On the bedside table, there is a mouthwatering chocolate cake, so tempting and palatable to stuff in my mouth. I figured it was for the patient in residence, but I wasn't positive. I shut my eyelids, and imagine an apartment, made of milk chocolate. Right in the moment, my patient was breathing real slow, too slow to be in a nursing home. I provided the man with a cup of dark roast coffee anyway. My ambition was that he would be filled up by the coffee, so he wouldn't be tempted to eat the slice of chocolate cake. Then, the cake would be mine to eat. As soon after there only a droplet of coffee left in his mug, the man took a monstrous chomp out of the chocolate cake. In seconds, chocolate snippets were scattered around the bed. I wanted to eat those crumbs so badly, so I decided to. The remnants of the cake reminded me of the rather delicious, delectable chocolate chip cookies my mother used to make in my upbringing.
     In a snap, a mammoth cloud of gray dust released from the patient’s mouth, and there he was, laying in the stretcher, not moving a limb, even slightly. Dead. Deceased. Gone. I knew it. his gray hair was in a mohawk, all messed up. I felt the pain and sorrow inside of me. I was the one who was forced to call the family with the devastating news. Do I call the son? The wife? The brother? I felt unsure what my next step of action was. I know I couldn't just leave the news like it never happened; I'd be fired for life! I'd have no occupation. I soon figured that I had to take on the daunting responsibility. I got the chance to call the family, and there was the brother of patient Paul. “Hello ma’am, the man says.” “Hi, I am Nurse Priscilla. Your brother Paul just passed away.” “Thank you,” the man commented with a little bit of weeping.“Let's gather the family for a funeral with lots of toast. I remember Paul craving toast each morning,” I remark. “Yes, that would be spectacular, how about 10am?” “Sure,” the nurse replies. “Ten in the morning. Our date, you and moi.”