3.27.09-2

Dolores lay quietly weeping in bed--her warm tears filled the wrinkled corners of her eyes before cascading down the sides of her face and into her thin white hair matted on the hospital pillow.
An angel had been sent to comfort her, but Dolores continued to feebly press the red call button she held tightly clutched with both hands. She was convinced that the majestically beautiful messenger at her side was yet another one of her frequent hallucinations brought on by advanced dementia.
Often, she knew when she was hallucinating and would quietly close her eyes and hum until the visions departed.
She clicked the red button again.
She was afraid of yielding to the dementia, but seeing that she was alone, she licked her dry lips and ever so softly exhaled the question:
"Why are you here?"
The angel said nothing, but smiled gently and gazed back at her with kind eyes full of understanding. She was surprised to see that the angel was beginning to weep.
"You pressed the call button?" came the reply from the foot of her bed. "What can I help you with?"
It was the nurse. Her cheeks were flushed red after being outside in the cold on her smoke break.
"Is my daughter here yet?" asked Dolores, her eyelashes still wet and glistening.
The nurse only looked puzzled and cleared her throat. Her mouth frowned.

Just after the nurse left, the angel knelt at Dolores' side and whispered something so softly and delicately in her ear that she could scarcely make it out. The tears continued to roll down the sides of her soft leather cheeks and she clutched the red call button with both hands.