by Tom Upton

Created on: May 18, 2008   Last Updated: January 19, 2009

MOURNING DOVES

Now that spring finally arrived, all Carl wanted to do was plant his vegetable garden. But there would be no garden this year. His wife, Anna, was dying- again, for the third time in the last month. He could hardly go outside and turn over soil and plant his tomatoes and bell peppers while she languished in bed, moaning and clutching her chest with a pudgy hand.

It was all his fault. He rued the day he'd convinced her to see a doctor. It had seemed like a good idea at the time; she hadn't had a check-up in years, and though she appeared strong as a bull, you could never be too careful.

And now- now she was a raving hypochondriac. Carl blamed it on the doctor, too, a mere child just starting his practice, who clued Anna in on all the bad things that might happen at her age. So now she could no longer have a headache without believing it was a stroke. A slight case of heartburn turned into a heart attack- a massive heart attack, never a mild one. Any of the random aches and pains that she experience became the onset of cancer.

Retirement had made him a part-time gardener, but that doctor turned him into a full-time nurse.

He'd try to assure her, but didn't possess a nurturing nature. "You can't go on about every little pain," he'd said. "If God is going to get you, the chances are you won't feel a thing." He just could never find the right words. Not only was what he said of no avail, but also it often served to make things worse.

Almost every night she'd waken him because she didn't believe her heart sounded right. Long after she'd finally fallen asleep, he stay awake and watch over her and yearn for the days when she was young, before her curly hair had gone white and her body thickened with age. She had been quite lovely, with high cheekbones and sparkling blue eyes free of pain and petty worries. She had been a simple soul then, after moving here from Germany. He recalled a time when she worked a factory and came home in tears. Some of her co-workers had waved to her and called out "hi." Anna thought they said "hiel" as if she were a Nazi. She would not stop crying until Carl finally calmed her down long enough to explain it to her. Carl could look back now and smile at her innocence.

During the day, he brought her chicken broth, or hot or cold compresses, or over the counter medicine, depending on the ailment of the day. Sometimes when he looked at her, she didn't even seem like his wife, the woman he married over fifty years ago. She had become

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