She sits at the Nurse's Station, in one of those chairs on wheels.  Staring.  Knowing the truth in her heart, but listening to the commotion that follows the Code Blue that was initiated when she walked out of her husbands' room and called the nurse.  She knows.  Her whole world has just been tossed in the air.  As she watches the pieces falling, she wonders what to do now.  Greg, an orderly that has known them for many years as a result of her husbands many hospital stays, walks toward her.  He removes his gloves and shakes his head.  As he hugs her and whispers that it's over, she tells him that she knows.  The minute she walked into the room, she knew.  This wasn't really a state of shock, it was more disbelief.  The surreal situation she's faced with, is not something she'd dared to think about, to believe could happen.  The overwhelming feeling of guilt descends.  How, when her husband had just died, could she dare to feel this way?  Why, after the years of despondency, after the hopelessnes she'd felt for so long, now, does her heart open to possibilities?  Where is the grief, the mourning, the sadness, the decency to show her husband, of 17 years, the respect he deserves at this time?  Her mind is racing, reeling.  The nurse approaches, "Is there anyone I can call for you?"  For ME?  No.  There's noone here for me.  "We'll have to notify his family, the funeral director, my son."  But as she writes down the numbers, she realizes that she can't stay there.  She can't stay in the hospital wing, and proceed with the requisite phone calls, responsibilities, not yet.  "I need ten minutes, a walk, and can we hold off the phone calls till then?"  There's no need for urgency now.  They need to fill out the inevitable paperwork, clean the body, remove the equipment from the room.  "Of course.  Let me know when you're ready."  She walks to the banks of elevators, pushes the down button and waits.  Moving as if by rote, she enters the elevator, descends to the Lobby floor, walks through the entrance she has traversed many times over the years.  Never in her life, has she had this sense of unreality, this feeling of a lack of direction.  Maybe this is shock after all.  Not the shock of discovering her husband, or the shock of sudden grief.  Her shock is directly correlated to her reactions, her response to this most tragic event.  She can compare it to the imagery of a bird, held captive in a cage for many years, finding that the door has been left open.  She can pass through this cage door with nothing and noone to stop her.  Yet, as the bird has no idea where to fly to, just the urge to fly away, so does she wander in her mind.  The concept of life beyond what she has known for so many years, has eluded her.  She never dared hope such a life could exist.  Yet here it was.  She has to focus on the realities of the situation.  There are so many details to be attended to.  Many difficult conversations, decisions to be made.  Would they know?  Would they be able to see it on her face, the guilt of her emotions?  Would they think any less of her than they already did?  Did it, at this late date, matter?

    It was an unusually warm and sunny day for mid-March.  Walking outdoors in her shirtsleeves, she follows the sidewalk around the hospital to the smoking bench in the rear.  Again, that sense of unreality encroaches.  The smoking bench is warmed by a sun that doesn't belong in the bowl of the sky, on this day of endings.  She sits down, and is soon joined by Greg, who has come outdoors to regain his composure after the ordeal upstairs.  He asks her "What now?"  And as she shrugs her shoulders, she realizes that "what now" is a question she doesn't have an answer for.