A man was seated

I opened the door and walked in. A man was seated alone on a long floral-print sofa facing the fireplace. The fire was still going.

His crisp, blue button-down shirt under a maroon cardigan sweater, his brown corduroy slacks and his horn-rimmed glasses led me to think he was an employee.

Then I noticed how pale and thin he was, how his eyes looked tired and lifeless.

"Hi, Bob. I'm Robin the new therapeutic music intern here at the House."

He didn't say a word.

A well-dressed patient seated in a great room certainly was not what I expected to encounter at a Hospice House. Does this surprise you?