The sunlight is shining, through the smudged window on to his face, accentuating all the wrinkles that life has given him. All of his smiles, all his worry, all of life’s memories laid out like a map on his paper thin face.
He gasps for air, as if he has never breathed before, Things I take for granted. His brow is wet with perspiration.
I know, he is dying. He is not ready or willing, but it is happening.
I dab his face with a cold damp cloth. I am missing my thanksgiving dinner. I am missing the people who love me, because I am the only one he has.
I hold his clammy hand. Whisper to him, things I don’t know, I tell him that he has been enough, reassure him that the people who aren’t there love him. Even the worst of us deserve compassion.
The sun sets deeper, beams of orange light fall on his blanket, shadows cast across the wall. He is in pain.
I can’t help him. I have no pain medication to give him. The family forbids it, all the while they enjoy their turkey dinner. I hold his hand. I tell him he is enough. I tell him he is loved. I watch his struggle for every breath. It is close.
His winkled face relaxes, and poof hes gone, it is over. His soul is gone. I know it, I am now the only one in the room. He is gone.
I could go home and love my family. but I prefer to be alone.