Bob, the room is quiet now.

The room is quiet now.

I sit on the patio where the fine, delicate scent of her flowers drift in the air.

The hospice nurse's hand on my shoulder tells me the machines and tubes have been removed.

When I enter, she is lying quietly, but her eyes seek me out.

It is time.

I don't want to get the ring past the knuckle, but she opens her eyes, insisting.

So, Bob, there are some who wander.