Out in the shiny hospital hallway, laundry carts stood silent. I'm here with you, and you won't be abandoned. Al had always been generous, helping with school expenses or other needs. Michael and Stephanie caressed Al's forehead and hands and arms with all the tenderness of a mother for her newborn. When I finally had to leave Hospice Room 436 and walk down the quiet, shiny hallway to the elevators, I thought about what I'd seen.
Death changes the conversation.
It strips away cheap social conventions and calls us either to be silent or to speak from the heart. In that room, the only words that seemed appropriate were the kind that are deep and clear and true. Death changes the calculation. When you're in extremis, the most important thing, apart from being ready to meet God, is to be surrounded by people who love you. I walked out the emergency room exit, the only one still open, praying for Al and Michael and Stephanie.