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The room was so still and silent that Saturday morning. Only the quiet beep of the heart monitor and the gentle movement of the respirator brought life to that hospital room. Just outside the window another world could be seen. Two women spoke about their family life, while their young children played nearby. A man rushed to his car, often glancing at his watch. It was a beautiful day. Cloudless and bright, the day was warm but with a faint and gentle breeze caressing the land.

Inside room number 267 all thoughts were on the crumpled figure of a woman lying on that hospital bed. A cast was on her right arm and leg, and many bandages covered her broken body. But what use where the bandages? Could they heal a brain dead woman?

Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed; his hands covering his head as if they could keep him from the horrible realization. He didn't cry or moan, his body was too numb from the shock. The pain hadn't set in yet.

Two other figures graced the still room. His father-in-law stood at the window, looking but seeing nothing. The mother sat in another chair at her daughter's feet, concentrating on the toes that protruded from the covers. No one spoke. Each was lost in his own thoughts.

A knock on the door brought them back to reality. A woman opened the door and brought in a handful of balloons.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she hesitated, "Cindy and I went to school together. She even watches my little girl when I have to work late," she paused looking at the blank faces that stared back at her. "Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I'm praying for Cindy, and to bring you...well these," and she held out the balloons since there was no table on her side of the room to set them on. Cindy's mother only turned back to continued to stare at her daughter's foot, and her father only grunted a "Thank you," so Don, Cindy' husband, stood to retrieve the kind gift.

Still numb he only muttered something about the balloons being pink, as her reached for them.

"I know," the woman nodded as an unchecked tear ran down her check. "It's Cindy's favorite color," she relinquished her hold and spun around, leaving quickly to avoid crying in front of the sorrowful family.

Mechanically, Don walked to a table near the window, and dropped the weight her held in his hand.

Pink," he murmured, "Cindy's favorite color." Suddenly the numbness left and all Don could feel was anger boiling up inside him. He slammed his hand down on the table. "I should have been more careful!"

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