To the two of them, longevity was both their greatest gift and their greatest curse. Mr. and Mrs. Tanner had been married for over 60 years of their lives. I remember the first time Mrs. Levin entered our hospital, that fateful moment 20 years ago. She had suffered a heart attack and had been rushed to the hospital by her husband. He was…. Distraught.
“Will she be alright?” He asked, twitching for all he was worth. He wouldn’t take yes for an answer, constantly flitting around, driving us crazy with requests for updates on her status. It got so bad we considered sedating him, but that would have cost someone his job…. So we just had to live with it.
It got worse. Mrs. Tanner couldn’t be discharged. She had to be hospitalized completely. At first Mr, Tanner freaked out, but later calmed down as we emphasized the fact that his wife would live. After that, he practically moved in with us as he refused to leave his wife’s side for anything. We had quite an argument on that as well, but as before we just gave up. It was touching, to see an old man in his 60s sitting at the bed of his unconscious wife, holding her hand and smiling ever so slightly. The staff had quite a debate on what we should do with him.
The head nurse told us it was impossible for any non-patient to stay in the hospital for an extended period of time – hospital policy, she said. So Mr. Tanner just had to come every day. Two days after Levin was committed, their son, Michael came over to visit. He had just heard of the commotion as he had been abroad at the time. Mrs. Tanner was still unconscious, so the two of them spoke in hushed whispers at the foot of Mrs. Tanner’s bed. Michael agreed to come over every few weeks, and Mr. Tanner was determined to visit every day.
4 days after the heart attack. Mrs. Tanner woke up. Mr. Tanner was…. Well… in rapture. Sort of. He seemed the happiest man alive just to hear Mrs. Tanner call out his name faintly. They would talk about their son, their marriage, and just about anything they could remember from their past. It would probably have gone on like that forever until that fateful incident changed everything.
One month after Mrs. Tanner was hospitalized, Mr. Tanner didn’t show up at 8 o’clock for the very first time. We first thought Mr. Tanner was simply delayed a while, but when he didn’t show up for lunch, we realized something had gone wrong. Mr. Tanner didn’t answer his phone.
“There’s something wrong with him!” Mrs. Tanner told us, heatedly. “Call an ambulance! Call the police! Do something!”
Once or twice I have heard of some very close couples and twins being able to sense each other’s feelings and pains, but I had never believed it up to this point. The police, after knocking, broke down Mr. Tanner’s door to find him collapsed on the floor. He had suffered a stroke while putting on his suit. He was rushed to our hospital, where he was sent to the emergency room. It was déjà vu. This time, it was Mrs. Tanner freaking out, asking us whether or not Mr. Tanner would be alright. This time, however, we did have the authority to sedate her, which we eventually did. Even unconscious, she wouldn’t stop twitching.
Mr. Tanner was alright, but he would have to be hospitalized just like his wife. The two of them seemed rather pleased at the prospect, though.
“We’ll get to stay in the same hospital, fed the same food, and always together,” said a cheerful Mr. Tanner.
“For once, I won’t have to do the cooking!” A rather enthusiastic Mrs. Tanner said.
“Now all we have to do is die together,” claimed Mr. Tanner.
It was sad but beautiful to see them so happy in their old age.
Months passed. They were married on April 14th, and they had been married for 38 years when Mrs. Tanner had suffered her heart attack. On their 40th anniversary, we all crowded around their bed in the morning and shouted “Happy 40th anniversary!”
The Tanners looked at each other, looking slightly surprised. “What’s the matter?” I asked. Mr. Tanner replied “Um… thank you all very much for this celebration and for remembering our anniversary, but it’s only our 39th anniversary today.”
“You must have lost count,” chuckled Mrs, Tanner.
We knew something was wrong.
“Their memory is staring to decline,” said the head nurse. “I’ve seen this before. They’re going to relive their past, the more memorable moments of their lives.”
“Is this a serious problem? What are we going to do about it?” I asked.
“There’s really nothing we can do”, replied the head nurse. “The speed at which they go backward is a good indicator of how fast their time is running out, though. If their memory starts to roll back quickly, we’ll know their end is near.”
“No, maybe they’re just confused! They have been here for a long time, after all!”
I picked up the calendar and tried to show them the year, but another revelation was at hand. They could barely see. Their eyesight was nearly gone.
So every year, at their anniversary, we would just claim happy anniversary! And then ask them how many years they had been married. The years passed quite slowly. 39th, 38th, and eventually they began to skip more than a year at a time. When we reached their 45th anniversary, they had been married for 30 years.
Michael had come as often as he could, and although he was generally busy, he always made it to his parent’s anniversaries. On their “35th” anniversary, Michael was 32 years old. That year, he came with his newborn son, Peter. While the Tanners couldn’t see Peter, they could still hug him, tickle him, and laugh with Michael about Peter’s lack of hair. That year, it was almost as if they were an untroubled family again.
On their “30th” anniversary, all of us were met with a surprise.
“Happy anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Tanner!” we cried. This time, however, the Tanners reacted differently.
“Oh, please, call me Levin”, said Mrs. Tanner. “We’re not that old yet!”
“And I’m Casey, by the way,” laughed Mr. Tanner.
Michael was rather surprised when we told him Casey and Levin were waiting for him, but he hadn’t seen the worst of it yet.
“Come on son, it’s our 30th anniversary. Don’t you think it’s time we saw a grandson?” Said Casey.
“You’ve been married a while now. Are you having problems with your wife?” Asked Levin.
