In Between

The room was dim, not dark, softened by late afternoon light slipping through half drawn curtains. The kind of light that felt respectful, as if it understood it had arrived at a private moment.

The woman lay still, her breathing shallow and unhurried, each breath sounding like it had traveled a long road to get there. The air held the scent of clean cotton sheets and a hint of lavender from a small bottle on the bedside table. A clock ticked, steady and faithful.

I sat beside her, hands folded, heart open. She had not spoken all day. Family had come and gone, leaving behind soft prayers, folded coats, and the ache of love that does not know where to go when words are no longer needed.

Then her eyes opened. They were clear in a way that felt familiar, the way eyes sometimes look when a lifetime of remembering has finally sorted itself out. She gazed past the ceiling, beyond the walls, as though something kind had stepped close. “I remember,” she said quietly. I leaned in. “The river,” she whispered. “My father’s hands. I was small. I was safe.”

Her fingers stirred, and I placed my hand in hers. Her skin was cool and delicate, yet her grip was certain, as if she knew exactly where she was. “ I loved them all,” she said. “Even when I didn’t know how.” Those words stayed.

Her breathing softened. Her shoulders rested. A gentle smile touched her mouth. And then, without struggle, she was gone. The clock kept ticking. The light did not change.

I remained where I was, just a moment longer, holding her hand as one does when saying goodbye without needing to speak. When I finally stood, my palm felt different, as if it had learned something it would carry forward.

In the hallway, life resumed its quiet rhythm. Carts rolled. Voices passed. Somewhere, someone laughed. I walked on, carrying her words with me. Because the in between is not only where people leave this world. It is where the rest of us are reminded to love more gently, speak sooner, forgive more freely.

And for those of us who have lived long enough to understand how quickly the light shifts, those moments stay.
They guide us home.