If I had a photograph of you...

Eric lifted his head up out of his hands. They were wet from the tears that were still silently streaming down his face. His eyes were red, raw from him trying to rub them dry and banish this outward display of grief, even though there was no one there to see it.

He looked across at the bed. The nurses had disconnected the drip and ventilator, pushed back the machines and dimmed the lights a little. He could tell that they wanted to extubate as well, but that would not happen until the post. Despite all of their efforts Jenny did not look at peace; she barely looked like herself.

Eric made himself really look at her. A voice in the back of his mind kept telling him that he would only have so many more chances to commit her face to memory, even this injured version of her face. He had expected to see her face every day for many more years to come. If he had known he would have paid more attention to it, learned it more closely. Now he would have only a few photographs to help him keep her in his memory.

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