Priveledged

His breath came in burdened, jagged intervals. His already lean, six-foot-three frame had no fat, or muscle, to disguise his jutting bones. A ghostly white sheath of paper-thin skin stretched across his elegantly high cheekbones and strained to smooth over his protruding ribs, like bumps on a country highway. Even with the slight blue hospital gown and pile of hospital quilts over his shivering body, the metal barred bed looked almost as flat with him in it as it did when it was empty. The top of his head was not shiny, like one expects a bald mans head to be, and his eyebrows were no longer present; the chemotherapy had taken care of that. He looked tired, despite the many days of sleep he had had. Frown lines were set deep in his face, but they were accompanied by laugh lines around his barely-there lips and gray-blue eyes that dug deeper and implied much better times, times of laughter and joke. He managed to smile up at his devoted wife, who hadn’t left his side in days, whose young face provided a window into a journey of sorrow, and one that truly tested the limits of her love for the man beside her. Tear tracks raked down her cheeks. She forced a pained smile that could’ve broken your heart.1

A middle-aged nurse with a cloud of curly brown hair and jaded amber eyes led the couples’ bearded rabbi in and stopped to ask Bob, the man on the bed, if he needed anything. Bob turned his head ever so slightly to the left, and then ever so slightly to the right, never acknowledging the pain he must have felt. The rabbi stood, his blue yamaka covering the top of his head. Coke bottle glasses magnified his eyes, and he was short and slender. He smiled sadly down at Bob, such an incredibly wonderful man. A single crystal tear slid slowly down his cheek and disappeared into his black beard. Memories of Bob before his terrifying diagnoses, and even just a week ago, flooded into the rabbi’s mind. He thought of Bobs’ undying wit, his sharp sense of humor and caring nature. Of his uncanny way of remembering everyone’s name, and a thing or two about them. Another tear, and another, ran down the rabbis cheeks and into his black bush of a beard. He straightened himself and took a deep breath. “How do you feel?” he asked him, knowing he wouldn’t admit to having anything be wrong.2

Bob took a few deep, ragged breaths. He tried to push himself up to a sitting position while he pondered the question. He slid back down to where he was before, and choked out one long, difficult, word.3

“Privileged.”