smiles and laughter. We shared a few laughs, and tears as they told us what they have accomplished. After all the cake had been devoured, all the stories told, and the hugs given, they left. We laid together in our bed as we received our hefty nighttime medications and looked out the window at the mountain top across from us.
I watched as you slowly shifted over to your side of the bed, a large gap between us for safety regulations. I watched as the nurse left, closing the door quietly, before rolling over into your arms. I looked up to you and we shared a knowing smile.
You began to hum Moments, a song long forgotten in most of the world's mind but ours.
That was one of the things I missed the most, you singing. Your breathlessness kept you from singing for the past ten years.
You stopped humming and I assumed you had fallen asleep and I curled into your chest.
"Babe?" you whispered shakily.
I hummed into your arm.
"I want to tell you," you gasped for a breath, "that I love you so much."
I nodded. "I know Harry, you remind me every day."
"No, but this time, it is important. I am going soon." you gasped.
I sat in silence for a moment, listening to the hum of your machines.
"Harry don't talk like that. Please don't." I begged.
"I don't want to, but I know my time is near. I can feel it inside." you said.
I waited for you to tell me you were kidding, but it never happened.
I let the hot tears roll down my cheeks as you held me tightly like you always have. I don't think you saw the tears but I think you knew they were there.
"I love you, Brianna." you said.
"I love you, Harry." I replied, muffling my tears in your pillow.
"Forever and always." you said, I repeated it in reply as you touched my wedding ring ever so slightly, a small gesture with a big meaning. I touched yours in return, the cool metal under my aged fingers.
Then you did it.
"You know I'll be, your life, your voice, your reason to be. My love, my heart is breathing for this, moment in time, I'll find the words to say. Before I leave you today."
You sang with more passion and sincerity than you ever did onstage. I knew the meaning behind these words as you sang for the first, possibly final, time in ten years.
I cried myself to sleep in your arms as you sang to me, wondering when I'd lose you.
I didn't want to lose you, you will always rescue me.
