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forces a smile and he pulls out a deck of card and asks me if I want to play. I nod my head and smile back as he begins to teach me his favorite card game. We laugh a little over something silly. He makes a joke and we laugh some more, but a little harder this time. His smile is more sincere and his expression relaxes.

I am not catching on to the game very quickly. He smacks my hand playfully because I goofed up. I smack his hand playfully back and our eyes meet. This makes him smile in such a way that I know I've connected with him on a level I don't think either of us understand. It's almost spiritual. For a moment I feel a flutter and I think about God.

I feel amazed that something as simple as a smile, a touch, or even a laugh can be such a gift. How often we take those things for granted!

His face gets serious and the smile fades, as if on cue. He takes a deep breath and he tells me that he thinks this is the calm before the storm. We don't have to say anything more. He's dying and we know it.

The phone rings and breaks our silence. While he chats to a friend, I let my mind wander. I think about the gift I have been given to be sitting here with someone as their life comes to a close. I feel blessed to be in his presence and to experience this night with him. I think about the things this man just told me and shared with me and how I will carry these things with me long after he's gone.

I think about how I wish we could all understand how short this life really is; how we should forgive each other more, love each other harder, live stronger, develop more compassion, and make more sacrifices.

I wish we didn't have to learn those lessons too late, but so many of us do.

He hangs up the phone and says he needs to go to bed. He's tired and he's having some pain, but he wants to play cards just a while longer. I suspect he is in more pain than he is letting on. After a few more hands of cards, we say goodnight, he slips into bed, and I pull out my book to read. But, I can't concentrate.

Something's in the air and I realize that I don't know if I will be back here next week. I am hoping I will have more time with him, but I just don't know. I think about how this is the uncertain part of my job here. It is also the difficult part letting go.

I am daydreaming with my thoughts and his wife startles me as she comes through the door. We talk about her evening for a few moments. I bring up our plans to meet again next week and it feels as if we are both stalling. Saying goodbye is always the awkward part of the visit, because there is so much uncertainty when we part ways. We may never meet again and we both know it. It's unspoken; there is so much unspoken when I visit and so much we don't even have to say.

She hugs me and I walk out the door.

As I drive away, I gently fall back into the real world.

My mind is still somewhere else, but all around me life is moving forward. I am moving forward. I know I will wake up in the morning and my life will go on as if this night never happened. There will be bills to pay, errands to run, people to call, and things to do.

I also know I will never truly forget this experience. It was a night just between my patient and me. I have been given something that will never be taken away. I have been blessed with an intangible gift.

I let my thoughts hang on just a little bit longer as I drift to sleep...

Learn more about this author, Jennifer Pemberton.
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