Room 2225 was a special room of sorts. This room was exactly fifteen steps (I know. I counted.) from the double doors of the Critical Care Unit in this particular hospital.
As I entered, I walked 2.5 steps to my sitting friend. I leaned down and gave her (more) a gentle hug. I whispered words. I said something along the lines of, "I'm sorry you have to go through this." Or maybe I said, "I'm sorry that your husband is going through this." Or maybe it was just, "Hello." I can't remember what I said.
I walked 2 steps to an empty chair across from her. Other people were speaking to her and her daughter and her grandchildren. Other people came into room 2225 -Family Room- for the relatives of the dying to wait for the...inevitable.
I folded my scarf 3 times as it lay across my lap. I shifted 6 times in my seat. I smiled 1 time at someone who smiled at me. I crossed my left leg over my right. I crossed my right leg over my left. I folded my hands. I unfolded my hands. I brushed a stray hair, that had escaped my ponytail, off my forehead.
Without warning, an odd thought came to me as I watched my friends face - calm and peaceful. She never looked more beautiful. How odd, I thought, for me to notice such a thing at a time like this. She is 97 years old, and at that moment she appeared extremely beautiful.
Then the realization hit me. It was her hope that made her beautiful in this tragic hour.
She knew. Her husband will be resurrected. Young again. Her and her husband in paradise. How beautiful the future will be!(less)