Heart Matters

By Julie Schroeder

I walked by trauma bay five, and briefly glanced toward the beeping emanating from the room and the elderly woman attached to the machine. She appeared so small, lost in a jumble of tubes and wires: her pale hand holding the edge of the hospital blanket.

I watched the man slowly get up from his chair beside her and kiss her wrinkled forehead, a tear running down his cheek, his finger caressing the side of her face. He smiled at her as the heart monitor sped up for a brief second and she weakly whispered, “You still make my heart flutter.”