I wore a yellow sweater. Bennett slipped a soda can pull tab onto my finger, because neither of us had thought to arrange a ring for a wedding that hadn't existed a week earlier.
For the next seven days, I stayed beside him nearly every hour I wasn't required elsewhere.
I held his hand through every difficult breath, through two frightening nights the nurses weren't sure he'd make it through, until his heart finally stopped on a quiet Tuesday morning with the window open and early light coming through the blinds.
Afterward, I sat alone in his empty room for a long time, trying to understand how someone I'd known for barely three weeks could leave such a painful silence behind.
I sat alone, trying to understand how someone I'd known for barely three weeks could leave such a painful silence behind.
Then an elderly man entered carrying a green backpack, worn soft at the seams like it had traveled a long way to reach me.
