Chapter 7 — His Hand Becoming Still

Mark died in the hospital with my hand wrapped around his.

There are moments in a life when the mind simply refuses to accept what the eyes have already seen, when the fact is right in front of you and some part of you keeps waiting for it to be untrue.

That was one of them.

I will not describe it at length, because it is the most private thing I have, and because some griefs are not improved by the telling.

I will say only what I remember: the sound of the machines, the particular coldness of the room, and the weight of my husband’s hand slowly becoming still in mine.