“Do you remember the umbrella? The white umbrella? Oh, the fun times. Remember that one rainy day? We were in the park. Running around like we were five. Don’t you remember?”

He could almost see her nodd. Almost. But the doctors would say that was impossible, wouldn’t they? People in comas don’t nodd. They can’t hear you. But he had to talk to her. He had to see her. If this was how it had to be, so be it.

“Remember? It was amazing. You love the rain.” He refused to say loved. He hoped she could hear the rain now. He hoped she was smiling inside at the sound.

“Remember how you threw that umbrella up in the air? Remember when it caught on the branch? We laughed so hard. And we didn’t stop laughing the whole time we were trying to get it down.”

He smiled. He remembered. He remembered how in love he was then. He knew that feeling would never go away. And he was glad.

“Well I have to leave. See you tomorrow.” As he walked out the doors into the rain, he opened up the white umbrella, still smiling.