text: He sits in the waiting room staring upwards at the clock patiently. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. It is almost time. Years of childhood memories flood his brain. An image of him at a much younger age wearing a baseball uniform and hoisting a large gold trophy is the first to enter his mind. We were never supposed to make it that far. True underdogs. Flash to a vivid memory of the man, not much older than in the last, asking his high school crush to prom. Beautiful as ever my love. I miss you every day. Still alone in the waiting room, a single teardrop, heavy in weight, holding years of sorrow, and pain, and guilt, falls from his face with an audible splash upon reaching the carpeted floor. It is so quiet in this room except for...the man peers upwards once more. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. A moment of calm contemplation later, the man is again hit with a series of lucid memories. First, him with a heavy heart, standing over the grave of his father, placing a baseball at the foot of the headstone. I know I didn’t get to say goodbye, but at least I can come here from time to time and still say hello. Rest easy, Pop. Without skipping a beat, the man is violently thrusted into a new memory where he is now standing in front of a small house on a cul-de-sac in the suburbs. A stunningly beautiful woman standing by his side with a smile shining brighter than the sun itself ever could. She turns from the house to look at the man and impossibly her smile shines bigger and brighter still. In the waiting room, just the thought of this moment causes the man to smile hard enough that his cheeks start to ache. Sure, it was a fixer upper. But it was ours. God dammit it was ours. For the next few moments, the man is hit with an almost overwhelming onslaught of memories. Some sad, some happy, some almost so uneventful he could not believe he even remembered them at all. One after the other in rapid succession. His mind is racing at breakneck speeds. He would constantly attempt to savor a memory or go back to recall a specifically good one, but he found that he could not. His mind was a theme park ride, with exhilarating highs, and devastatingly difficult lows, but with no reverse. From now on, this rollercoaster ride would only ever move forward. After a few more memories, his son graduating college, his daughter getting her dream job, so many highs experienced in a single life. I am truly blessed. Until suddenly, he saw himself in another dream. This one more vivid than any of the others. He saw himself staring at the wall. In a deep and distant gaze. This was no special wall. No signs, no markings, no posters. It was a blank, boring wall, but as soon as the vision had cast itself into his brain, his heart sank below the damp carpeted floor where his present body sat. The carpet still wet from his tears, both of joy and sadness. He knew this wall and he knew it well. It was the wall of Saint Christopher’s Hospital and as he turned his head in the memory, he could see her once more. The most divine human being he had ever and would ever see in his life. My love, oh how I miss you more and more every day. She was lying in a hospital bed, eyes closed and tubes all over. Her skinny, wrinkled hands placed lovingly in his. Even your wrinkles are perfect, honey. Just then, the doctor walked in on them and although he could see the doctor’s mouth moving, he could hear no words. He did not need to and he did not want to. He had already heard them once before, in a life that had seemed so distant to him now. Time is arbitrary and relative. Time does not exist, yet it stands unwavering and affects everything it touches, even if it cannot be felt. Time cannot be seen, and it cannot be stopped. A wonderful life filled with elation, sorrow, pain, and joy. Driven by mind and body, both constantly wilted by time. There is no right or wrong way to spend “time,” for a life lived is a beautiful thing. The people you’ve touched, the emotions you’ve felt, and the pain you’ve suffered, culminated in a donation presented by you, to you and the people around you. It is wrapped up in a bow made of time. A gift to be unwrapped by everybody and nobody at all. The man sits up in his chair in the waiting room and opens his eyes, instinctually peering immediately upwards at the clock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. He feels the need to weep in agony more and more but finds that he cannot. He has no tears left to cry. He takes another look around the room. No other people, no receptionist. Simply a few empty chairs, a water cooler in the corner, the clock on the wall, and a single door. As he exhales a deep and dignified sigh, he brings himself to his feet. It is time. With his hand on the doorknob he takes one final look at the clock. Silence. He walks through the door.