Sleep Well, Friend. We'll Be Along Soon.

     As I was walking behind the three of them on my way to spend the last moments I could with my dying friend, the man occasionally glanced quickly over his shoulder.  His countenance was one of defense and I got the impression he believed I was going to try and mug him.  It was most likely the case that he was trying to see if he could make room for me to get past himself, the orderly, and the woman being wheeled down the narrow hall, but their pace was a bit too rushed for me to attempt to over take their position without an embarrassing effort.  We remained in proximity for the entire trek down to the elevator.  Along the way, I heard the orderly mumble something to the woman, to which she replied, "No, I think it's going to be a while still."

     When we all reached the elevator, a nurse having come from the basement level held the door while we piled in.  The man entered first, and then the orderly wheeled the woman around so at that point, as we were facing each other, my suspicions were confirmed; she is very pregnant.  All the while, I'm thinking about the dichotomy of how one soul is about to enter this world as one is leaving.  As I let my mind wander, I fictitiously pondered for a moment if they knew of my dying friend.  After progressing through the floors of the hospital, I was the last to leave the elevator.  

     The room is directly to the right of the lift foyer, so close in fact that from just outside the elevator, I can look into his room.  The privacy curtain had been drawn, so I was unable to see him immediately.  The cart holding the yellow protective gowns and gloves for visitors had been there about 8 hours earlier.  It was now gone, and I was unsure if he is still in this room.  Did they move him?

     As I walked toward the room, I was quickly stopped by a nurse who asked me who I was there to see.  I somewhat expected this given that I was there at 7 minutes to midnight.  I said my friend's name, and he asked if I was a relative.  I told him, "No. I'm a friend of the family.  I've spoken with his mother, and she left a message with the nurses station letting you know I would be here."

     He nodded, and said, "Were you aware that he has died?"

     Somewhat shocked and slightly irritated, I stated, "No. They were supposed to call me. When did he die?"  I knew he was dying, but I truly expected that someone would contact me closer to the event.

     "He died around 11pm."

     That was almost an hour ago! Again, with grief this time, I stated that someone was supposed to call me, and asked if anyone had contacted his mother.  She had been there earlier that day, but had not gotten much rest the two days previously, and had gone home knowing that she was most likely going to receive a phone call sometime soon.  The nurse informed me that she had been called and had already come and gone.

     The hospital staff had begun the process of preparing his body for transport.  The nurse kindly removed some of the gauze and left the room allowing me to remain.  After a few moments, I looked at the clock and it ticked at about 15 seconds until midnight.  I watched all the hands combine.

A minute or so later, I walked out of the room.  I could see no one in the hall.  As I waited for the elevator, I noticed the clock there was showing just 10 seconds to midnight.  This irony of time was little comfort as I too watched this clock's hands combine.  As each second slowly rolled by, I stared and contemplated the importance of my own last tick. 

This is a true story.