There was a sense of presence in his room in the nursing unit. He was that kind of person. A big man. His sister and niece were there, agitated. He was awake and partially elevated in his hospital bed. I took his hand and bent over him so he could hear me. We made eye contact. There was recognition in his watery bright blue eyes. “Lil sends her love,” I said. “Be strong, Gene.” He squeezed my hand firmly and held it. After a while, I released my hand and patted his shoulder saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gene.”

The next day, I went back to the nursing unit expecting to see his family in his room. They had been there all the time over the past few days. I looked in. There was no-one there. The bed was empty. It had been stripped. An empty wheelchair was on the other side of the bed. Someone had opened the window.