Typical Winter Day

It was a typical Adirondack winter day, penetratingly cold, heavy gray, and spitting snow.

When I entered Doug's room as usual, I saw his limp, now non-responsive body resting in his Hospice bed. The hand with the missing fingers lay across his chest as it rose and fell irregularly with each struggling breath.

​No Buffalo Plaid flannel shirt or worn jeans, no work boots were in sight.

This is where things get hard for me.