“No, no mother,” said Michael, holding back tears. “Celine is pregnant already.”
“Wonderful!” Casey and Levin said together. They asked for a round of applause, to which we obliged, for it was loud enough to drown out Michael’s tears.
After some years, we stopped celebrating Casey and Levin’s anniversary as we had done before.
“We haven’t been married long enough to have such excitement already!” said Levin. We agreed, and when Michael arrived with his customary flowers, we quietly encouraged him to let them go. He entered the room, and Casey heard his son’s footsteps and looked up.
“Oh, back from your honeymoon are you, Michael?” said Casey. Michael stopped dead in his tracks.
“Oh, back from your honeymoon are you, Michael?” said Casey. Michael stopped dead in his tracks.
“Uh… yeah. Great place, Hawaii.” Answered Michael in a swavering voice.
“Are you alright, Michael? You sound… tired. No, not just tired…. A little old.” said Levin.
“I… have a cold. Don’t worry, it’ll pass.” said Michael.
“That’s nice to hear.” said Casey.
They were down to their son’s wedding, when they had both been 50.
The next incident they remembered was Michael’s graduation ceremony. He came in to have his parents cheer. Michael knew better than to ask the occasion, though. Levin cried “Congratulations! How was your graduation ceremony? Did you bring your hat thing?”
“It’s called a diploma, mother,” said Michael.
Levin looked surprised. “Since when have you called me mother? Is this a new just-graduated thing?”
“Uh… no, mom.” replied Michael.
Casey took Michael aside and spoke to him in a soft voice.
“You’re a man, now Mike. You have to learn to act accordingly. We’re counting on you. Study hard in college, get a good job, get married, and don’t forget to let us become grandparents sooner or later.”
“Yes, dad.” Michael replied in a choked voice.
The next year, Michael brought over his son, Peter, who had just entered school when he came to visit. While Michael was signing in for a visitor’s pass, Peter wandered over to his grandparent’s room.
“Oh, hello! How was your first day of school?” asked Levin.
Peter was delightedly surprised, for his grandparents had never remembered him before.
“It was great! My teacher, Mrs. Stevens is really nice. We had spelling and then fingerpainting, and then we played Pictionary. I got a gold star!” said Peter enthusiastically.
“That’s great, Mike.” said Casey.
To them, Michael was now 7.
That was the second to last time “Michael” ever spoke to his parents as their son. The next time he did, they no longer recognized his name. To them, Michael was just another rather friendly visitor. They would tell Michael about when they had gotten married, stories they had occasionally told Michael when he was growing up. The Tanners took a liking to Michael and promised him to name their first son after him. Michael could hardly muster the words to thank them, for his tears were choking him.
The next year they were on their honeymoon. Levin was all excited about the trip. Both of them were completely blind, as they had been for many years, but their memory was enough to compensate. Casey even remembered the number of the airline they had taken. On that day, as their “wedding gift”, we all pretended we were flight attendants just to give them the impression that they were on the plane. It was kind of funny to see Casey continually pressing the makeshift button we had given him, asking for peanuts. I used to do that all the time when I was young. It was simply sad to see a 70 year old man doing the same thing.
I was absent from the hospital for quite a while after that, for my own family troubles had gotten in the way. My father had passed away, and I was gone for a while, tending to family affairs, preparing the funeral, and so on. So when I returned to the hospital room, I was surprised to find only Casey there.
“Where’s Levin?” I asked Casey.
“Who’s Levin?” replied Casey.
I ran to the head nurse.
It turned out a week after I had left, Casey and Levin had gone out on their first date, and then had forgotten each other completely. It took them 20 years, but they had returned to their teenage years.
“They’ve been going back more quickly than ever. I think their time is almost up.” the head nurse told me quietly.
And indeed it was. Casey died only 3 days after I returned to work of a fatal seizure. Levin, 3 rooms away, suddenly lost consciousness. We divided into two groups, and I went to Levin’s room to check on her status.
“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered, for her voice was now almost gone. “Why do I feel so… so empty, so alone? Why do I feel as if I’ve been ripped in half?”
She stared into the air, and even though we all knew she was blind, none of us could bring us to meet her gaze.
Levin died the next day. Michael was there, for we had called him immediately after Casey collapsed. It must have been terrible for him, to watch his mother fade and have her unable to recognize him. Levin did not say very much before she died.
Exactly 24 hours after Casey had died, Levin suddenly tensed, and we saw her lips moving ever so slightly. Michael and the others leaned in close, and the last word Levin ever said was “Casey…” Even amidst her senility and loss of memory, somewhere deep inside her soul would not let go of the name she had known for so much of her life, the name of the man she had lived with for so long a time.
The funeral was a short session, for there were few people who could remember the Tanners before they had been committed to the hospital full-time. It was mostly us, Michael, and his family. While the minister was reading the eulogy, I couldn’t help but thinking what it would be like if Levin and Casey were still here at their funeral. They would probably go “Uh… whose funeral is this?” I wonder what we would have said. The thought made me laugh out loud. The other people stared at me, for most people were silently crying. I couldn’t help myself, though. I couldn’t stop laughing at the thought of Levin looking puzzled, unable to recognize any of the people at her own funeral. Michael caught my eye, and he seemed to be thinking the same thing I was. We were both laughing, laughing and crying at the same time.
And I think, somewhere up there, both Casey and Levin were laughing with us, laughing at the foolish experiences they had gone through in the last years of their lives.
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