The ward was quiet. Only the steady beeping of the machines and the dim glow of the night lamp broke the silence. For three long months, the woman lay motionless in her hospital bed, her life hanging by the fine threads of the machines that sustained her. Her husband, a dedicated and loving man, visited every day without fail. He would sit by her side, clasping her hand, resting his head on the pillow next to hers, and whispering words of love and hope into her ear. To the nurses and doctors who observed him, he was the epitome of devotion, a man whose love transcended the boundaries of consciousness.
When the doctors finally told him that there was no hope left, that her body was gradually failing, he was inconsolable. The decision to disconnect her from life support seemed to tear his very soul apart. His pleas for a little more time, a few more moments with her, were heartbreaking to witness. Permission was granted for him to say his final goodbyes, an allowance for his grief that felt as fragile as the life that clung tenuously to existence.
