Take My Hand

"Take my hand" she said.
"I'll lead you," she said.
"We'll meet this and tackle this together," she said.
My blindness, my loss of sight. 
My deteriorating sense.
  My fear.
Ever since I was a young child my greatest fear was the inability to see. Now my fear was becoming a realization: I was going blind. 
With a million thoughts running through my head I called her and told her. She calmly reassured me, telling me that she wouldn't leave me, that she would help me. I believed her.  Every day got dimmer and dimmer. As my eyesight darkened so did our relationship. I was totally dependent upon her, and she did not care for it. Finally one spring morning I woke up, not knowing if it was night or day, except for the birds happily chirping outside. I was totally blind. I expected to be devastated and terrified. The terror was there, but I began to smile.  I found that I did know what time of day is was. I could hear morning birds singing, and could feel the bright, piercing light on my skin. I could smell the spring and the dew. I had lost one sense, but renewed four.  Calling out her name, I sat up and pulled back the covers, stepping slowly and carefully out of bed. There was no response. I found that if was relatively simple to walk across the room and into the cool hallway. Again I called out her name.
Again, no response. I stood still, listening and feeling the quiet house, hoping to pick up something that would alert me to her prescence.
Nothing.
She was gone.