I gently held her hand.
It fluttered under my fingers
Like a frightened bird.
We waited together…
Waiting for time to stop.
There was no sense of pain, no panic …
Just a quiet patience.
We hardly knew each other
Yet I had passed her door many times.
Occasionally I’d stop.
She rarely spoke
For speaking was such a struggle.
She feared being alone
So at the end, I sat beside her.
Her hand was hot and dry in mine…
Her fingers long and tapering.
“Did you used to play the piano?”
I asked gently.
A faint smile flashed across her face
As memories long forgotten
Stirred once more.
She slept.
I phoned the next morning but
She had gone.
I wept.
Yes, I had lost a friend
But she had given me all she had left to give.
She had shared with me her dying.
