Eight IV bags hanging in the air around his bed. Eight colored lines snaking their way beneath the bed, under the rail, around his pillow and into his body. More snakes wriggled away to empty his used up life into containers hidden beneath bed rails and covers. Green numbers and white lines counted the breaths, measured the beats and monitored the life.

Old, but not withered, sick, but not wasted, with his handsome face swollen to an artificial fullness by disease. White cotton looped gently over his wrists as his hands (careful...here, grab my hand, honey) trembled with false life and struggled intermittently against the bonds.

Three pairs of loving eyes watched as the white jacketed hands took a line from the tree and remove its fangs from his arm. Green numbers acknowledged the action with a slight drop, then steadied a bit as the white lines continued. Two pairs of eyes noted her reach through the rails to touch and grasp and kindly looked away from her unsuccessful attempt to compel energy into his body through force of will.

Hands touched and stroked legs and arms and feet, murmuring softly as the green numbers dropped again and the white lines began to lose their sharpness. Incongruous sunlight beamed its happy smile across the quiet shapes, glaring on the plastic monitor screens and temporarily blurring the steadily dropping numbers.

Tiny frown lines creased his weathered face and three sets of tears began to sparkle in the sun. A fourth pair of feet quietly entered the room to silence alarms and mechanical warnings and slipped into the outer edge of the circle. Green numbers dropped precipitously, lower and closer as the white mountains flattened into hills and then smoothed into a desert plain.

A last grimace of pain elicited her low moan of denial as she groped feebly to give him some sort of comfort and take away the pain. Sunlight danced merrily on his quiet chest providing proof the vigil had ended.

The fourth pair of shoes moved forward from the circle's edge to turn off the green numbers and white lines. With care and respect, hands used to cleaning and caring removed the lines and took away the tree. Sunlight ignited sparkling purple fires in four set of tears, temporarily transforming beige walls and bedding to a brilliantine blur, then faded. It backed slowly from the window, taking with it bright colors, sharp outlines, and our love.

Author's Note: Dad died November 2, 1995 after spending two months in intensive care. When it became obvious that the "medicine" had turned to "life support", we stopped it and sat down to wait for him to die. One of the nurses, Flo, was especially fond of dad. She was with us through the end, caring for dad even after he was gone.