The hospital catering coordinator asks me if he wants applesauce or maybe pudding for dinner? I’m not family. I don’t know. He’s dying. Can’t she see how his palpitating heart makes his bloated belly quiver? Does applesauce really matter? The nurse stops by with an update I didn’t ask for. Can I describe his pain? How many hits of morphine has he had today? We’re here alone, he and I. Him asleep; me awake to honor the process. I have no authority. I don’t follow his religion. I’m here for our friendship. Dying is emotionally and physically exhausting for the living.
True. Caring doesn’t be you don’t care, but caring is limited. You’ve done well in handling a difficult topic. You’ve expressed the pain and confusion of an observer.
Well put
The questions they ask in hospital are often a mystery. Assessing how much pain you are in yourself is a bit hit-and-miss. Assessing it for somebody else is a mystery. This story expresses that very well. I like the last sentence.
Good story. It’s hard to convey the difference in how things look to the outside, objective world, and how it looks in our hearts. Particularly in a hundred words.