Some bring gifts of candy and cookies to share with the caregivers telling them it is what the patient herself would do if she could.

All of these things help. They do not help the patient; they help the people who bring the cards or gifts. Help them to begin to come to grips with the ugly inevitability looming over them like the proverbial elephant in the living room; beloved wife, mother, grandmother, friend is dying.

�Mikhail!� the nurse spoke in a sharp whisper. Mikhail spun around to face her, grateful to be jerked back to the moment, �can you please get the spill cleaned up before someone steps in it!� She walked away shaking her head in disgust.

Mikhail nodded and put his mop to the spill which now looked like nothing more than what it was; water that had spilled from a plastic pitcher fallen from the patients' bedside table.

Mikhail was confused. As he mopped, he quickly stole a glance at the window and saw only snowflakes; no fog, no cross, and no odd blue color.

He was unable to keep himself from lowering his eyes from the window to the patient just once more. She was staring at Mikhail. Not a blank stare either, she was looking directly into his eyes.

�Shit! Shit! Shit!� Mikhail spit the words out as though they were indeed shit in his mouth. Miraculously no one heard him because at the same moment the overhead PA system crackled to life with the announcement that visiting hours were over for the night.

Mikhail quickly gathered his things. Afraid to look back at the old lady, he left the yellow plastic �Wet Floor� standing in front of the place where the spill had been and hurried out.

He quickly went to the storage closet to put away his equipment cart. Just as he unlocked its door he heard a whisper coming, or so it appeared, from inside the closet, �Mikhail.�

Mikhail held his key still in the lock. �Mikhail,� came the whisper again. He reached his shaking hand just inside the door and to the right, flipping the switch up, bringing light to the darkened space.

He shoved the cart through the door and gave it a good push, switched the light off and pulled the door closed all in one move, twisting the key in the lock as quickly as he could, given that his hands were shaking.

Mikhail went back to the job he had been doing when he'd been called to ICU; wiping down all the surfaces in the elevators. From there he went to the glass display cases that held all of the information postings required by the State.

As he was cleaning the last of the cases he heard the whisper again, �Mikhail.�

He nearly dropped his cleaning rag. He sprayed more cleaner on the glass and, as he wiped it clear, he saw the unmistakable image of a woman. He thought she looked like the woman in ICU bed five. He wiped the glass again, certain that he must be imagining things and the image disappeared.

Mikhail checked his watch and saw that it was time for him to take his break. He was relieved to be getting a chance to get outside for a few minutes where he could have a smoke and think things out.

He clocked out and went down to the basement floor, to the room where the employees from his department kept their personal effects.

He took a cigarette and lighter from his jacket. He had been trying to quit lately so he took only one and kept the package in his jacket where it wouldn't be so easy to get another. He headed to the elevator.

He planned to go to the patio, located outside the cafeteria door. On his way there he had to cross the hallway that leads to the hospital morgue. It was eerie enough in the lower floors at night with almost no one around but it seemed especially so whenever he was near the morgue.

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