Unsure...

Unsure...


I made the rounds today. She's still here, with her beautiful eyes. She smiled weakly as I approached, and I tried to force a smile from my sad, sad heart. No words were said, not just because it hurt her physically, but because they weren't needed. And her voice tore at me. I don't ask, she doesn't answer. I just tentatively touch her throat and her abdomen; she nods when it hurts, shakes her head when it doesn't. I ruffle her hair, take down notes and turn away. I swallow as I go, my throat burning.

My wife is sad. I can feel it. She doesn't want me to go back to the room. It depresses me, and it rubs off on her. She cries when she thinks I'm not looking. We both know that I can't do enough. It's a losing battle.

Her giggle. I'd forgotten she could do that. She loved these kinds of videos, where a silly cat is trying to do something and fails so terribly at it, or a well-trained dog is showing how smart it is, turning on a fan and stuff. She keeps hoping the cat would succeed, and always gets disappointed when it doesn't. Sometimes, for her sake, I wish someone would video a cat finally succeeding at something stupid. A tear slips. I wipe it away.

Another day, another round. I go room to room, checking on everyone. I get to hers, force a smile, and knock quietly. There's no answer. I open the door. She's on her bed, eyes closed. Peaceful. I go out, not wanting to disturb her. I'll see those beautiful eyes in the afternoon.

She must have died that morning. I think she was dead when I came in. I'm trying to focus, but I can't. My neck feels hot, my skin itches. I loosen my tie, take off my glasses. But I don't cry. I can't. I feel numb. I don't think this job is for me...

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