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　　Most people need to hear those “three little words”-I love you．Once in a while, they hear them just in time．I met Connie the day she was admitted to the hospital ward, where I worked as a woman volunteer．Her husband, Bill, stood nervously nearby as she was transferred to the hospital bed．Although Connie was in the final stages of her fight against cancer, she was cheerful．We got her settled in．I asked if she needed anything．

　　“Oh, yes,” she said, “would you please show me how to use the TV?I enjoy the soaps．”Connie was a romantic．She loved soap operas, and movies with a good love story．As we became acquainted, she said how frustrating it was to be married 32 years to a man who often called her “a silly woman．”

　　“Oh, I know Bill loves me,” she said, “but he has never been one to say he loves me．”She sighed and looked out of the window at the trees in the courtyard．“I'd give anything if he'd say ‘I love you,’ but it's just not in his nature．”

　　Bill visited Connie every day．In the beginning, he sat next to the bed while she watched the soaps．Later, when she began sleeping more, he paced up and down the hallway outside her room．Soon, when she no longer watched television and had fewer waking moments, I began spending more of my volunteer time with Bill．

　　He talked about having worked as a carpenter．He and Connie had no children, but they'd been enjoying retirement by travelling, until Connie got sick．Bill could not express his feelings about the fact that his wife was dying．

　　One day, over coffee I got him on the subject of women and how we need romance in our lives; how we love to get cards and love letters．

　　“Do you tell Connie you love her?” I asked(knowing his answer), and he looked at me as if I was crazy．

　　“I don't have to,” he said．“She knows I do!”

　　“I'm sure she knows,” I said, “but she needs to hear what she has meant to you all the years．”

　　We walked back to Connie's room．Bill disappeared inside, and I left to visit another patient．The date was February 12．

　　Two days later I walked down the ward at noon．There stood Bill, leaning up against the wall in the hallway, staring at the floor．The head nurse told me that Connie had died at 11 a.m.．

　　When Bill saw me, he allowed himself to come into my arms．His face was wet with tears．Finally, he leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath．“I have to say something,” he said．“I have to say how good I feel about telling her．”He stopped to blow his nose．“I thought a lot about what you said, and this morning I told her how much I loved her…and loved being married to her．You should have seen her smile!”

　　I went into the room to say my own good-bye to Connie．There, on the bedside table, was a large Valentine card from Bill．“To my wonderful wife…I love you．”

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