I sat by his bedside, talked to him, talked to a total stranger who was supposedly my family. I was frightened by his frail appearance. He seemed so helpless in his stark white prison cell, strapped in with no will to move, no strength to move. I could feel his sadness. The feeling was hanging in the air. He drifted off to sleep. Relief, sweet relief from all the pain and awkwardness. Three hours later, sitting at home in my little corner bedroom, my grandmother got a call. She somehow found the courage to come to me and tell me he was gone forever. For this stranger, i cried and cried and cried until there were no tears left to cry and i had sucked all the moisture out of the air. I was in shock. Someone that was just here, had "left the building", and there was nothing we could do or say to bring him back. "He's in a better place now" she said. I believed her, but I was glad I wasn't there to see it.