There is no definitive statement.  No words. Maybe silence speaks for itself. Time goes by. These minutes that tick in quiet. Makes me think of  rain. Both of us in the rain. Soaked, he said. Rainfall in sunlight. Rays of light. Shining on us. Water glistens.

Asleep. She didn’t hear a word he said. Tubes in her mouth. A heart monitor making a beeping sound. She was still breathing. He held her hand.

Do you remember the last time you were in the hospital? When our son was born? Long time ago, the husband caressed his wife’s palm. He came out wailing like a tenor. I believe he was scatting.  Ripping off jazz notes, he smiled. The green line on the heart monitor still jumped up and down. Waiting. Come on, Father. Take her home.