poured out before bed
“I’m afraid we cannot do anymore radiation therapy. All of our options have been exhausted at this point… I’m so sorry, Jon…”
The look on the tall radiation oncologist’s face is one of crumpling defeat.
The old man in the hospital bed shakes his head, a smile touching his thin, cracked lips.
“It’s OK, doc. You’ve been so very good to me. Sometimes you just have to let go.”
He turns his yellowed, yet strangely clear, deep eyes toward me and a cool, claw-like hand reaches up to grasp my forearm.
“Remember that, young lady. A gentleman always knows when to let go, and a lady always knows when to leave.”